Pictures of You

This is a song I wrote today - no words yet but I'm quite pleased with it.

I hope you like it.

Josh

Cornfields at Seven

I have recorded a song called Cornfields at Seven. You can listen to the mp3 by clicking the above link.

Hope you like it.

Josh

White Christmas

When I was a kid we used to go and play in the Snow Drifts. Massive snow drifts. The kind that completely cover tractors. I grew up in Cambridge. You don't get snow drifts in Cambridge anymore. My brother Dan once made an igloo in the back garden. So this year, instead of going home to Cambridge for Christmas, we thought we'd guarantee snow by going to Chamonix. We got there and looked into the valley; a beautiful spring scene. Lush green firs covering as far as the eye could see. And it didn't snow the entire time we were there. I haven't checked, but I bet there was snow in Cambridge.

There was enough snow higher up the mountain for us to get some good skiing in, so I'm not complaining. And in the bar we found near our apartment there was a sexy french girl with a wobbly eye, so that was good. Though, you never knew which eye to look at, and if you picked the wrong one it was just awkward. You'd invested your focus in that eye, to re-eye seems rude. She seemed to take to us quite well so we played her The Shins and she liked that so she gave us some strange rum made with vanilla. A good way to make friends.

On Christmas Day we cooked a lovely dinner. I helped by preparing the veg. It was a productive bit of help and I didn't end up with a suspected STD. Unlike when I was cooking at home the other day. I decided to make a curry. No one told me about chillies and what happens if you don't wash you hands before going to the toilet after having just sliced a bunch of the evil hot green little bastards. I have since learnt to wash my hands after preparing food that might burn my thing. Chef Barny Haughton told me at my lesson that cooking was trial and error, but I wasn't expecting that.

I'm back in London now. Chorizo tonight.

Yesterday's Guardian

Here, have a look at this...

http://www.guardian.co.uk/g2/story/0,,1981085,00.html

In the paper there were pictures to, but you'll just have to imagine me in an apron.

Bordeaux Quay

I can't cook. I have a flat with a fantastic Smeg oven and hob, loads of kitchen stuff and a very expensive fridge freezer thing that I
bought because it looks nice. Unfortunately I use the small green Morphy Richards microwave more often than the nice stuff. When I eat at home I tend to survive on Tesco's Finest Ready Meals and Pizzas.

This is the main reason I don't eat at home very often. Or if I do, I order curry. Or Pizza.

I decided a long time ago that I should learn to cook and eat a more balanced diet. But my job demands a lot of my time. Okay, that's bollocks. I'm just not that confident in the kitchen. I don't really 'get' food in it's constructive state before it becomes my dinner. A lot of things that I eat in restaurants I wouldn't recognise in the supermarket. Butternut squash. Fennel. Artichoke. I haven't got a fucking clue what they look like, let alone what I'm supposed to do with them to turn them into food.

So today, with the help of Vicky at The Guardian, I went for a cooking lesson. In Bristol. I live in London, so that's a long way to go for a cooking lesson. It was with Barny Haughton, the Chef and joint owner of Bordeaux Quay, a beautiful new restaurant based on philosophies of using seasonal, locally reared and grown organic food. The entire restaurant, from conception to completion, was based on an ecological premise of having the minimum impact on it's environment. And it is a remarkable achievement.

I met Barny at 11 o' clock this morning. He looked at me and asked what I wanted to get out of the two hour lesson. I said that I wanted to have a full and comprehensive understanding of the methodology of food groups, their suitability for combination with regard to seasonal variance and to be able to prepare any meal within 20 minutes. He told me we would cook a fish.

We went on to cook a fish, but not before making a winter soup from scratch, roasting some amazing vegetables, making some mayonaise, some tartare source, and some bread. Then we got some salmon and some lamb and cooked that to. Then we made a salad (that was really easy) and then we tasted it and it was all fucking lovely. All the time Barny was teaching me, (showing me knife technique, telling me about the seasonal aspect of the food we were preparing, asking me about my own schedule to work in food that I could realistically do myself within a normal day), we were being photographed by John, a photographer from The Guardian. He asked me and Barny to laugh and be natural. When I see the pictures I'll see how succesful we were.

When we'd finished the lesson, we went out into the restaurant and ordered the lamb and the salmon from the menu. It was good. Very good. And the glass of Red just added to the pleasure. I had a fantastic time, and I am looking forward to using what I've learnt at home. Trail and error and all that. Any takers?

On the way home I stopped off at the supermarket and went around the vegetable department smugly recognising vegetables. I smiled to myself. Then I bought a decent sized chopping board, a mixing bowl, a whisk, a vegetable peeler, some tongs and a wooden spoon. Then I went home and ordered a curry. Well, it's been a long day.

Consolidate your debts with one easy monthly soul payment

Great Joke I saw yesterday.


Q: Why should you never shag a dwarf with
learning difficulties?
A: Because it's not big and it's not clever.

Halloween was this week. In England some people dress up and go to parties. Some people go out with their kids trick or treating. This is not a very English thing to do. We don’t like strangers knocking on our doors. Like the snazzily dressed man from Powergen trying to get you to swap energy providers cos “with us you can save £10 a year”. That’s ten pounds you could be saving if you didn’t have to let the heat out everytime you open the door to one of these fuckers. And Johovah’s Witnesses. They like to knock on your door and save your soul. In my old flat I had a guy from the local Baptist trying to save my soul over the video intercom. I couldn’t hear him too well so I asked him to mime the story of Jesus. He left.

Trick or Treaters in London are just thugs with an excuse to wear a mask. They knock on the door, (much easier than having break in like normal), and say “Trick or Treat”. If, like me, events like Halloween/birthdays/Christmas tend to pass you by, you probably don’t have any treats ready. So, what is the crafty mischievous trick they have up their hoody’s sleeve? They set light to a petrol soaked newspaper and put it in you letter box. Harmless fun.

It’s also a busy time for prostitutes. Though when they ask “Trick or Treat”, watch your answer.

This weekend is Guy Fawkes Night. I love it because it is such an insular event. Foreigners have no idea what is going on. “Is it a religious celebration?” they ask. No. In 1604 a man tried to blow up the houses of parliament and so we hanged him ‘til he was half dead, cut off his genitals and burned them in front of him, and then cut out his heart and bowels while he was still alive before cutting off his head, arms and legs which were put on public display and eaten by birds.

“Right…” say foreigners. “And you celebrate how?”
By burning an effigy of Guy Fawkes every November 5th. Kind of pagan, don’t you think?

“Jeez, you English know how to hold a grudge.”

Yep. It's a great way to save on energy costs, as well.

Anne Frank

There was a TV show on the other night called 'Anne Frank Remembered'.

Of course she remembered. She had a diary.