Back on Track Again.

 

I made my comeback to track competition yesterday after an injury enforced absence of three months. It is easy to say that it is frustrating not being able to compete, nor indeed train properly, but it doesn't describe adequately the feelings engendered by a restriction on your locomotive powers. A bit late in the season to feel the tartan under my feet, but at least I was able to start, and more importantly finish a race.

 

The venue for yesterday's track meeting was the Mary Peters Track. This was my first race at the track since its re opening after being extended from six to eight lanes. An open graded competition was being run in conjunction with the Northern Ireland Team Trophy. I know that it is late in the season and some people will be on holiday, but even putting all that in the mix the turnout was very disappointing. Various events including the men's 400mh were, "pulled," through lack of interest and many had a distinct paucity of competitors. The men's 100m, 200m and 400m were probably the most competitive and highest standard events with the 400m being won in something over 48s.

 

The event chosen for my comeback, the 800m, saw only four of us at the starting line. Three of us are in the same training group so it felt more like a time trial rather than a race. That said myself and my two compadres were reasonably satisfied with our times, most especially taking account of the strong wind on the back straight. Needless to say I finished fourth, (ok last), but at least my 2.15 left me in sight of those ahead of me!

 

Timber!!

 

Having a mature garden certainly has its advantages. You aren't waiting for trees and shrubs to grow and provide you with shelter and you have your arboreal features in situ. The downside is that you have your casualties.

 

Most years storm and old age cause at least two or three boughs to head earthwards. This year has however been worse than most. On Wednesday morning as I lay between sleep and wakefulness I heard a loud crack and crashing sound. An investigation disclosed that an old cherry tree had decided that it was finally time to move from the vertical to the horizontal. I have to admit that it hasn't been entirely vertical for more than a few years. The cause of that I in part put down to the climbing rope which had been attached to a large branch about thirty feet up by a previous owner. No doubt it was put in place so as to appeal to the Tarzan abilities of his teenage children.

 

It seems that I must again call upon my chainsaw toting friend. We should both end up with a few cubic yards of firewood. Earth to earth. Wood to ground.

 

Ness Country Park

I paddled along to Ness Country Park this pm. I have to concede that the old causa causans for my visit was not just to have a walk and enjoy the scenery. It has been perhaps twenty eight years since I was last there and I wanted to view the condition of the paths and refresh my memory as to their incline. Why so you ask? Well it had struck me that the steep walls of the Burntollet Valley, where the Park nestles, might provide a sheltered venue for a few of the running group's winter sessions. After all the Northern Ireland Environment Agency is always extolling the merits of getting out into the country loop.

 

I must say that I had a very pleasant stroll down alongside the river and through the dappled glades further up the hillside. Unfortunately some of the paths are rather too precipitous and involve too many steps to provide a satisfactory route for a training session. Unless of course you were aiming to compete in a fell race! However on an, "out and in basis," the path next the river would suffice for reps of varying length and there is one pathway next the visitor centre which would provide a flat one kilometre circuit.

 

 

Gooseberry - Fulsome Jam

The trusty saucepan has been brought into use again. With the balance of the gooseberries now picked, four pounds of these hairy berries were topped and tailed before being deposited in the saucepan along with the juice of one lemon and something just shy of a pint of water. This concoction was brought to the boil atop the aged aga and then left to simmer for about fifteen minutes, by which time the gooseberries were no longer recognisable as berries. Four pounds of Tate & Lyle granulated sugar was then added. (Other makes of sugar are available!)

 

It took about five minutes to dissolve the sugar after which the caries inducing mixture was boiled for about ten minutes, followed by simmer mode. The pink scum which collected on the surface was spooned off at intervals. It took about forty five minutes before the conserve was adjudged to have reached its setting point after which it was ladled in to the awaiting sterilised jars.

 

Runner Beans to Chutney

The vegetable garden is now in full production and surpluses are beginning to occur. Three pounds of runner beans was too great a quantity to ingest in one sitting and I therfore determined that they should be converted into pots of chutney for laying down and winter consumption. There would of course have to be some ancillary ingredients. Unfortunately the transformation of beans to chutney requires the assistance of other garden produce and some items from the larder. The following items were assembled:-

3 lbs runner beans - chopped

2 onions - chopped

4 garlic cloves - chopped

2 pinches chilli powder

2 lbs light brown soft sugar

2 teaspoons fresh ginger - grated

1 tablespoon mustard powder

2 pints malt vinegar

2 tablespoons cornflour

1.5 tablespoons ground turmeric

A saucepan of slightly salted water was then brought to the boil and the beans and onions added and cooked for ten minutes. The water was then drained off with the beans and onions being transferred to a food processor where they suffered the fate of a thousand knives before being dumped back into the saucepan. There they were joined by the garlic, ginger and sugar as well as one and a half pints of the vinegar. The resultant concoction was boiled for some fifteen minutes. The remaining vinegar was then poured into a bowl where it was joined by the mustard powder, cornflour, turmeric and chilli pepper and then added to the saucepan where the combined liquid amalgam was then boiled for a further fifteen minutes. Cooling proceeded after which the sweet smelling sludge, (well truthfully don't all chutneys look a bit unappealing in isolation?), was spooned into the awaiting sterilised jars.

 

 

They say that it takes six to eight weeks for a chutney to mature and taste its best. I did however think that I should check that this culinary delight was palatable. I am happy to report that no ill affects have manifested themselves to date and surprisingly it tasted quite nice. Perhaps cheese, biscuits and a rich port might be an appropriate accompaniment.

 

 

 

Buddleia - The Butterfly Bush

It is rather easy to work out why the buddleia is referred to as the butterfly bush. I have one planted just outside the kitchen window and I have just counted over forty red admirals latched on to the dense panicles, sipping at the sweet nectar in the heat being reflected off the wall of the house.

 

Although there are quite a few cabbage white butterflies fluttering about the garden they don't appear to find the scent of the buddleia bush as seductive as the red admirals do. A pity really. If they did then I might not have the task of checking the underside of the leaves of the various brassicas in the vegetable patch for their rapacious caterpillars.

 

Bulldog wins again!!

Escapism is I think one of the most alluring features of the novel. From the perspective of 2013 the Bulldog Drummond novels of Herman Cyril McNeile, (aka Sapper), are certainly escapism. The world they portray never really existed although the precepts and social mores displayed in Sapper's writings were undoubtedly a feature of a certain stratum of British society.

 

They are, "Boys Own," adventure stories, rattling good yarns. Spiffing tales of daring do. You know from the outset that Hugh Drummond MC will be successful in his fight against his protagonists, no matter what the odds. Perhaps therein lies some of the joy of these novels. Some might say that they are not politically correct in our increasingly sanitised world, but echoing what I am sure Bulldog Drummond would have retorted I would say to that, tommy rot!

 

I must have been nine or ten whenever I started to read these books, moving on to them from the works of W. E. Johns. I seem to remember unearthing a few from a box stored under a bed in my paternal grandmother's house. Presumably they must have been bought for my father or his brother in the 1930's.

 

Recently I saw an audio copy of , "The Third Round," in the local library. I could not resist borrowing it and dipping in to its cocoon of comforting escapism. It did not disappoint.