Oh, the rich opportunities for embarrassment

Oh Lordy.

I have ten days to acclimatise myself. Furtle Ma has hinted that it might be nice if we all meet up “In Town” for a meal on Easter Saturday. I am going to meet the in-laws, as it were. I can’t complain; it’s been nearly two years and Furtle has made the trip up to see my gang twice in that time (admittedly the second was in less than ideal circumstances). Nonetheless, ten days is time aplenty to allow the nerves to fray and all the hideous possibilities for embarrassment - that intellectually we know will not occur - to play out, ripen and enhance themselves in the imagination.

Still: history and beer shall be our saviours. I shall talk history with Furtle Ma and pour beer down the neck (hopefully the inside of the neck) of Furtle Pa. I shall be relatively abstemious myself, in my best bib and tucker (or at least, clean and presentable bib and tucker) and turn on the charm.

I can already feel the first flutterings of the butterflies. D-Day minus ten and counting.

Oh, the rich opportunities for embarrassment

Oh Lordy.

I have ten days to acclimatise myself. Furtle Ma has hinted that it might be nice if we all meet up “In Town” for a meal on Easter Saturday. I am going to meet the in-laws, as it were. I can’t complain; it’s been nearly two years and Furtle has made the trip up to see my gang twice in that time (admittedly the second was in less than ideal circumstances). Nonetheless, ten days is time aplenty to allow the nerves to fray and all the hideous possibilities for embarrassment - that intellectually we know will not occur - to play out, ripen and enhance themselves in the imagination.

Still: history and beer shall be our saviours. I shall talk history with Furtle Ma and pour beer down the neck (hopefully the inside of the neck) of Furtle Pa. I shall be relatively abstemious myself, in my best bib and tucker (or at least, clean and presentable bib and tucker) and turn on the charm.

I can already feel the first flutterings of the butterflies. D-Day minus ten and counting.

An apple a day...

Ever since I have been (tentatively) trying to eat more healthily, I have scarfed back more apples than ever before in my life. In fact, since January, I have probably eaten more apples than in my previous 48 years combined. In the past, I would occasionally pick up and eat an apple and usually enjoy it, but I never really felt the need to go back and have another one; that single apple would cheerfully last me oh, I don’t know, twenty years?¹ When the apple-eating rate was higher than that, it would have been when I was a kid and had much less control over what I could eat.

On those rare occasions I stopped to think about the humble apple, I decided quite early on that my favourite is the good old Granny Smith and that the Golden Delicious was the greatest misnomer in the species Malus domestica², particularly the French Golden Delicious, which to my taste buds seemed (and seems) like an exercise in developing cotton that grows in a handy green wrapper.

Anyway, I have just explored a rather disappointing³ Egremont Russet and have a slightly battered Pink Lady awaiting its fate in, probably, an hour or so from now. Since Pink Lady apples were recommended to me I have to say that they have moved up the list and are close on the heels of the Granny Smith as far as my tastes go in these matters.

I now find myself soliciting advice on where to go next in my trip around the world’s apples. To be honest, British apples, or at least apples grown in Britain – I don’t care much if they originated abroad, I just don’t care to spend a fortune on an apple that has been flown from Guatemala and has a mild aroma of chicory⁴.

To make the grade, an apple has to be crisp, firm, juicy and not too tart or too sweet. It can vary pretty much between sweet and tart, but shouldn’t move from inducing a diabetic coma on the one hand to causing my face to implode on the other. And yes, I am willing to give the humble russet a second chance, but I shall have it a little fresher next time.

¹A bit of an exaggeration. Ten years is probably more accurate.

²I am far more learned with the internet than I am without it.

³To be fair, I have had it hanging around about 3 weeks: it may have tasted better when fresher.

⁴For the sake of discussion, let’s pretend that I am more mindful of my carbon footprint than I really am. It gives me extra brownie points for no additional effort on my part.

An apple a day...

Ever since I have been (tentatively) trying to eat more healthily, I have scarfed back more apples than ever before in my life. In fact, since January, I have probably eaten more apples than in my previous 48 years combined. In the past, I would occasionally pick up and eat an apple and usually enjoy it, but I never really felt the need to go back and have another one; that single apple would cheerfully last me oh, I don’t know, twenty years?¹ When the apple-eating rate was higher than that, it would have been when I was a kid and had much less control over what I could eat.

On those rare occasions I stopped to think about the humble apple, I decided quite early on that my favourite is the good old Granny Smith and that the Golden Delicious was the greatest misnomer in the species Malus domestica², particularly the French Golden Delicious, which to my taste buds seemed (and seems) like an exercise in developing cotton that grows in a handy green wrapper.

Anyway, I have just explored a rather disappointing³ Egremont Russet and have a slightly battered Pink Lady awaiting its fate in, probably, an hour or so from now. Since Pink Lady apples were recommended to me I have to say that they have moved up the list and are close on the heels of the Granny Smith as far as my tastes go in these matters.

I now find myself soliciting advice on where to go next in my trip around the world’s apples. To be honest, British apples, or at least apples grown in Britain – I don’t care much if they originated abroad, I just don’t care to spend a fortune on an apple that has been flown from Guatemala and has a mild aroma of chicory⁴.

To make the grade, an apple has to be crisp, firm, juicy and not too tart or too sweet. It can vary pretty much between sweet and tart, but shouldn’t move from inducing a diabetic coma on the one hand to causing my face to implode on the other. And yes, I am willing to give the humble russet a second chance, but I shall have it a little fresher next time.

¹A bit of an exaggeration. Ten years is probably more accurate.

²I am far more learned with the internet than I am without it.

³To be fair, I have had it hanging around about 3 weeks: it may have tasted better when fresher.

⁴For the sake of discussion, let’s pretend that I am more mindful of my carbon footprint than I really am. It gives me extra brownie points for no additional effort on my part.