Further ramblings of a self-made pauper

Oh, what a weekend it was.

Some of you will have read ellefurtle’s round up of the party, so I guess it is my turn, belatedly, to write my review thereof.

Firstly, I should like to thank everyone who came along to the Punch tavern on Saturday night; we had a great time and I hope that you did, too. We couldn’t afford to invite everyone we wanted to come and some those we did, sadly couldn’t make it, but by and large we got to see the people we wanted to see and will make arrangements to meet up with others as soon as possible.

I have not yet managed to upload the few photos I managed to take, but will do so soon. If you are really interested, you can find various pictures of the event linked on my FaceBook page, here: https://www.facebook.com/#!/bryan.lea/photos and https://www.facebook.com/#!/media/set/?set=a.10150770039160834.379105.712650833&type=1 These mainly are courtesy mrtonylee and Derby’s own Rock God, fen_wolfchile, but the atmospheric alien-looking ones are by jfs. When I have got my act sorted out, I shall catalogue them properly; I know that there are photos by many others, too.

I should particularly like to thank mrtonylee - Captain Haddock, and belle_fille1982 - Tin Tin, for their help and support. Particularly Tony, for acting as MC for the evening and undertaking to ensure in his capacity as internet chaplain, that we were ‘awesomely married’ on the night. Thanks, too to Alix, the younger Furtle for publicly welcoming me to the family; to Tanya, the quondam rinkyandmerlin for her speech, to colonel_maxim, my best man and provider of weaponry, and to the inimitable pax_draconis for objecting to the proceedings on the most spurious of grounds and dying so hammily in the subsequent duel, which was all arranged in advance with no foreknowledge on the part of the bride. Heheh.

I am sorry that I didn’t manage to talk at length to many people, but I think – I hope – I managed to exchange a few words with everybody.

Sunday didn’t really happen for us. We caught a taxi home at just after midnight in the company of jfs, pax_draconis, curlwomble and rebby. There followed a night cap and chat, before everyone dispersed. We piled into bed at somewhere around 4am.

Later in the morning we all met up again (those of us who had returned to Ilford) for brunch and then Furtle and I had to do some shopping. By mid afternoon we had sort of faded out, not really resurfacing until after 9pm. This meant that we had to turn down an invitation from our lovely next door neighbours for Sunday evening drinks. We shall have to arrange an alternative visit.

Monday was another lazy day, during which we did a little cooking to use up some spare cheese. It didn’t work; we still have a mountain of the stuff.

I should dearly like to post a photo of the plaque made for us by bytepilot, but the darling wife insists that it be publicly unveiled only once it is in situ at the Gin Palace and not before. Further incentive then, to ensure we arrange to meet those people who couldn’t make the party for reasons beyond their control.

As I type, I am eating a piece of cheese that had the name Ilchester Cheese Chuckles on the wrapper. It's been that sort of day.

For a portion of this afternoon I have been unaccountably tired, but I seem to have got my second wind, now. Just as well, I guess, since colonel_maxim's party has started two flights downstairs and I ought to put in more than just my recent fleeting appearance. That fleeting appearance is the reason for this entry. ellefurtle has been baking again. Actually she has been mixing cake batter again. Baking is a work in progress.

The middle of the cake after an hour-and-a-half of baking in the big round baking tin, is remaining obstinately uncooked. Like magma, it is pushing the crust ever higher higher. The cake tin is about three inches deep, maybe three and a half. The middle of the cake has risen to that height at least once. After forty or so minutes, when the cake (ostensibly a marble cake) had taken on the appearance of the world's largest American muffin¹, Furtle trimmed the top off as it had started to singe. Ten minutes ago we went back down on what was the ninety minute mark. The inside is still hot, chocolaty, magma and the muffin top had reappeared. We trimmed that off, too². The next approach, to stop the top burning (or growing), was to move the cake lower down the oven. I suspect that may just slow the inevitable growth down. I believe Furtle has invented the Infinity Cake and that as long as we can keep cooking it, it will simply grow, the roiling centre pushing ever more crust upwards until we trim and eat it.

I hope we can because the other option is to call out The British Experimental Rocket Group and turn the problem over to Professor Quatermass.



¹In English usage at least. The Americans call them English muffins despite the fact they are nothing like a muffin. Will no-one take ownership of these huge teacakes that spill out over the top in a mushroom shape?

²And very tasty it was.