My time in Norway was ending. This beautiful country will leave a mark in my heart. Its sophisticated charm is what lead me to wish this was my home. However, that cold made me reconsider. Had a few more hours here, I needed to make the best of the little time left. A view of…
via My last meal in Olso — Passport Overused
You know the score, you’ve overeaten for a week or more and you dread getting on the scales each morning, right?
Well, I for one don’t really believe in diets. I think you have to mindful all year round, including Christmas. Sure you can eat a bit more, but I often skip breakfast, or have something really light at that time, if I know I’ll be partaking in a feast at night. I might drink more water too.
A week or ten day’s overindulgence could take weeks to put right in terms of losing that weight you’ve rapidly put on. So I simply don’t do it. I am not perfect by any stretch, I just say no to that extra drink, I don’t get drunk and I rarely overeat – even at Christmas.
Ultimately, prevention is so much better than cure. A ‘diet’ for me is for life, not just for January.
copyright Francis Barker 2020
For years my only love was Marmite, in the yeast extract stakes, at any rate.
And then one day, not too long ago, I decided to get some – horror of horrors – Vegemite! Naturally I’d heard the name before, even heard it in some 1980s Australian rock song, but being a bit of a traditionalist and a stick-in-the-mud, I’d never taken the plunge into that particular version of yeast extract.
What’s more, to be fittingly topical, it’s The Ashes (England versus Australia at cricket) again this summer, that battle between leather and willow, weather permitting; a tense battle of minds, of whether to sledge, or not to sledge. So what about comparing dear old Blighty’s version with the Antipodean?
Well, to settle an argument with myself, I decided to compare the two makes side by side, in one sitting, if you will. And my findings were surprising.
I’m not an expert on taste, I just know what I like. Sticking to tradition to start with, I plumped for Marmite first. Fine, lovely, just how I like it. Then came the Vegemite and… wait a minute! You know, it wasn’t the same. Did I detect, I mean was there just a little trace of a taste of… chocolate? Dark chocolate at that. OK, it was somehow different, a bit.
Either way, I sat down with a cup of tea to wash it all down and collect my thoughts. And whether I could taste chocolate or not, I came away with the startling, unpatriotic conclusion that I preferred the Australian! Yes, Vegemite won by a nose, the tip of a tongue.
I just hope that England can do better this summer.
Every May the West Lindsey region of northern Lincolnshire opens the doors of its churches to visitors for two weekends – the West Lindsey Churches Festival.
Pictured above is Scothern church, quite small but beautiful, the whole churchyard raised a few feet above the surrounding area of the village.
Once inside we had the usual very warm welcome, with residents sharing information about the church, the village, their lives in general. And of course we had to partake in the coffee and cake on offer.
What made Scothern a little unusual was the organ and piano recitals going on over the weekend.
Another interesting feature was the exhibition of childhood toys.
And perhaps the greatest feature of the church is the wonderful 16th century Dutch panel painting called ‘The Adoration of the Magi’.
I first fell in love with you in a map,
a sort of pentagon, sacré, teased out
a touch like a stretched piece of dough. Then
it was the names, the easy non-phonetics
conjuring visions and colour through
Fontainebleau and Versailles. But then,
of course, it’s the history that defines me
and you, those first tragic lines etched
large, bold and bloody by le Bâtard, a family
dispute of a single culture cleaved
by hatred and greed, melded by chivalry.
For so long la Manche was not a divide
(and never la différence), more a conduit
of ideas flowing north, longbows sailing
south. Oh, we have divided since; your gift
for re-invention, dispensing with kings, that’s
something I cannot conceive, even though
we did have a go. But I only have to
look at Claude and Edouard, Paul
and Vincent, to get it, to understand— there’s
a love neither can openly express, though
look more closely, you will find it in our eyes
© copyright David F. Barker 2012
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