Bitz and Pieces

I have this past week had one of the very best bacon sandwiches I have ever eaten – and one of the very, very worst.

The best was at Hunter’s Bar, when I took Marlo in for his little operation last Wednesday. I dropped him off at the vet, was told to come back around half past three and decided I might as well go home. But first, a small spot of breakfast. I pondered going to Taste or to Caffé Uno but decided that I rather fancied a sandwich and a potter about the shops. So I went into the butcher/sandwich man on Sharrowvale Road by the roundabout, where there were work people hoofing into large sandwiches. Often a good sign. A bacon, egg and tomato roll. Was absolutely fantastic. Lovely bacon, beautifully cooked egg, tasty tomato. Yum! Had a lovely potter about window shopping while I finished my sandwich and went into the pet supply shop and bought Marlo a scratching post in the hope he can be dissuaded from scratching the chairs. So far he has loftily ignored it!

And the worst? Was at the Baker’s Oven in March, in Cambridgeshire. Quite how anyone can take a bacon, cheese and tomato toastie and quite so comprehensively ruin it is a mystery to me. But it was disgusting. Absolutely horrible. Almost inedible. The bacon tasted of smoky bacon flavour. The cheese was fatty and foul. I barely noticed the tomato. And fat positively dripped from it. I only ate half of it. The Builder had the other half and agreed that it was revolting. Tabitha and Gareth had equally rank pasties (Tabitha took one bite and refused to eat anymore. I had a tiny nibble and could quite see why!), and bacon toasties. The Builder had a jacket potato with beans. He says the beans were OK! Baker’s Oven is a chain . We will assume they have centrally prepared food. Avoid! Do not go into a Baker’s Oven unless you want to emerge with severe indigestion. Go to Greggs (although there isn’t one in March, that we could find). Or go hunting for a proper café or coffee shop. There’s bound to be one somewhere. As there is in March, if you walk beyond the Baker’s Oven.

March is a funny place. It’s sat out in the middle of the fens and looks for all the world as though it really wants to be a seaside town, though it is quite a considerable distance from the sea. It’s a reasonable size but is lacking in something. Atmosphere, perhaps. You could see that it might be somewhat bleak in winter. It is certainly windswept! Tabitha and Gareth are staying in a bungalow which belonged to the late mother in law of one of Gareth’s new colleagues, while they wait for their actual rented house to become available in Cambridge. The bungalow is on an estate which is maze-like in its design. We didn’t see a single shop, though Tabitha says her Cambridgeshire A-Z reports a Post Office not all that far away. Perhaps there are shops there! Seems a bit cruel, though, to stash loads of little old ladies in the middle of this maze, miles from the nearest proper shops!

It was quite a chaotic move, in the end. I don’t think anyone quite realised how much junk we had managed to accumulate over the years. Though I take no responsibility for the enormous pile of magazines. I am a vigorous magazine weeder and never let them pile up like that. We ended up on Sunday filling the van with junk and The Builder and Gareth took it all to the tip. We also, I think, had all seriously underestimated the amount of stuff there was in the flat. It took two van loads (and it is not a little van!) plus four car loads (we pressed Ginger Rich and Rob into service on Sunday afternoon, and T and G made two trips) to clear it all. Plus there is a residue of garden pots and a few bits and pieces which I’ll go and collect later this morning. Quite how we’ve crammed it all into the bungalow (which is furnished anyway) is a miracle. And how it’s all going to be shifted from there to the new house (when it’s available!) is a bridge which has yet even to be thought about, let alone crossed. We, alas, are not available next weekend. We are going to a food festival in Jeanette and Matthew’s new village.

I had learned my lesson from Saturday, however. We faced the Sunday move with a home prepared picnic: bacon sandwiches for breakfast, home roasted gammon, salad, cake for lunch, and Waitrose pizza and salad for dinner when we all finally got home. A vast improvement on Saturday’s excursion into the Baker’s Oven! Though I hadn’t anticipated still being at the flat for lunch so didn’t have much that Freyja could eat. I had thought to make her a cheese and olive breakfast roll, however.

I’ve had quite a good week off. The Cat has had his operation, so there will be no more mini-Marlos. I’ve been out exploring. I’ve found the shop in Old Tupton (which is a misnomer if ever there was one – it seems to be almost entirely made up of new housing estates!) and in Wingerworth. Mind you, you would think, given the size of Wingerworth, that it would merit more than a Spar, a hairdresser and a Chinese takeaway. It is possible that I haven’t properly investigated. I’ve driven around North Wingfield, Grassmoor, and down towards the Motorway. I am slowly beginning to find my way around the local area. I’ve baked and cooked, cleaned and washed, tidied and ironed. I haven’t actually done any of the things I was going to do, like put the rest of the pictures up, sort out the paperwork in the spare room, sort out then spare room generally – but it’s been quite productive and perhaps a little bit relaxing!

The Builder and I came back from March by a different route on Sunday evening. There’s only so many times I can bear to do the A1/A47/A141 in a weekend. We headed back across the fens along the A17. It was a lovely, if somewhat slow drive (once you get behind a bus, there’s no overtaking it, especially not in the van). And we were rewarded by the most glorious sunset. Might have been a serious strain on the eyes, but it was spectacularly beautiful. There was a lovely sunrise this morning, too. Mackerel like red clouds in the east at around 6:00.

We headed from the A1 to Chesterfield via Tuxford and Edwinstowe on Saturday and Sunday. I’ve not been to Tuxford before. It’s very pretty! Might go and have a proper poke about one day. Mind you, there’s no need for us to come anywhere near that far north on the way back from Cambridge. There’s a perfectly good road runs up from Newark that would cut lots and lots of miles from the journey!

I let the cat out unsupervised this morning. He had a brief investigation of the herb bed, then took off up the road. He’s been desperate to investigate up there ever since we first let him out under supervision. We had hoped to confine him to the garden for a bit, but he’s been obsessed with going to play with the traffic. The Builder boarded up the bottom of the gate. He tried to climb out through the top. I boarded that up and blocked the middle with string. He went over next door’s fence and out through their gate only to be grabbed by me, after I had hurtled out and thrown myself upon him. Fortunately, their dog was away on his holidays. Both dog and cat remain supremely innocent of the other’s existence. For the moment! Today I decided that we really must bite the bullet and let him out. As predicted, he took off up the road and disappeared. That was at half past six. Oops! Do hope I haven’t lost him! He ambled back in at about half past seven. So that’s OK then. I’ve shut him in now. I’m hoping to head into Nether Green to collect the rest of the stuff from the flat at about nine o’clock and he can’t get back in if I lock the door. The Builder is going to put in a cat flap. He’s never had one of those before (the cat, not The Builder!).

Let’s have breakfast. Brewed coffee and crumpets with lemon curd?