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In other weekend news

The Wray Barton Wrecking Crew, aka The Devon Home Cook, wrecked a kitchen.

Her excuse was that she had cooked a meal for one hundred people.

Tut, tut…

She should know, however, that me and her other older sister are pretty impressed with her.

A Witty Crab

The eldest produced this last year. I love it. Somehow, and I don’t begrudge it for a minute, it has ended up beautifully framed and hung on the wall at the HQ of the Devon Home Cook.

It’s not Goodwood (but it will have to do)

I can’t make much sense of the card today. So many with good chances that there surely has to be a bit of shiny pin polishing.

I considered selections based on a colour theme, because there is rather too much of that dratted form I mentioned before, but that would be crazy wouldn’t it, and anyway I could only come up with Golden Hinde (who I fancied) and Red Jazz (who I didn’t really).

Molecomb Stakes: I am going to oppose Zebedee and back Lord of the Stars dropped to the minimum trip. And I was thinking Arctic Cosmos in the Gordon. Then I can’t seem to get Finjaan off the brain in the Lennox Stakes, but there’s Lord Shanakill in the line-up too, plus the classy Balthazaar’s Gift which all means I might back the French Dalghar on account of his form behind Goldikova and Paco Boy. Or not. I don’t know: I am paralysed with indecision. This would be one of those days where you need to be there. I know it’s on tv but I will be at work.

P.S. I have other things on my mind today as the Devon Home Cook is staying the night. I wonder what will be for tea, last time I had a trio of rhubarb desserts before washing it down with a barrel of ale.

A Photographic Response (to my fancy swishy-tailed fish)

The Devon Home Cook went fishing yesterday, on a boat, to catch mackerel for her tea.

She caught mackerel. She also caught this: a Garfish.

It was 53cm long and very slimy, reportedly.

The eldest daughter felt that this was indeed “a monster”.

Apparently you can eat them too – I wonder whose dishy that fishy is going to land up on?

When the Devon Home Cook comes to town (Part I)

Notwithstanding it being midweek and there being business meetings on the morrow, stuff happens.

Stuff that would never hardly ever happen normally.

Stuff like this

Excuse the mess

Til What-o-Clock

This morning I feel
last night. Grapes, hops, midnight chill…
Hair thick with woodsmoke.

Timepiece before the Oaks

The Fox and the Donkey

This was the view from the bath in the place we stayed on Saturday night.
The nearest pub is so close that the Devon Home Cook was somehow able to produce Sunday lunch from the snug in the pub.

AMB did sterling work on the footplate of the Aga for breakfast before thrashing all-comers with a winning smile at ping pong. Clearly her seven trips to the village shop on the previous day had not taken it out of her.

Thanks ladies, looking forward to the King next month!

Overheard in The Fox by one of our blonde spies (don’t forget the Darrset burr):

We’re thinking of getting a donkey, but what do you with a donkey? Ride it? Pat it…

The possibilities are endless; ride it to the shops springs to mind.