Being Me

Location: The Hill kitchen. Him: What are we having? Me: Roast, with those leftover thingies from yesterday, with a bit of .. you know ... Him: Mash? Me: Yes, mashed potato which I thought I'd mix with some ... some wotsit from the fridge Him: What, the butternut .. er ... stuff? Me: Yep. Can you hand me the silver thingybob? Him: This sieve thing? Me: The colander. That's it. Colander. Him: Do you want me to ... to ... sort out the whatjamacallthems? Me: Yes, please. Can you ... Him: Peel them? Me: I'll do the oojamaflips. Him: Okay. Me: Give me one of those knife thingies. Him: A knife? Me: Yes, that one, next to the one we use for chopping all the ... you knows. Him: Vegetables. Shall I check that the ... er .. the roast ... the roast... meat ... is cooked? Me: Yup. Shall I do some thingy sauce, with those Bramley wotsits from the ... you know, the allotment? And on it goes, the Litany of Vagueness that emits now from our thinning, ageing lips as we ...

Thoughts from Cornwall on seagulls and pasties On seagulls. I am on holiday in Looe, Cornwall. Have you been there? If you're a seagull reading this, the answer is yes. In fact, you are probably reading it in Looe itself. Every seagull in the world is here, either as a permanent resident or on its own holiday. Very near our holiday home is the fish market. Every day the boats bring in mackerel or gurnard or haddock. The seagulls wait for their moment, flicking through their copies of 'Fish Burglary Tips for Birdlife' and then, in packs, like SAS troops, they pounce, hoping to grab as much as possible from the plastic ice boxes layered with the morning catch. The fishermen wave them away with their copies of 'How to Keep Seagulls from Stealing all your Stock' but back they come. It's like a war of attrition. When our son was five, we were in Tenby in Wales and he was eating chips out of a paper cone while we stood on the beach. A seagull swooped down, its b...