Sing along now…”Today’s the day the traffic cones have their picnic.”
Category Archives: Tooty Stuff
Rural Wallpaper: The Scent of a Hampshire Spring
This was shot with an early Olympus digital camera from 2001. Not bad, huh? This is what it might look like on your computer…
And here’s a charming picture of your intrepid photographer out and about…
…combining two activities that brings pleasure to his tedious existence. Actually it isn’t that tedious: I think I’m really rather fortunate.
Tea Dust Art / Earplug Adventures Wallpaper: Blasting Off With Some Urgency
A Zanahoria Negro lifts off from an asteroid at maximum boost…
I wasn’t planning on writing another Earplug Adventure, but these teadust art and plastic carrot shots are giving me an idea. Hmmm…
Seeing is Believing: The Mark of Doom!
They say there’s no fool like an old fool; and I must have looked like a truly aging wally to anyone who passed my house this morning. You see I’d just arrived home upon my bicycle from a neighbouring village where I had dropped off my ancient Toyota for it’s annual safety test. Perhaps I was exhausted. Maybe I was so concerned that it would cost a fortune to fix any problems with the Toyota, that I was neither seeing nor thinking clearly. As I made the final effort up the slope to my house, I was horrified to find that someone had made a discrete paint aerosol stroke upon my wall. In Britain this is a sure sign that ‘spotters’ have been around to check out any vulnerable properties for later burglaries by criminal gangs…
My first concern was the question of why they had selected my home. What made it such easy pickings? Finding nothing obvious, I thought it best that I remove the sign before the aforementioned criminal gang appeared. So, without further ado, I set about the mark with soapy water and a scrubbing brush. The result? Nada. Next I attacked it with a solvent – turpentine substitute to be precise. The result astonished me: the mark remained…er…unmarked! Then I brought out the big guns; a sheet of sanding paper. No paint on Earth could resist that. But it did. There was no effect whatsoever. My expression must have been the dull-eyed look of a simpleton. I think I summoned up a “Duh?” Then it dawned on me. Raising my gaze upward, I became aware of the proximity of my Skoda Octavia. More significantly it’s rear lamp cluster. Focussing to a more distant point I noted the presence of the Sun. It, the Skoda, and the criminal gang’s sign aligned perfectly…
I’d been trying to scrub off a ray of light! In my defence, they do say that genii make the best idiots. Guess that makes me a genius – especially since my ancient Corolla managed to pass it’s test yet again!
Didn’t That Go Well? The Coronation of King Charles III
I was one of millions who sat at their TV to watch this spectacle…
…that proved that the UK can still cut it when it comes to pageantry, pomp and circumstance…
Of course there are centuries of history behind it. Look at the age of that chair…
…or ‘throne’ as it should be termed correctly. There are continents younger than that piece of furniture. All in all that was the good old UK doing what it does better than anyone: showing off and making us proud. But of course it wasn’t all official stuff. Up and down the country, citizens of Charles’ realm did their own thing. Take, for example, my neighbours across the road…
…as they festooned their house with bunting and balloons. In fact they had the king crowned a day and a half early…
…many times over, with a Charles manakin and a powered crown that went up and down all day long. And look closely, there was his mum looking down on him from heaven too. So very silly, and a perfect counterpoint to the real thing. Sadly, two days on, there are people moaning about the cost, and the fact that protesters were arrested before they could hurl rape alarms amongst the procession and spook the horses! Are there really people who wanted to see animals and human beings hurt on such a joyous occaision? Shits – the lot of them. And there was me thinking that it might bring the people of Britain together in common celebration!
Best show on television this year. Proper ‘reality’ TV.
Tooty Flips His Lid
Whenever I’m out and about taking photos of stuff whilst on my bikes, I find it most annoying that I have to remove my helmet before doing a David Baily impression…
Of course if I wore an open-face helmet, it wouldn’t be a problem. But ever since I slid along a road on my face (in November 1976 to be precise), protected only by a thin clip-on visor (that mercifully didn’t detatch itself from the helmet) I’ve always worn full-face (or integral) helmets. Unfortunately full-face helmets restrict close-up views somewhat – especially when trying to dig a camera out of a velcro jacket pocket blind. However, after much thought upon the subject, a quick trip to the nearest motorcycle clothing emporium got me this…
…which looks kinda natty, with not only a regular flip-up visor…
…but also a flip-up front…
Will wonders never cease? So now, as I pull to a halt at the side of the road…
…I don’t have to shout from behind a huge face guard when I remonstrate vociferously with the lycra lout that has just annoyed me…
Moreover, if said lycra lout takes a swing at me, I can flip the front back down in a nanosecond. I’m now also capable of seeing my way into my jacket’s velcro pockets too. No more struggling with mobile phones or wallets before finding the camera. Bliss. Money well spent methinks.
The Final Act for a Bluebell Girl
When Jayne – one of my most loyal readers – asked if I would show some pictures of my late wife, Linzi, from the time when she was a dancer with the Bluebell Girls, I replied that I would look for an excuse to comply. Well today, two and a half years after placing her ashes upon the sideboard in my sitting room, my son returned home from a shopping trip in near perfect climatic conditions and announced that this was the time to finally scatter his mother’s mortal remains. I couldn’t agree more: blue skies, gentle breeze, and bright sunshine: conditions that matched the day of her death exactly, and which (I’m sure) would satisfy her. So, along with his sister and the two dogs, we adjourned to the garden, where first we scattered wild flower seeds…
…followed by the ashes of her beloved chihuahuas, Ernie and Poppy…
…whom had been residing inside the display cabinet since 2011 and 2010 respectively. Then, in a ceremony that wasn’t the least sad (I’d already had a little grizzle earlier when I fetched the ashes into the kitchen in preparation) we three humans each scattered her ashes around the garden – upon boarders and in plant pots – until only a few handfuls remained. These were then taken to a bench upon the hill that overlooks our home, and desposited there amongst the grasses and wild flowers…
This, I thought, was the excuse to show a picture of her during her Bluebell days. But alas, all of her memorabilia lies gathering dust beneath our bed in Spain. So I’m forced to include this terrible ‘still’ from the opening titles…
…from this Spanish movie…
…from the 1970’s. She’s the dancer in green. However, in a slap-head moment, I realised I DID have a picture from her Bluebell days. Her very first promo shot, aged at sixteen, that she hung in our downstairs lavatory. Pretentious she was not. With the stage name of Linzi Wells, here she is in all her youthful glory – facing straight at the lavatory seat…
And just for her, I add this lovely woodland scene…
She would most definitely approve of this as a wallpaper; she really loved blue flowers – particularly bluebells. I expect though she thinks I’m being a little dramatic by dedicating it to her. She never did ‘dramatic’: not her style.
Carnage at the Castle
When I decided to lengthen and widen the entrance to my Fantic’s bike-port (or lean-to, as it’s probably described more accurately)…
…it became necessary to re-locate the hedge-hog house…
…as mentioned in these earlier blogs 1 and 2. I was concerned that the occupants might have been disturbed by the ‘building’s’ uprooting, so set up a camera to check out the scene, so to speak. I needn’t have been worried; life clearly carried on as normal…
Hey, doesn’t this next mouse look rather like the Plastic Annihilator?
Whatever, once the task was complete (and having surveyed the rest of the garden) I found myself surplus one box-like flower pot that had been split open by repeated winter freezing. So I up-ended it and created a mouse ‘castle’…
Well a ‘ruin’ anyway. Naturally I tossed a few seeds, fat pellets, and what-have-you inside it; set up a camera; and awaited developments. Due, probably to a sudden downpour, the first to arrive were some small black slugs…
But before long the Plastic Annihilator and his buddy – we’ll call it Brian – joined the feast…
PA and Brian remained for some while, before being supplanted by a late-coming vole of some kind…
Vole didn’t stay long, because minutes later an unexpected caller…er… called…
Yeah…I do have an incumbent hedgehog afterall. Hoorah!
Oh, but what of the small black slugs?
Gobbled up and polished off, that’s what. Carnage at the Castle!
Spend Spend Spend…A Heck Of A Lot More And Then Some.
Regular readers will probably recall the fiscal nightmare that is the Back Lane Behemoth…
…otherwise known as my Yamaha XJR1300. As much as I adore it, it has cost me quite a pocketful in the couple of years I’ve owned the 21 year-old modern classic. And things haven’t changed. When I mentioned that I intended to swap the BLB in for a smaller, lighter Yamaha MT07, my regular mechanic pointed out that it would need some remedial work done before a dealer would even think about taking it in as part-exchange. Years of dissuse (before I took it on) had played havoc with perishable parts, like intake rubbers, gaskets, seals, what-have-you. Moreover a ham-fisted previous owner had butchered several parts. So I said, “Go for it.” Three weeks later it’s back – with a list of replacement parts as long as my arm – all of them far from cheap. The bill for the work equalled the the engine’s capacity. A GBP for every cubic centimetre of the machine’s four mighty cylinders. Taking a deep breath I said, “Perhaps I won’t be swapping this in for a 700 just yet: it’s going to have to pay for itself first.” To which Andy (of Earle Brothers Motorcycles) replied, “As great as an MT07 is, if you swap it in, you will forever regret getting rid of the XJR.” He then added words to the effect that if I was impressed with the performance increase their last work had wrought, I was going to be doubly-pleased with their latest efforts. “It’s an absolute rocketship!” he finished. After a twenty mile test run, I have to agree. Oh boy have they released some ponies: it flies! Money well-spent: it stays. So, if any bike is going to make way for a 700 Yam, it’ll have to be the Fantic…
But then, when I think about it…aren’t they about to release a new Fantic Caballero with a Yamaha 700 engine in it? Hmmm, sounds like the best of both worlds to me!
The Plastic Annihilator!
For many years, before I assumed the role, my wife would keep the feed for the wild birds in our garden in a transparent plastic bucket with matching lid and a similar breakfast cereal container. These proved sufficient to keep the contents inside safe from the rodents that would have liked to eat them…until a few days ago when I found this on the shed floor…
Judging by the condition of the bucket lid, a very smart rodent had discovered a way of breaching my defences…
It simply sat on the inner surface of the lid and chewed around the edge until the plastic sagged enough for it to gain purchase on the lid itself and make a hole through which it could enter Alladdin’s Cave. The following day I replaced the lid with a spare. It didn’t survive the night. Transfering the contents of the bucket into the cereal container, I felt confident that no further losses would be incurred. I was wrong. Oh dear…
Clearly I was up against something considerably more imposing than a mere mouse. More like a Meerkat. So, after replacing the ruined container with a wooden wine box, I set up a camera to capture images of the invincible perpetrator. What could it be? It’s jaws must be incredibly powerful. A super-rat perhaps? Then the images came in…
Just a diddy little house mouse. Nothing special at all. Or is it? I call my four-legged un-buddy Andromeda Strain. If you’ve ever seen the movie of the same name, you’ll know why. The Andromeda Strain was a micro-organism that destroyed plastic and threatened the entire world. However, in real life, the wooden box defeated it entirely. Those ravaging gnashers barely scratched the surface. Who’d have thought? We’ll see what tonight brings though: I’m expecting carnage.
More Effort Required, Mr. Nolan.
When I first mentioned ( in Is A Third ‘Silent’ Novel Possible?) that I intended to actually attempt to write a third ‘Silent’ book, with which I planned to complete a trilogy of these earlier tomes…
…it was with great hope that I still had the ability to write such a thing. A quick tidying-up of the original books convinced me that I did. So, without further ado, I spent the entire evening and beyond hammering at the keypad. The result was a meagre two pages of ho-hum. But I wasn’t downhearted; merely tired. The following day, thought I, I’d be ready to attack the would-be manuscript again. I was wrong. In local parlance, I just couldn’t be arsed to. And so it has remained. However, I will not be so easily defeated. Once more shall I step into the literary breech. And just as a spur, here is a fragment of what I wrote last time. It has to be brief; there are too many spoilers otherwise. In fact those two pages of script are loaded with them. Welcome to a tiny smidgin of Silent Existence…
Consequently Colonel Cosgrove and his United Nations personnel no longer required isolation suits outside of Crag Base. So it was upon a windy bluff, high in the hills above the abandoned service station that hid the subterranean base, that the stubble-haired American found Tasman and I. As he joined us he made a grand show of breathing in the cool natural air
“Guys,” he said as he looked about himself appreciatively, “you have no idea how great that feels.”
I smiled in response. He was correct: I didn’t. Tasman, however, knew exactly how he felt: he’d begun reading Cosgrove’s mind the moment he had first spotted the stocky individual struggling along the tussock-strewn hilltop path towards us. “Lots?” I suggested.
As he lowered himself to sit beside us, he replied: “You could say that. It’d be an understatement though.”
I was always pleased to be in the Colonel’s company. In fact I’d been known to address him as ‘Dad’, which he wasn’t afraid to admit he loved. However today was slightly different.
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2023
Now it’s time to knuckle down and write this bloody book!
Earplug News 24/7: Great Discovery Made!
Unexpected news concerning Uda Spritzer’s scientific mission is filtering in. Photographic evidence supports her assertion that she has discovered the mythical lost city of Gertrude Worthington!
Sorry To See You Go ‘Triple Threat’.
Sad to say, this fabulous e-book…
…is no longer available in serial form on this blog. Boo! Lack of space, I’m afraid. BUT it remains available as a complete story (in PDF form) right HERE. So if you fancy owning your own copy, or just want to read it now, click away.
Tooty the Chef and Nazi Goering
Tooty the Chef and his late wife were both born into the latter part of the Baby Boomer generation. This meant that they spent the first ten to fifteen years of their lives immersed in documentaries and action films that featured the exploits of World War Two – a five year war that spanned the globe, between the forces of the Free World and the might of the Empire of the Rising Sun in the east, and the tyranny of fascism, via Nazi Germany and it’s ally Italy in the west. The Soviet Union was involved too, but it’s best we don’t mention those bunch of shits: if ever there were perpetrators of an ideology that rejected freedom and democracy and treated it’s people disgracefully, it was the communist arse wipe leadership of the Soviet Union. But enough of that for now; it’s far too serious. Because she too shared a slighty quirky and irreverent sense of humour, Tooty the Chef’s wife often renamed meals with non-politically correct alternatives. In this case Nasi Goreng became Nazi Goering – named after the commanding officer of the Nazi German Airforce during the late thirties and early forties, Herman Goering. And why not? – it’s silly. Naturally Tooty the Chef has chosen to continue this nomenclature into the second decade of the twenty-first century. And why not again? – it’s still silly, and insults no one from that era because they’ve all died of old age, or are too doddery to give a shit.
“Tooty,” I hear you sigh, “enough of the history lesson and political crap: get on with the cooking.”
Okay. So, to the kitchen…
A good (Tooty the Chef style) Nazi Goering requires that some ingredients are well cooked, whilst others remain al dente. So first into the hot olive oil go diced onions and sliced carrot…
Followed shortly by the sliced peppers – to produce some much needed moisture…
Hot on their heels comes the diced chicken…
This is generously sizzled until its clear that the chicken has cooked through and no longer presents a threat to humanity with its potential salmonella virus content. Zap them bugs – the bastards!
Then, in this case, some greenery should be added. He’s not quite sure what greenery was added on this occasion, but it could have been cabbage, or pak choi, or perhaps spring onions. Anything will do really…
The items that require the least cooking should now be cast into the pit of culinery doom. Here we see sweet corn, baby corn cobs, and snap peas suffering horribly…
Of course, whilst one hand is stirring this conflagration of flavour into a lather, the other has been cooking some jasmine rice in the well-establish Tooty the Chef way, via the Chinese rice cooker…
As fabulous as the colourful dish may appear, it aint Nazi Goering until the spices have been added. Today Tooty elected to leave his vast repertroire of spices in the cupboard, and instead proceed with this…
It saves so much time and uncertainty. Subsequentally stirring the rice into the meat and vegetables, cookie-boy allowed that lot to simmer for a moment or two. Mean time he whisked up a bunch of eggs, salt, and black pepper and made a simple omelette…
…which he sliced up and lay (like a urine-stained mantle of snow) atop the finished mountainous article…
Ladies and Gentlemen; a complete Nazi Goering. Now proceed to your own kitchen and become as politically incorrect as the great chef himself!
Tooty the Chef and Citrus Semolina!
One day, in a kitchen far far away, Tooty the Chef searched desperately for inspiration. The family, sick to death with shop-bought yoghurts and the like, wanted a nice pud. It was down to Tooty to deliver the goods…
Being a ‘chuck-it-all-in-and-see-what-happens’ kind of chef, delivering a nice pud was always going to be a challenge for the pointy-nosed idiot. However, after much deliberation (i,e ten seconds) he settled on these primary ingredients: lemon merigue sauce mix; cornflour; Valencian orange food flavouring; and semolina.
Well obviously (being the heaviest item on the list) the semolina would need to form the bottom layer of a three-layered delight. So he boiled some up…
…and slapped the resulting goo in several eqally small serving bowls. As it cooled, he bubbled up the lemon meringue sauce and poured it on top…
So far, so esthetically pleasing. But what wonder was he going to conjure up from a jar of cornflour and a small bottle of food flavouring. Well it’s obvious, isn’t it? Custard! Orange custard…
Actually it went well. The orange didn’t make the milk go all wonky, and it thickened nicely and evenly. Sadly the colouring was somewhat lacking, so – as you can probably see – he added some yellow food dye. It didn’t work: the finished custard remained pale and insipid…
But good old Tooty didn’t give a monkey’s toss…
…coz when (that evening) he warmed them in the microwave, they were scrummy! Of course they were. Unfortunately the serving bowls were made of melamine and duly absorbed more than their fair share of the heat created by the microwaving. On the outside he might appear pleased with himself: but on the inside he’s smarting – just like his fingers and thumbs.
Don’t Buy My eBooks…Yet!
When I wrote this 2014 novel…
…it was as a sequel to this e-book of 2004…
Having completed the sequel, it came to my attention that the older book was somewhat wanting in several areas. Not the story: merely the way it was told. As a consequence of this it was re-written immediately after the completion of it’s sequel, and looked all the better for it. Well…when I mentioned to you all, in a recent post that I was planning a third book, I thought I should re-establish a link with my earlier writing style, the story, and the characters of both books. Guess what: I found them somewhat wanting again. Oh flip! So, if anyone harboured any ideas about purchasing either book – don’t. At least not yet. Yup, I’m re-writing them again! Well not so much re-writing; but seriously tidying them up. Already Silent Resistance is looking pukka: Silent Apocalypse will follow shortly. But, golly, what tales they are: well worth a couple of bucks! I shall endeavour to keep you posted on their progress. When they’re finished (again), I’ll give you the nod. Then you can purchase as many copies as your heart desires. Make it lots.
Ye Olde Huawei Finally Comes Good
The buttons on my late wife’s 2005 Motorola had long since lost their silk printed numerals by the time she decided to call time on it and buy a ‘smart’ phone, which (as recommended by the phone shop assistant) was a Huawei Ascend. Well, after battling with the unreliable, counter intuitive piece of crap for several months, she went back to her Motorola, and remained faithful to it for years – until the week she died. She hung on to the the Chinese phone though because it took quite nice pictures – just as long as she didn’t try taking shots from a moving car: when she did, the phone’s auto-focus simply couldn’t make up it’s mind and often ended up taking pictures of the car interior, a random roadside, or her angry face. She didn’t think of it as an Ascend: more an Ass Hole. But because it cost good money, we kept it as an emergency device. Then, recently, two and a half years after her passing, my daughter’s old phone finally stopped picking up a signal. Cue a new phone – complete with new mini sim card. “What to do with her old sim card?” thought I . The answer came immediately: “Put it in the old Huawei.” So I did, and the Ascend didn’t disappoint: as anticipated it was next to useless. But then I discovered it had a wi-fi setting. Might it be possible that I could access the Internet on my home network? Unlikely, I thought. But after a lot of fiddling, gnashed teeth, and colourful expletives this happened…
Hoorah – it’s my blog. And doesn’t it look smart too? Now, should all my laptops, my never-used mini Mac, or my iPad decide to go awol, I can still admire my great works upon the Ascend. It doesn’t mean the phone’s any good, you understand: but it’s no longer an Ass Hole: merely a Butt Wipe!
Say Goodbye to ‘The Lines of Tah-Di-Tah’
Due to space limitations on this blog, The Lines of Tah-Di-Tah have become surplus to requirements. The story has been sitting here idle for quite a while now, since it’s appearence in these hallowed cyber-pages in 2021, and therefore had to go. By-ee Lines of Ta-Di-Tah. As brilliant as you were, there is a time and place for everything: and this aint either of them. But fear not, Dear Earplugger (or potential Earplugger), the fabulous photo-novel lives on – in PDF form – complete and unabridged, in all it’s silicon magnificence right here, behind this cover photo…
All you need do to access the story that featured the marriage and honeymoon of Magnuss and Hair-Trigger is click on the picture. Other than me, what could be simpler!
Make of This What You Will Too
In the original Make of This What You Will, posted here shortly after my wife’s passing in 2020, I related the tale of strange goings-on in my house that appeared to relate to her. Well I’ve always been susceptible to unusual phenomena, and I might well tell the story of my Guardian Angel one day. But that’s for another day: this particular post concerns an event that occured mid 2022. Today I took my Yamaha along part of the road upon which the event happened. My body cam captured the locations most pertinent to the tale, which is brief but inexplicable. But first let me set the scene. A scene that takes us back to the mid-seventies, and my best pal, Steve…
Steve spent a lot of time in the house I shared with my parents. Like most youngsters we watched very little TV, but if something interesting happened along, he would often stay late to watch it with me. On this particular night he had an early start for work the following morning, so he departed my house half-way through the hour-long documentary we were watching. Riding his motorcycle home, which normally took him ten to fifteen minutes, he found his father watching the same documentary. So he sat himself down to watch the last fifteen minutes of it. To his consternation he recognised the portion of the broadcast. It was the same segment he had watched with me a half-hour earlier. Somewhat amazed he checked the wall clock: it displayed a time that preceded his departure from my house. He had arrived home before he’d left my house! The only explanation he could conceive was that he had traveled through time. When he told me, I concurred. I have related this tale several times through the years. People suggest that perhaps his father had recorded the show on a VCR, and was watching it a half-hour later. Good idea – if the average Briton had owned a VCR back then. But they didn’t: they were as rare as hens teeth or rocking horse shit. In fact the only video recorder that any of us had seen up until that time, was the example that William Shatner’s character showed Peter Falk in the Columbo episode Fade to Murder. In any case, how could he have recorded the second half before it had aired? Now (to use a VCR term) Fast Forward to 2022. I’ve departed my late wife’s step mother’s house in my Skoda Octavia.,.
I’m on my way home via the country route, which takes me to this tiny roundabout at the foot of a long , gentle ascent…
Turning left I start up the climb…
Around the corner I pass a side road named Crouch Lane, which separates the urban sprawl of Horndean from the hamlet of Catherington…
A kilometre (approx) later a white Ford Transit pulls out of a side road – forcing me to test the ABS by braking heavily whilst swerving…
Regaining my momentum and reconfiguring my sphincter, I move on – pleased to have survived the encounter. Moment’s later I pass by a flint wall that runs too close to the road for comfort. No room for error – especially when a large lorry passes by in the opposite direction…
What should have happened next is that I continue around the bend, with private dwellings to my left and a public house to my right, followed by a school and a church…
But this doesn’t happen. Instead I get a’ What The Fuck?’ moment. Everything has changed. I’m not approaching the top of the hill anymore: I’m at the bottom again! I’m just around the bend from Crouch Lane all over again!
For the next thirty seconds and an approximate kilometre of road, I’m trying to make sense of the situation. Then I remember the white van pulling out in front of me. So I slow in preparation. Guess what – it pulled out in front of me, as anticipated: but this time I was ready for it and had no need for sudden braking. But as I continued past the flint wall for the second time, I sincerely hoped that I wasn’t trapped in some form of causality loop: that I would gain the uppermost section of the hill…
Well the fact that I’m writing this and have this photographic proof of my existence in the here and now, my prayers appear to have been answered. But what really happened? Did I travel back in time by half a minute? Or did I dimension-jump from an almost identical reality into this one? Or something else entirely? Hmmm- spooky. And true too!
P.S Is it any wonder that I became a writer of science-fiction and fantasy! I think they call it ‘living the dream’. Or should that be ‘nightmare’?
P.P.S If I did swap dimensions, did the ‘other’ me take my place? Did he have a weird thirty-second moment too?
Tooty the Chef Creates: Albondegas!
Okay, Tooty the Chef has done albondegas before, but that was in his bare-buttock’d days. These days you’re spared the spectacle: these days it’s all about the yum-yums. So, anyway, this is how it all began…
So what do we have here? Well there appears to be a jar of mixed spices, a small random tomato-based sauce mix, some toms, diced carrot and onions, chopped olives, and some minced pork – from Sainsbury’s because their’s are only five percent fat, whereas Waitrose is eight percent fat, and more expensive too. No contest. Naturally some ingredients have been left out in this picture; that is becauseTooty the Chef is a wally and didn’t think to include them.
What he did next will not astound you. He tossed the raw stuff into a bowl and added two eggs, which he then blended…
Looking at the resulting mess he quickly realised that there was no way on this Earth that any balls created from it would hold together in the frying pan; so (he reasoned) the obvious answer to the problem was to add a binding agent. Something designed to thicken a sauce would surely hold the meat and vegetables together – wouldn’t it? He added cornflour…
Then rolling the balls in regular flour, it began to look as though his genius was proving itself…
…though the carrot and onion had clearly been insufficiently diced and, for a while, it was touch-and-go…
To counter this error, he made sure that the ‘bottom’ of each ball was nicely burnt before flipping them over – for the first and only time. Whilst the balls crackled nicely, tagliatelli was tossed into boiling water and stirred mightily…
It would be repeatedly stirred, every so often, until the very end. The dozy old ladle-weilder hates anything sticking to the bottom of his pans. It’s an anathema to him. Or an enema.
Whatever, with the balls now sealed and no longer in danger of breaking up like an asteroid en route for Earth, Tooty elected to toss in the chopped toms and olives…
They quickly succumbed to the heat, and before long the sauce found itself sploshed handsomely into the mix…
Gently teasing the resultant goo between the balls, Tooty allowed this to simmer for an indeterminate amount of time. Then, when it looked as though the meal could not possibly be improved by leaving it over the heat for a moment longer, he removed it and lay it gently upon a bed of pasta…
When I use the word ‘gently’, I mean that he didn’t drop it from a great height. And just to prove that it really was Tooty the Chef who created this wondrous dollop of edibleness, here he is with his hat on…
He looks pleased, coz now he’s gonna eat it. Who wouldn’t? Well obviously people who despise pig-based cooking upon cultural or religious grounds, and vegans; both of which Tooty aint. But otherwise…who?
Tooty and Total Vindication
When I bought this…
…during the Autumn of 2022, I must admit that I felt some doubt. Not so much about spending £7000 on a mere single-cylinder 450cc motorcycle; but more about how good it really was. I thought it was fabulous and punched waaaay above its weight. But what do I know? What do I have to compare it with? Okay a Yamaha XJR1300 – but that’s not a modern bike: it’s two decades old. And it’s a big lumbering monster with more power than I (in my mid-sixties) know what to do with. I really wondered if I had done the right thing. Should I have cast my net farther afield? Well this week Motorcycle News had a full spread test of the Fantic Caballero Scrambler, in which they compared it with a much larger single – the Mash 650. The result?
Well, to use a colloquial term, the Fantic pissed all over the Mash. Look – they gave it FIVE STARS. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a magazine wax so lyrical about any bike. They absolutely loved it. Total vindication for Tooty. But I’m glad I spent the extra on the Deluxe version: I really don’t like the standard bike’s yellow number board.
Tooty the Chef Makes Tooty Goreng and an Inappropriate Pudding
Hola and welcome to La Cocina de Tooty…
On this occasion Tooty the Chef planned to make some Bami Goreng, but (as is his way) he didn’t get all the necessary ingredients. So, instead he went for an alternative – for which he did have the ingredients. He chose to name it Tooty Goreng. And just to make the meal all the more fantastic, he decided that the sweet would involve puff pastry, pear, and apple. I mean…why not?
He set the ball rolling by digging out some chopped pears and apples that he’d plonked into the bottom drawer of his freezer during the preceding Autumn, and crammed them into the bottom of one of his roasting things. To this he added some cinnamon and sweetener…
The puff pastry was then rolled out and placed on top – making sure to bolster the edges…
Of course this pastry was pre-made in the Jus-Rol factory. You don’t imagine Tooty the Chef has spare time to roll, then re-roll, and then roll again stuff he’d put together himself, do you? No-no-no, that’s too much like hard work and eats into his leisure time. He’d far sooner be doing this…
But, anyway, Now was the correct time to get the oven warmed up. So having done so Tooty laid out the ingredients for his Tooty Goreng…
They included pak choi, peppers, carrot, bacon medallions, brocolli, dark soy sauce, oyster sauce, ketjap manis, and sambal oeleck. Naturally there would be more, but he hadn’t planned that far ahead when this photo was taken. He doesn’t “do” planning.
Shortly after that he squirted some olive oil into a wok and set the gas alight beneath it. Once warmed up he added the carrots, pak choi, and peppers…
A couple of minutes head start was required before the brocolli joined the other ingredients…
This he sizzled for several minutes. At one point he needed to add a dash of water when things began sticking to the non-stick surface of the wok. I think they call it burning. Shortly though some frozen chalots joined in and moistened the situation slightly…
Then it was the turn of the quick-cooking bacon, which he sizzled until the raw pinkiness had disappeared…
I think some spastic twitches must have occurred then because he tipped rather too much flavouring in…
Three dollops of sambal oeleck, when one would have been sufficient. The dark soy was okay, but he went loony with the oyster sauce and very nearly drowned the lot.
Once this was bubbling nicely, it was time to slide the apple/pear. puff pasty combo into the maxxed-out oven…
If all went to plan, it would be ready when the first course had been consumed. Naturally he was correct. In fact he barely had time to heat up the custard! But I’m getting ahead of myself. Shortly another forgotten ingredient was tugged from the bottom of the wine rack. Udon noodles. These were added to the concoction and stirred in…
What – you don’t keep udon noodles in your wine rack? I thought everyone did. I mean, it’s the obvious place to keep them…isn’t it? Again I digress. This was allowed to simmer for a short while, until the great chef decided that it was ‘done’…
…and he proudly displayed a bowl of the…er…stuff…to camera…
And the pudding? Check it out…
Pity the custard was lumpy.
Goodbye ‘Standing in Clover’
I suspected as much, when I first began my countryside photo-blog, that it wouldn’t last long. What has surprised me though, is the reason for it’s demise. Okay, it didn’t attract many views, which is probably quite a good excuse for calling it a day: but it wasn’t that which made me quit. It was the difficulty in choosing which pictures to include on the blog. There was only so much room in the memory – one gigabyte – and just so many pictures to select from. Simply put, I have too many photos in my library: whichever one I choose, I then think I could have chosen a better one. It’s maddening. I wasn’t enjoying it. And then when the ‘faves’ stopped…well it was all the excuse I needed. The blog is toast. Perhaps if there were two of me it might have been easier…
An Unorthodox Means of Alleviating a Sore Throat and Booming Head Ache
It’s the last day of the year. It’s early: still dark. Why do I feel like crap? Oh flip, I’ve got a cold. The hours pass: no improvement. I’ve taken the flu remedy in the medicine cabinet. And the vitamin C drink too. There must be an alternative to sitting around feeling miserable. Look beyond the laptop. Is the rain still lashing at the windows? Are the trees in the neighbour’s garden almost bent double? Answer to both: yep. Time to uncover this then…
There’s nothing quite like manhandling a 100+ BHP muscle bike down muddy lanes, washed out city streets, and through blinding motorway road spray. Nothing. Then take some nice photos of windswept bridges and drowning fir trees…
…before fighting your way back home – only to find your pride and joy covered in road filth…
…and discovering that your waterproofs aren’t quite as waterproof as you would have liked…
But, dammit, you feel great: ready to face the rest of the day. Throw out those pain killers: pull on those bike boots.
Third Christmas as a Trio
Christmas 2022 was the third Winter holiday that my children spent without their mother, and I endured without the most precious thing in the world to me. For the first time since she became too ill to sit at the dining table, we three survivors ate together. In an effort to disguise the silence, I turned on the TV. It helped, but we were glad when the meal ended, and all agreed to dispense with the usual Chistmas pudding: it could wait until later. It hasn’t been a bad Christmas: merely another empty one.
On a more positive note: I was prodded in the buttocks this morning by an invisible hand. Obviously someone thought that nine o’clock was rather late in the morning for me to still be in bed. I like days starting like that: I may appear to be alone sometimes, but I’m not really. I think of her every day: but some days she makes sure I don’t forget to. That’s okay with me. VERY okay.
Twenty-Minute Chilli with Tooty the Chef
With only two people to cater for, Tooty the Chef couldn’t be arsed to make something grand or a meal that took long to cook: he has far more important things to do. So he settled on a chilli meal. After perusing the ingredients of a really hot sauce mix…
…he figured he could save a whole bunch of time by ignoring the vast array of spices and sauces in his magnificently stocked kitchen cupboards, and instead use the packet in his hand. So, whilst the boil-in-the-bag rice…er…boiled, Tooty the Chef thawed a bag of beef mince in the microwave, whilst dicing a pepper, an onion, a courgette, and a couple of tomatoes. Soon the onion, courgette and pepper were making hissing noises nicely in some olive oil…
This was quickly followed by the minced beef…
Like any chef worth his (or her – he once dated a female chef) salt, this he sizzled until the meat was browned – before adding the tomatoes. Just to prove that Tooty doesn’t cook in tiny pans and possesses one huge hand, here’s a picture of him stirring the goo…
See: big pan: regular hands: pointy nose: weary eyes: two coffee machines.
Then it was time to add the sauce mix with some water. But Tooty the Chef had another trick up his sleeve: the addition of a miniscule pinch of some unbelievably powerful spices from Italy…
At the twenty minute marker it was time to tip out the rice into individual bowls and pile on the chilli…
Perfecto! Naturally he sprinkled some grated cheese on top before presenting the finished article thus…
And to celebrate this great event, here’s a charming wallpaper for your computer…
Download that if you dare!
A Matter of Form Over Function
On such a lovely sunny day, and with the icy roads thawing quickly, I thought the time was ripe to pull my Fantic Caballero from it’s hutch. And indeed it was; a fun journey ensued that lifted my spirits. But after the twenty-mile ride had concluded, I found my boots somewhat soiled…
…and the bike an absolute disaster…
This was due entirely to a front fender that had been designed for pleasing aesthetics: not warding off road crap…
I spent the first fifteen minutes of the rest of my life hosing the bike down. So, it seems, from now on I’ll have to choose my riding conditons more carefully – like when the roads are entirely dry…
However does anyone really care when the machine looks as good as this? It’s referred to as an urban chic street scrambler: but I think it looks kind of groovy in a rural environment. Oh if only they could keep the roads clean!
Thank Heavens For Stats
Whilst browsing my Flickr account I noted that the latest picture that I’d posted on it had fallen from 15 ‘Faves’ to 13. This isn’t unique. I’ve often wondered why people bother to re-visit a picture, only to (effectively) tell the photographer “I don’t really like your picture after all.” So I thought, “Well the photos aren’t that popular anyway, why do I bother?” – and duly deleted the account. Now it doesn’t matter if people change their mind, coz the pictures are gone. What a relief. This action then took my mind to this blog. It seemed to me that viewing figures have been dropping lately, particularly since The Veil of Shytar reared it’s handsome visage. So, (sometimes) being a logical creature, I considered deleting it also. But just to make sure I wasn’t being a tad premature, I checked out the Seven Day stats. Guess what: comments were down, but…
Although figures are far from promising, what is though is the percentage rise in all three remaining categories. Enough to keep the Veil of Shytar running. So prepare yourself for the next episode.
Tooty the Chef’s Pork and Apple Half-Pie
If, like Tooty the Chef you are unfortunate enough to have propane as your principal heating medium when cooking, and suffer the subsequent burning of the underside of your pie, do what the great gastronome does when making his: only make the top half.
On this occaision Tooty elected to make a pork and apple pie. Naturally he doesn’t have the first idea how other people make pork and apple pies: like the culinery maverick he is, he just does it HIS way. So he mixed some minced pork with an annihialated onion and a couple of tomatoes of dubious age in a bowl, to which he added a very generous sprinkling of oregano, parsely, thyme, and another of those vaguely green leafy spices that he can’t remember the name of. Then, squashing it flat in a see-through cooking thing, he laid slices of apple on top – like so…
On top of this he laid a sheet of short crust pastry – making sure to bolster the edges – to hold in would-be escapee juices. Then he sprinkled it with a splodge of milk – swirling it about to give a reasonably even covering…
It aint prettty, but who cares – this isn’t the Savoy. Thirty-five minutes later, the proud chef displays his work for all to see…
But, because of his excitement, the picture appeared slightly blurred – so a close-up was called for…
Unfortunately the dingbat photographer placed the pie in his own shadow. And, oh bum – some of those darned juices escaped, after all of Tooty’s efforts to restrain it! But never mind; I’m sure it must have happened to Egon Ronay at least twice.
Then it was a simple matter of chucking it on a plate with some boiled cabbage and steamed snap peas with baby corn on the cob and gravy, et voila…
Next time he’s considering a drizzle of teriyaki sauce on top of the apple, But, yes, it was very edible – verging on lustrous.
Tooty the Chef Wallpaper: Staple Diet
Give Tooty somewhere quiet to sit; a motorcycle mag; and a cup of coffee, and you will see a contented chef…
Spend, Spend, Spend – Cripes Not Again!
Actually it’s not the Back-Lane Behemoth this time: it’s the little Cabo that’s having TLC lavished upon it. Unhappy with the total lack of luggage space, I searched the Internet for a rear carrier. It took hours to locate one in the UK, and it appeared to be the last one available. So, paying through the nose, I purchased it. I also bought a base plate for a top box from my local accessories store too. In total it came to £160 – for a bloody bike rack – but at least the postage was free – and I always enjoy a little drive out in my ‘classic’ Toyota (to collect the base plate) anyway. So, after discovering that some minor manufacturing changes had been made to the 2022 version of the Fantic Caballero, which meant poking about through several boxes and buckets of nuts and bolts in my shed, I finally wrestled the flipping things into place…
I think it finishes off the slightly droopy back end nicely. Better still, it means that I can now simply unclip the topbox from the Yamaha, and slip it on the Fantic…
Now that’s extremely practical and a significant financial saving over a second top box. I may be a silly old Tooty; but I’m not entirely stupid. Next up, a small screen to stop the wind blast making my ageing shoulders complain. Watch this space.
Lavatory Bowl Art: The Happy Floaters
No, it’s not what you most feared: it’s just toilet sanitizers. Honestly!
Where is the Back-Lane Behemoth?
Understandably, when people learn that I have obtained this…
…they assume that I swapped in the Back-Lane Behemoth as part exchange for something lighter, more manageable, and better suited to the predominantly rural type of riding I do. I mean, why would a retired gent, such as I, require one motorcycle – let alone two? But they would assume wrong – on both counts. One: why wouldn’t a retired gent want two – utterly disparate, chalk and cheese – motorcycles? Two: Nah, look, there it is…
After all, why would I want to deny myself this?
Nature Wallpaper: Remnant of Summer
The drought of 2022 in the UK effected the natural world in several ways – all of them negatively. But when a cold snap followed it’s watery ending, and subsequent seasonal temperatures soared shortly afterwards, the natural world was thrown out of kilter. For some plants, it appeared that summer had returned. For others the period called winter was skipped, and they went straight to Spring again. All very colourful for those who took the time to look. Who knows what will become of the Primroses etc when winter finally arrives – not to mention dumb-ass hedgehogs. It probably won’t go well for them. Here ‘s a shot of high-summer Clover in Autumn, which was lovely to see amongst all the dry brown hedgerow foliage and fresh green shoots emerging from the desiccated grasses at the field’s edge…
The Reason…
…why progress on the next Earplug Adventure has stalled.
I must admit that (after getting off to a flying start on the follow-up to Climatic Calamity) recent work on the next, still-unnamed photo-story has been conspicuous by it’s near absence. Okay, a few shots of a hastily constructed set – the Star Chamber – sit quiescent upon my computer awaiting processing…
…but most of my time has been spent studying video after video – in many different languages – that all centre upon a single subject. I don’t mind admitting it, but I have become fixated. Everything else has taken a back seat. Then, on Monday the 17th of October I drove from Portsmouth to Shoreham-by-Sea, where I visited a delightful waterfront motorcycle dealer, by the name of Spark Motorcycles, and conducted a test ride of their demonstration vehicle. Today, a week and a day later, they kindly delivered a similar model in the back of a van. And here it is…
My first spanking, brand new, motorcycle since my Yamaha RD400 in 1979! Er, what is it, you ask? It’s a Fantic Caballero 500 Scrambler, that’s what it is. A cult machine in it’s homeland of Italy. Now visit You Tube and punch in that name. You’ll see why I JUST HAD TO HAVE IT. There’s nothing else like it.
Tooty Nolan: Languishing Somewhere Between Clever and Stupid 