250 miles

That’s how far I have swum this year.  It’s just over 400 kms, metric fans.  I completed my 250th mile (and 251st) this evening in the splendour of Ironmonger Row Baths.

Of course it makes no difference to the world whether it was 248 miles or 251 or whatever.  But there is something magic about big round numbers for all that they are fundamentally arbitrary.  400 is 20 squared.  250 is a quarter of 1,000.  Magic.

There was a programme on BBC 4 last night called Games Britannia which talked about how games and religion had an affinity because both were underpinned by the magic of numbers.

Swimmers will understand.  If you count lengths on a regular basis you soon develop some favourites.  If I’m swimming 3km in a standard 25m pool, that’s 120 lengths.  I particularly like the transition from 45 (three eighths of the total) to 48 (two fifths) – two big psychological markers close to one another, and with an interesting prime in the middle.  72 (three fifths of the way) is another good one: after that you’re on easy street (plus, it’s surrounded by two primes.)  And who could dislike 57?

Chocolate Gingerbread

I watched Delia’s Christmas special last night and felt the urge to cook something over the top.  So I did.

Ironically, it’s a Nigella.  I can’t be bothered icing it.  It is already whole, radiating the scent of cinnamon and cloves and ginger.

It’s Never Too Cold For Gelato

It may have been frosty this morning, but you only live once, so I went to Slice of Ice after work.  I had a double cone – one scoop of tiramisu, one of Irish cream.  Can ice cream be transplendent?  Ineffable?  If it can, this was.  If it can’t, it was very very good.

Slice of Ice now have a website all of their own which you should visit.  And then you should visit the shop.  Right now.  Go.

Apple and Mango Crumble

Today I saw…

…a dad tell his 2-year old to “stop being a baby.”  Dude!  He is a baby.

…a florist selling “Christmas reefs.” Clownfish darting around the anemones would look festive.

…Cat on a Hot Tin Roof at the Novello theatre.  I am agnostic about Tennessee Williams.  It’s all so overwrought and sweaty.  But this production had a great cast.  James Earl Jones has expressive arms and of course that voice.  Though I am slightly disappointed that he never said “Brick… I am your Big Daddy.”

Hampstead Christmas Festival 2009

The weather has been terrible all over the UK, but especially in the North-West of England and the West coast of Scotland.  Ambleside, where we were back in May, was cut off as Lake Windermere rose.

London has (touch wood) had nothing to compare with that.   Nonetheless the rain has been heavy.  Talking of which: I wish I could take a photo of what I can see as I swim on my back in the outdoor pool at the Oasis.  Last week the sky was perfect blue.  Today it was restless grey.  It broke at about noon with a vicious squall.  There was a single burst of lightning somewhere a couple of miles north of here.  “Lightning over Finchley”: sounds like a Mills & Boon.

Fortunately it cheered up for the Hampstead Christmas Festival. There were birds of prey, real reindeer, and the world’s poshest raffle.  I failed to win any of the prizes.  They included a £150 haircut (which would have been a bit of a waste), and a £300 voucher at the optician’s (which wouldn’t.)  There were celebrities galore: Emma Thompson, Ricky Gervais and David Grey.

Fiona Bruce and Raymond Blanc turned on the lights.  There was decidedly less good cheer in the crowd than the previous year, when Ronnie Wood did the honours.  This was perhaps because Brucy and Blonky had kept people waiting in the cold for 45 minutes.  I don’t think anyone was terribly sympathetic when Brucy explained it was because she had been repairing the crust on a chicken pie.

Apple and Cranberry Tart

This was the easiest thing in the world. You will need:

• a readymade sweet pastry case
• two or three large floury apples (I used Cox)
• a couple of handfuls of cranberries
• sugar
• a sliver of butter
• half a small lemon

1) Peel the apple and cut the flesh into chunks.  Sprinkle the knife and flesh with a little lemon juice as you peel.  This will help stop the apple oxidising and turning brown.

2) Melt the butter over a very low heat.  When it’s just starting to bubble, add the chopped apples.  Squeeze over what is left of the lemon.  Sweat gently for 5 minutes.

3) Add the cranberries.  Add a couple of level dessertspoons of water.  Turn up the heat a little.  Stir gently until you hear the cranberries pop.

4) Add 6 or so level dessertspoons of sugar (less if you want it sharp, more if you want it very sweet.)  Keep stirring for 5 more minutes until the the colour is more or less even and you have a jammy consistency.

5) Pour the mix into the pastry case and bake in a pre-heated oven at 200 degrees for around 20-25 minutes.

 

The “hey presto” moment of this recipe occurs somewhere between points 3 and 4 above.  Cranberries have a high pectin content.  All of a sudden they make the mixture thicken, like jam.

Variations: next time I might add a pinch of cinnamon or allspice somewhere.  Pears would probably work instead of apples.

So if, after Christmas or Thanksgiving, you find yourself wondering what to do with leftover cranberries, might I suggest either this or?…

Apple and Cranberry Crumble

Collateral and Incompatible

Tonight, according to the BBC, is the worst storm of the year.  The wind is making the boiler grumble and the windows creak.  Yet it’s also the same day that the first of the Christmas cacti has decided to bloom, electric pink against the dark.

It reminds me of Louis Macneice:

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was

Spawning snow and pink roses against it

Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:

World is suddener than we fancy it.

The Original and Best

My brother and I were doing a crossword of the most cryptic kind.  We had thrown everything at it for the best part of an hour.  Judicious use of the internet had helped us get some real stinkers (such as “adyta” – the holiest of holies.) Although we were two thirds there, we hadn’t cracked the major theme.

Then we asked our dad, “can you name some symphonies?”

He reeled off 3.  Each slotted instantly into the grid.  All was light.