Amongst the dark satanic mills of Halifax, West Yorkshire, there are indeed some green and pleasant pastures, and nestling in the hills we found Shibden Mill Inn. We once stopped for a quick Sunday lunch on a walking expedition and vowed to go back. On 1 March, Fred had just picked up a brand new Mini Cooper, so a drive out to somewhere remote seemed appropriate.
There are occasional tiny slivers, splinters of darkness in my life, that give me a sharp reminder of what I am giving up for my work. It’s not that I resent it, entirely my own choice after all. When I started the company in 2001, I went in with my eyes open. I realised it would mean sacrifices.
This afternoon I took my 10 year old god-daughter to see Man City. The look of delight on her face when City beat Spurs 2-1 was matched only by my relief at the end of an awful run of games that had put us on a snake track slithering down the league table.
Kellie came over from Dublin for the weekend with her sisters, Rebecca and Chloe – all gorgeous girls, well behaved, entertaining, polite, model children. Kellie is obviously my favourite and she is the footie fan, tomboy, fitness fanatic, make-up-rejecting bundle of energy.
And now they have all gone and I am alone in the flat. It’s strange how lonely you can feel when sudden mayhem is suddenly replaced by a sudden quantum of solace.
So to cheer me up, apart from consoling myself that City are back on the ladder of success, I have dragged out my notes from a bottle of Shampoo I sampled last weekend.
I’m making a move for Pinot Noir, the Brigitte Bardot of grapes. Beguiling, attractive, seductive, fruity, yet inconsistent and possibly a little bonkers.
Have you ever slept under the railway arches? It’s not typically a pleasant place. Certainly not a place you would choose to sleep. But if it’s raining and you have no fixed abode, well, everything is relative.
I nodded off under the arches near Oxford Road station on Whitworth Street in Manchester. Thankfully, someone had been thoughtful enough to build an Italian restaurant around me that was warm and welcoming (not that I would have noticed given the amount of alcohol canoeing through my veins).
Two intertwined themes have weaved their antithetical spell through this weblog. The positive one is my undying love of (well, admiration for) Malbec, especially from Argentina. The negative, is my ongoing apprehension of the capability of Costco to buy, store, and sell decent wines.
Tonight I am brewing a cauldron full of controversy by mixing a finger of Malbec with leg of Costco, eye of newt and toe of frog. Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble…..
If you want to dine in a beautifully preserved piece of British Victorian architecture. If you want to eat traditional English grub like fish ‘n’ chips, corned beef hash and steak and kidney pudding. If you want to be served by professional, traditionally dressed, polite and informed waiting staff. And if you want to do this with a cracking fine wine list to choose from, there is only one place to go. Sam’s Chop House in Manchester.
I’m having mood swings. Pinot Noir vs Merlot. I love Pinots from Chile, New Zealand and even Burgundy (when I can afford them). I am equally starting to appreciate the right bank of la Gironde, the home of Merlot? In any case, both grapes are a welcome change from Cabernet Sauvignon, Malbec and Sangiovese for example.
In deepest Evian-les-Bains I found one of the best wine shops ever. La Cave à Paul had such a wide range of Armagnacs going back to the year dot. But they had none from 1964 (year of my birth), so I settled for second best 1966 (last time England won the World Cup).
And when I got home I discovered that I had also (sort of) unknowingly bought some duty free Armagnac by Sempé (we flew from Geneva, Switzerland). It was time for a taste test. But hang on! There is more complication because I had also invested in Riedel glasses. The Cognac glass is a small tulip (on the left of the photo below), whereas a traditional Cognac or Armagnac glass is a bowl (shown on the right). An interesting experiment was to ensue….Â
Does size matter? The dreaded question that haunts 90% of men (but never seems to concern the fairer sex), obviously played on the mind of Mohammad Iqbal Tabassum in 2001 when he bought a former Providence Congregational Church to turn it into an Indian restaurant.
The Aakash, which claims to be, and almost certainly is, the largest Indian restaurant in the world, occupying, as it does, a large parcel of land in Cleckheaton, a small town in West Yorkshire.
Yes or No? True or False? Right or Wrong? One or Zero? There are 10 types of people in the world. Those that understand binary and those who don’t.
A new concept has been launched in Manchester close to my flat. It’s a Stealth Bar. Stealth in the sense that nobody knew it was coming and nobody noticed when it arrived. Do the owners know more about base 2 numbers than marketing?
Stumble It!
