To St. Ives for the traditional pasty and trip to the Tate….
Which concludes with the traditional hot chocolate…
Home
Old man (not) on an old bike (day two)
Blustery winds combined with hills was enough to abandon the bike. As my daily stride count had fallen well below the 20,000 average it was time for a stroll to Gwithian. On the way one admired the strange crops farmers have these days…
Compared the feeble looking blackberries when compared with their luscious Mancunian cousins…
And here we are….
That seems to have done it….
Note to self: remember to wear shorts for such excursions 😎☀️
Old man on an old bike (day one)
Exploring Cornwall on an old bike….
A test run around the lanes past the alpaca farm…
With a bonfire of fleece….
Unlike Manchester where you need to search out a hill there are plenty here which are worth the effort…
Speedy Brexit Spam
Wow! Within hours of the result of the referendum Brexit spam arrives…
F is for Fish Finger Butties
Who does not love a fish finger butty? I know I do after an arduous morning’s labour it is a perfect lunch.
Tradition dictates that the butty should be created with the stodgy pap that supermarkets sell as bread although, apart from the name, it bears little resemblance to actual bread. This should be thickly buttered and then smeared with tomato ketchup. The frozen fish fingers should be well grilled and sandwiched between the two slices of bread. As you tuck in to your treat the heat from the fish fingers melts the butter that dribbles down and congeals in your beard (should you happen to be of the bearded variety). Bosh indeed.
