On one wall of my kitchen I have five pigs. One is a little copper pan, one is a framed woodcut, two are carved bowls and the last is a carved and painted wood relief. And I have a framed print of a survivor of seventy cock fights, the Yorkshire Hero ( and no, I do not like cock fights but I love this print ) .
Today, as I was filing my glass with some cheap red wine, I glanced at the wall and realized, for the first time, that all the pigs are looking the same way, to the right.
The fighting cock is looking to the left.
What are the odds that all the pigs are looking one way and the sole chicken the other ?
It struck me funny, but then it was not my first glass of cheap red wine.

There used to be a saying going something like this :
Beware of a skinny chef ( cook ? )
This adage is not so true anymore, in fact I think the fat chef ( cook) is the rarity now.
Watching a lot of cooking shows on the telly I marvel at the trimness of the cooking class.
But one thing has me stumped and it might be a purely personal thing.
I cannot stand the female chefs who sport long, sometimes very long, fingernails.
I watched one trying to dice something and not being able to get a good grip due to the nails. Admittedly these dames, and only dames thank goodness, are a minority but still
maybe one should start a new adage going something like:
beware of chefs with long fingernails.
OY.

I keep in touch with the Old Country by reading the newspapers online and one curious thing has me all riled up. In one of the papers a person, a new arrival to the fair shores of Denmark is writing a blog. In English. And I have read it a few times and I have, a few times, written what I thought were insightful and unbiased comments, basically saying that this person was full of shit.
And then I decided not to seek out this blog to preserve my precarious blood pressure; till today, when I caught another blog celebrating the blogger's first year in the country of Vikings and Hans Christian Andersen. And I despair. To be sure, I have not been back in many years and I make fun of my own chosen country--or countries, but I do this with a love and understanding that I, Alan, made the choice. I. Me.
This new person living in Denmark is pissed at so many things, one of which is that he still does not understand what the announcers are saying on the telly when they speak Danish...DUHHH. I had to take a lot of deep breaths and count to ten to convince myself not to reply to this silly post. But this is my blog and here I can say whatever I want, and I will say this to this person who has the pulpit of a daily newspaper to spread his discontent......you don't like it ? Leave. Right now. Get out and make room for someone who might appreciate the situation better.
There.
I said it.

I happened to look out on my mango tree as I was sweeping the terrace this morning and saw a lot of small, green mangoes that hopefully, in due time, will turn into big, juicy, ripe mangoes.
The problem is that after growing the plant from the seed and planting it, the jungle has taken over and there is no way I can get to the tree now without major slashing of the undergrowth.
I guess I can stand on my terrace and look at the fruits and imagine what they would taste like.
Sort of mind over matter.
But the joy of it is that the tree finally, after so many years, is bearing fruit. So what if it only for the animals of the jungle. They deserve a few good things too.

I am having some bad days, so I decided to write a bunch of emails, hoping that I would receive some kind of response which would make me feel better.
Not quite.
But then I am a bit impatient
and that doesn't help.
Cheap wine, however, does seem to help.
Should one then prefer wine over friends ?
Faulty logic, but oh so easy to make.
Better go to store tomorrow for more wine.
No place to go for more friends.

Knowing your own weaknesses does not necessarily cure them.
I am painfully aware of many of mine, and yet
I still fall in the pits and despair.
I have been writing a lot of emails to people I care about
and now I wait
impatiently
for responses
not really accepting the fact that people have lives, sometimes happy and full lives, that may not include an instant reply to mails from me.
I have too much time to worry about these matters and so, in the parlance of today,
I better get a life
and soon.