Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, as they say in Star Wars. Or more accurately in this case, way back in 2007 or 8, when “The Emma” and I were first living together, I expanded my home brewed beer empire with a few forays into the uncharted realms of wine making. At the time we were working with another amateur wine maker, which provided the opportunity for a bit of shared knowledge and wine swapping, some of which was OK, some of which was great and some of which was down right terrible. Now, the problem with wine making, unlike Beer, is that you need to let it mature for the flavours to fully develop, which is great if you’ve got a chateaux with a massive wine cellar, but not so helpful when you live in a small flat and your thirsty now, not in 10 years time! This small problem, and a general lack of impatience on our part, meant that most of my creations were drunk far too young, (straight from the Demijohn on many occasions), and whilst they tended to do the job and result in much falling over, had a tendency to be a bit rough! Moving on 13 years and we've moved house 3 times, I’ve taken up running and cycling, got 13 years older (although not wiser) and pretty much come to the conclusion that getting smashed isn’t for me any more. The result of which, is my now much larger collection of home brew has been sat in the much enlarged wine cellar (A.K.A the old coal shed) slowly doing it’s thing and maturing away (bar the odd explosion) for quite some time. What’s all this got to do with now though I hear you ask? Well, whilst I was out in the wine cellar the other day looking for some jam jars, my eye’s fell upon this little bottle. Ahhh, Ancient Orange Mead, a fine recipe using, honey, oranges and if I remember correctly cloves. Allegedly a fast maturing mead, ready to drink in months, no need to wait years for it to mature, ready to go from the off. Dusting the little bottle off I was instantly transported back to 2008 and sitting in the flat on a snowy winters morning having just struggled to get home in the snow after a night shift, cracking a bottle as a pre bed daycap with the love of my life. I'll hasten to add that at the time we were both working shifts and had managed to wangle our way onto the same shift, so don't fear “The Emma” wasn't having “beers for breakfast”, although it wouldn't have been the first time if she was! The abiding memory, apart from still being up well after we should have been in bed and watching the snow gently falling through the lounge window, was the taste of TCP and having to get back up a couple of hours later to go to work again with a banging head (happy days). Fast maturing my arse, it was as rough as a badgers backside! I gently carried my new found creation back into the house to show the now grey haired Emma my dusty find. “Remember this” I inquired, watching as she too was transported back to that snowy morning (I could tell from the shudder and grimace as she recalled the TCP taste). “I’ve spent 12 years trying to forget came the reply”. “Shall we” I inquired? Cork gently removed and using the well known giving it a sniff method, check out the nose. H’mmm doesn’t smell like I remember. Carefully decant it into a top of the range wine decanter saved specially for the job to avoid disturbing 12 years of sediment (Pyrex measuring jug) and let’s see what we’ve got. Well it looks OK and smells OK, but dare we taste it? In for a penny, in for a pound, using the chemical unmasking drill, I’ll go first whilst you watch my eyeballs to make sure I’m not going to die. Quick taste, “Right watch my eyeballs, if they fall out and I die, remember that I want to be stuffed, not buried or cremated”. “Stone the crows, that’s all right that is”! Gone is the TCP taste, all that remains is the gentle hint of cloves and oranges with an underlying honey flavour. It just goes to show that good thing’s do come to those that wait. Although even I must admit that 12 years is a bit extreme. There's at least another dozen bottles of the stuff out there, so maybe the idea of a Chateaux with a fine, well matured wine cellar's not so far fetched after all. Although it's going to require some hard core drinking before I can convince anyone that our 2 bed end of terrace in Basingstoke is a Chateaux, wine cellar or not. You will be pleased to know that I've also unearthed some home made Strawberry Jam from 2013 and some Chutney from around the same time. I'm just plucking up the courage to give those a try, so if I'm not around next week you know why! There's not a great deal else to report this week, I spent most of Saturday stripping loose paint off the workshop doors and repairing the weather beaten and rotten bits ready for repainting before the winter returns. In my haste to get on with the job I forgot to get any photos, so you will just have to take my word that the end results will be an improvement. I did manage a night in the van Saturday night, followed by an easy 13 miles along the South Downs Way Sunday morning. I was going down that way anyway for lunch with the “Old Cheese” and the girls, so it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity of an early morning run. Starting from my overnight spot in Steyning it's a steep climb up towards Chanctonbury Ring to pick up the South Downs Way, followed by an equally steep descent down to cross the A24 and then back up the other side again, before turning around to do it all again the other way. Not the most exciting of running and the normally excellent views from the tops were somewhat obscured by mist and haze. Due to the steepness of the climbs and descents it's a decent workout though, and with the temperature up above the 20 degree mark at 08:00 and some stupid levels of humidity it was certainly hard going at times. A little over 2 hours for 13.5 miles is pretty slow going, even for off road on hilly terrain. But in my defence, I think I should probably have had a few more recovery days after last weeks efforts as my legs are still feeling a bit tender and I'm a bit down on the energy front. Well, when I say a few more recovery days, any would have been a good idea, as I was back running again Monday evening and managed 21 Miles during the week in the heat and humidity. I'm not going to learn though, so there's no point saying it, and if nothing else I worked up a decent appetite ready for lunch with the folks! Maybe of interest I spotted these when I was out running on Sunday. They are the target holders on what was the old Rifle Range at Steyning. The sign says that the range as it stands dates from the second world war era. The bit that caught my eye though, was that the target holders are identical to the ones still in use today, which I guess just goes to prove the old saying that they made them to last! More importantly, the little info plaque on the range (See below) gave me something to think about whilst I was plodding along. It's not the best picture, so the writings a bit hard to read, but the bit that got me thinking was; "Without warning a shell from the nearby artillery range whistled over the hill ..... Gilbert recalls how the men who had lived through world war one instinctively dived to ground but Lt Greenwood, despite fighting through the same war oddly remained standing ..... Lt Greenwood took the force of the blast sustaining serious injuries but in doing so protected the 17 year old Gilbert"
Lt Greenwood was without doubt a fine man, willing to risk his own life in service of his county. Not only serving through the horrors of the first world war, but instantly volunteering to do so again at the start of the second, in defence of his home land. Why did he remain standing on that fateful day though? Was it to protect the young Gilbert, or was it that he was so traunatised by the horrors of the first world war that the sound of the incoming shell fire caused him to freeze on the spot whilst those around him dived for cover. It's a sound that your never going to forget, and having been involved in the First World War he would have been well versed in the sound of incoming fire and would have known full well what was coming next. I know where my thoughts lay and I'll let you make up your own minds on that one. What I can say for certain though, is that whatever the result of that fateful day, he was without doubt a fine specimen of humanity, one willing to put service to his county and fellow man before self. Willing to volunteer to return to the horrors that he had narrowly escaped just over 20 years previously, despite knowing first hand what that would entail. Maybe something to think about next time the media are hoisting some overpaid footballer or celebrity nobody up as a hero. Lt Greenwood, wouldn't have seen himself as a hero, just someone doing his duty, but I'm sure that he and the rest of his generation that made the ultimate sacrifice, going about their lives quietly and without fanfare, were far more worthy of that epitaph than the majority of today's so called heroes!
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Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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