Thanks to reader Jon Burton, who makes a word document out of Warming Up, so that he can read it on his kindle. Every year he informs me of how much guff I’ve written in this blog. In 2017 Warming Up was 282,659 words or 299 pages of Word (single space calibre font size 11. Jon tells me that his word document is now exactly 6500 pages long (though it also includes all my Metro columns and a fairly short 1998 Lee and Herring tour diary). But all of that comes in at 4,754,011 words, which superfan Andy Mch reveals is the length of 6 King James Bible, adding "If you type at 60 words per minute for 8 hours a day, it would take you 165 days from start to finish.”
I mean Christ. What a waste of my life. But on we go. A few hundred more words on to the digital dung pile.
I sent off a massive box of prizes to Jeanette Muff, last month’s monthly draw winner this afternoon (you should have it by Tuesday - am I just using this blog to communicate directly with each of its 5 readers in turn?). One of the things I like about living in a village is that, even though it’s only half a kilometre away, I can drive up to the Post Office and park outside. In Shepherd’s Bush I would have had to carry it myself. But on getting the box out of the car, I dropped it and then caught it as it fell and gave myself a pretty nasty cardboard cut on my finger. So an extra part of the prize draw might well be some of my blood - if you want to clone me. I was bleeding a bit over the counter and the lady was thinking I’d need to buy a pack of plasters, but the lady gave me one for free. You don’t get that in London. One of my other letters had contained some cell scrapings from my cheek, as one of my Christmas presents was a DNA kit that promised to find out where my ancestors came from. And if I have any Neanderthal in me.
So I was spreading my DNA everywhere today. But probably shouldn’t write about that in a blog. That’s got some comedians into trouble.
I went to Luton by accident today. Which is the only way to go to Luton for any sane person. I had been exploring, looking for a local place that sells vegetables. But I couldn’t find it. Unless that place is Asda. I found that instead. Which was lucky as we’d run out of onions. We’ve been doing some good cooking recently and trying out new recipes and it was my turn tonight. I also needed fennel for this dish, but didn’t think I would find that in Asda, after both Waitrose and Marks and Sparks had come up blank. But I ended up with aniseedy vegetable all over my face, because Asda came good. And no one called me an arsehole in the carpark (or anywhere else) or got snooty when I bumped into them by accident (see previous blogs). I have to accept that for all my airs and graces Asda are my people. And they have fennel there. Which allowed me to make rainbow trout on a bed of fennel and shallots. I think I have proven my working class status.