We aged ones have been called many things: dustys, crumblies, wrinklies, crinklies, old bats, etc. and many much ruder names I wouldn’t dream of typing. The scoffers forget that very likely they, too, will be an old trout one day.
Mull this over when you feel like throwing in the towel when you hit 85.
On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month the Armistice was signed to end the First World War, one-hundred years ago.
Naturally greedy, the idea of making my own Lebanese dishes led me to purchase a small tagine.
In a roundabout way I speak of hemp; not the type you smoke and get high on, but another variety, a useful one.
Not so very long ago I remember loose sugar being weighed into stout paper bags; likewise tea and other dry goods, like rice. Very little was pre-packed. We didn’t all die of food poisoning either.
Panic, cold sweat, foul language and soft knees. The result of losing a credit card. Quite out of proportion to the loss.
I am not a doggie person unlike the vast majority of my compatriots whom, I suspect, actually prefer their dogs to their children. However, I have recently come across two dogs likely to change my mind.
That’s “Goal!” yelled at full throttle and as long drawn-out as you can hold your breath. Give it a try, preferably in the middle of a field. Or in the pub with your pals when your team scores.
You can’t go wrong with this Lithuanian “side,” even on the hottest day. Teenagers love kugelis; it fills all parts other padding-out foods fail to reach.