I’ve reached that point in life when I’m able to carry on a conversation with my father on the subject of feet. I don’t remember how it happened, but it crept up on me like moss invading an ancient stone. First we started talking instead of arguing, which took about 30 years, then people started telling me I was just like my dad (not a compliment, I assure you) and finally we drifted onto middle-aged topics, like how Saga insurance isn’t as cheap as the adverts lead you to believe and the effectiveness of foam insoles in helping with foot pain. I won’t go too far into plantar faciitis but if you’re fat and forty you probably already know about it. After having a steroid injection in the sole of my foot (which made things worse for three days – exactly how the doctor described it) mine cleared up but I’ve used various insoles since. I like the ones from the £1 shop. They seem to do the same as the ones from the sports shop but for a lot less money.
I’ve also reached a time in life when cheap food is of great interest to me. If I want to carry on with my low stress lifestyle and survive to retirement without getting a proper job I’m going to have to make economies. Getting rid of the kids was one way, but they seem to have drifted back so that idea is clearly doomed. So it’s rissoles. I’ve seen them recently when looking at wartime recipes and it brought back memories from my childhood.
We had an Aga in those days, an aluminium 1950s kitchen in cream and red (though I’m not sure it was actually English Rose – the shapes were different) and even a servant’s bedroom in the attic.
It was a great place to grow up and the lack of heating, smouldering electrical faults and masonary bees didn’t bother a child.
We also had rissoles. It’s the last time I actually remember having them, because I’ve stuck to burgers ever since. Looking through recipes and comments that people are making I have the feeling that I’ve really been missing out. Time will tell. It’s on the project list with Fat Hen Soup and bubble and squeak (another retro project).
Finally, you may have noticed I’ve been a bit shaky on titles recently. Unfortunately I allowed a comment in my spam to get under my skin.
I read them because I’m always afraid that I’ll miss a proper comment. After reading just short of a thousand comments I’ve decided that I’m not reading them again. I can stomach the ones that clearly have no relation to anything, the ones that tell me how to steal content and the (often mis-spelt ones that offer to increase my search engine ranking). I even ignore the irritating one that tells me on a regular basis that my blogs would be improved by fewer typos and spelling mistakes. It’s true, I should iron out the typos, but I’m not going to let someone tell me this when they make more mistakes in their message than I do in a week.
However, I have allowed one to get to me. It criticised my titles, describing them as “vanilla”. Apart from the criticism, from someone who doesn’t appear to write a blog I’m still fuming at the use of the tern vanilla. Vanilla is a great flavouring with a long and excellent history, and shouldn’t be used as criticism by pipsqueak wannabe critics hiding behind the internet. Rant over. Just a mild one this time. However, it’s put me off my stroke with titles.
Does anyone else have this problem, either with titles or listening to criticism?