We had several part bags of oven chips in the freezer. They are now in the oven cooking. We don’t buy them often, we just seem to use 90% of a bag and leave the others in a frozen corner. We also have four onion rings heating up with them. Because there are too many of them to fit in the tray properly it is proving to be a difficult job to get them cooked properly. When piled up, they steam rather than roasting. I know this from making roasted vegetables. At the moment I am writing this post and hoping that the time it takes will be enough for the chips to turn golden. They can be quite off-putting when they remain white.
White is the colour of things that you find under stones or the bellies of dead fish as they float past in a river . . .
Or maybe that’s just my imagination working overtime.
Crepuscular rays at Rufford Park
White, despite the way the label has been used over the years, is not an accurate description of me. I’m slightly pink and, in winter, a bit greyish too. Sometime in summer I go red in places and may even take on a very light tan colour. The sun and I are not a great team. I have light brown freckles, or had them. They may be age spots by now, after stealthily changing without me noticing. There are a few spots of me where I have burned or cut myself, and they re white, but they are very small, and you wouldn’t notice them most of the time.
It’s a strange thing to muse on, but what else do you do when you have twenty minutes to kill and a blog to write.
If I were a deeper man I would go on to explore ethnicity and racism. But I’m not. The only ethnicity I seem to have, due to the ginger beard and mousy hair, is Viking ancestry and, after reading about Vikings recently I now know that they are the cause of much toxic masculinity, imperialism and Fascism. Being both English and Viking I have much, it seems, to answer for in historical terms.
And with that in mind, I had better get to the kitchen before I imitate King Alfred the Great and burn the chips.
Dunwich Beach
