This seemed curiously apt in the week when I bought tickets to see my favourite man. Oh yeah!

What's the best type of goat?

The Fainting Goat or the Judas Goat?

Some Duncans

Look! My friends!

Since some pictures of me socializing recently came into my possession, I thought I would share a selection with you. Voila! My acquaintances!



This is us addressing the haggis on Burns' Night. The apartment is my apartment. The poster my poster (you get the idea).



This is me with my friend Chris.



Here are some girls I know. In the pink sweater is my lovely girlfriend Elizabeth.



This is my roommate Dave playing pool with his friend Suzanne. This is not my apartment.



This is Chris and Jerome.

So there you are. Hopefully my life appears in a more romantic and exciting light now.

Ding, dong, the haggis is dead

The haggis from Burns' Night is at last finished. I am now familiar not only with haggis, neeps and tatties, but haggis with rice, haggis on toast, and haggis with cheese. However, the finest haggis concoction I have created is the haggis sandwich: hot haggis spread on granary bread with whole-grain mustard and a slice of swiss cheese. Seriously -- I think it might be the way each component (except the cheese) is grainy in a way that complements the others.

Some Duncans

A couple of Duncan lookalikes that I've been meaning to post for ages. Incidentally, if anyone is in the mood to trawl for Duncan pictures, the following site may be of interest.

In the 1890s, everyone was crazy

A lot of pictures today, then. Here are some choice pieces from a recent research project on periodicals of the 1890s. I especially like the Reverend Henry Ward Beecher's endorsement of "The Ideal Sight Restorer": "To enjoy fair eyesight the rest of my life is one of the most comforting thoughts that can possibly enter my mind except the thought of a final home in Heaven."

"However, the porkpies were bought from Marks and Spencer!"

I thought the world (well, my five readers) deserved to see this fine story from the Welwyn and Hatfield Times, sent courtesy of my parents.

More going on about food

Another quite food-related weekend. On Friday I had the chance to discover what an eight-dollar Scotch Egg tastes like, when we visited The Hopleaf, a bar specialising in Belgian beer on the North Side. Quite why a Belgian gastropub would be offering fine Scotch Eggs is not clear, but it was very nice indeed. It comprised a medium-poached egg encased in top-quality garlic sausage (pink, not grey!), rolled in fresh breadcrumbs, and was served on a bed of mash.

Then on Saturday I made some headway using my culinary Christmas and birthday presents, including the Mario Batali cookbook (which instructed us to put a cupful of 70-dollar-a-bottle wine in some risotto (but we substituted dry sherry)), the Silver Spoon cookbook (which had a recipe for onion soup that was really good (if a bit beige)), and my chef's blowtorch (for melting the cheese on the soup, and for feeling slightly manly). Today it's back to the novels of the 1890s. Oh well.

Just the thing

Look!

Can of Haggis

Yet more Duncan. I can't wait to try those hearty vegan pancakes. Actually, I have just purchased a mandolin, so as a fully paid-up folkie, I probably should start eating nothing but vegan pancakes. That doesn't seem likely any time soon, really. Last night I had a can of haggis for dinner. Mmm.