Monday 24 Feb


My Grandma’s Cheesy Scones



scones-krs8oz self-raising flour
1 pinch salt
1 pinch cayenne pepper (important!)
1 tsp baking powder
2oz butter, cut into cubes
2oz mature Cheddar cheese, grated
3fl oz milk


1. Sift together the flour, salt, cayenne pepper and baking powder. Using your fingers, rub the butter into the flour mixture (or do this in a food processor like wot I do).

2. Mix through the grated cheese.

3. Add the milk a little at a time (you may not need all of it) and mix with a flat-bladed knife until the dough starts to come together.

4. Once you have formed a smooth dough, press it into a ball with your fingers. Pat or roll it out until it’s around ¾in thick. Cut into rounds with a 2½in cutter.

5. Arrange on a baking sheet and cook in the oven for 10-15 mins at 400°F, gas mark 6 until risen and golden.

Sunday 16 Feb

Today would have been the 52nd anniversary of my sons birthday, and I feel that I can never let the 16th of February of passing year go by without some sort of tribute to him. Glenn was not only my son, but also my best friend.

Glenn died in the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital in October 1990. He was only 28, with so much in life to look forward to. We thought that he was recovering from bone cancer when he suddenly developed secondary lung cancer, which was the actually the cause of his death.

We shared a lot of interests and passions in life, such as a love of the countryside and wildlife. Glenn would walk all the local footpaths through the fields regularly to ensure that the farmers and landowners were not closing then illegally. His favourite haunt was the Lake District where he and his other young friends would go to spend weekends and holidays.

Another interest we shared was Amateur Radio, sometimes referred to as Hams, and electronics. His callsign was G8SUM and mine was G8AFY. After his death I dropped my own callsign and took his on as a tribute to him and to keep his radio station alive.

I could write so much more about him, but I think that it’s best left until another time; suffice to say that I still miss him so much.

People have told me that time is a great healer and and I would get over his death. That is a fallacy. Time may soften the blow, but you never get over it or forget.


Goodbye, My Son

How can I say goodbye to you, my son,
Now that for you, tomorrow cannot be.
Where shall I find the strength to carry on?
When all that I have is going away from me.

As these last fleeting hours speed by,
And I sit at your side and hold your hand,
My eyes so full of tears that I cannot see.
I know that you, my son, will understand.

These few years we spent together, you and I,
It seemed so short a while we had to spend,
And yet we shared so great a love
That Death itself can never end.

So very much as we are, that now
We find no need of words as others do,
Both knowing so well within our hearts
That a love like ours is granted to so few.

So rest now, Glenn, until the very end,
For soon it will be time for us to part.
For soon I will close your eyes, and kiss your cheek.
Then you will be gone, and with you goes my heart.

– Dad.

Friday 7 Feb

Today I was on a bus travelling to Leicester, the nearby big city, to do some shopping.

Sitting opposite me was a respectable looking gentleman, smartly dressed with highly polished shoes looking for all the world like he had just stepped out of a high class tailors shop. I noticed that he was totally engrossed in his book.

It was the book that caught my attention, I just couldn’t believe it. It was “Mein Kampf” by Adolf Hitler with a picture of said gent next to a swastika on the front cover. He glanced up briefly whilst turning a page and saw me looking at him “Do I know you?” he enquired. “No”, I replied,”I was just wondering why you were reading such a controversial book in public, that’s more than I dare do!”

He left his seat and crossed over to sit next to me. “It’s not what it appears to be,” he said softly, “I’m actually reading ‘Lolita’ by Vladimir Nabokov and I don’t want people to think that I’m just a dirty old man, so I stuck this cover over the lurid picture of Lolita on the front of the book. I would rather people think that I’m a neo-Nazi instead!” He showed me the text and sure enough it was the book he described; I know because I read it when I was at school.

miss-tiggy-winkleWith that he smiled, returned to his seat and continued reading.

I thought that was a brilliant idea and planned to do the same thing next time I travel on the bus. I could stick a fake cover, like ‘Das Kapital’ by Karl Marx complete with the hammer and sickle on the cover of my favourite book and read it quite openly in public without the people knowing that it’s really ‘The tale of Mrs Tiggy Winkle’ by Beatrix Potter.