Sunday Supplement - 18/9/05
Sep. 18th, 2005 08:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_elyanI do have loads of stuff to write about, but I am far too knackered to actually write any of it. So instead, some recycling:
Gondor Railways
"Minas Tirith Central. This is Minas Tirith Central. The train now arrived at Platform 1 is for Dol Amroth via Lebinnen East. Passengers for north Gondor, Rohan and the East, please change here.
Would all passengers please ensure they take all weapons, helms and staffs with them when leaving the train."
We regret to announce that, due to flooding at Orthanc, the dawn service for Rivendell will be diverted via Fangorn Wellinghall and Moria. Customers should allow up to two days extra for their journeys. Passengers travelling beyond Moria Dimrill Gate are advised to obtain complementary flame-retardant armour, in case of Balrog attack. Gondor Railways apologises for any inconvenience this may cause.
Due to emergency engineering works following an earlier incident at Mount Doom, all MordorRail services are currently suspended beyond Minas Morgul and Morannon Teethgate. A replacement bus service is in operation between Gorgoroth and Barad-Dur.
Gondor Railways would like to remind all customers of our current special offer, the "Tirith Tourer" pass, offering free travel throughout Zones One to Seven, and half-price admission to a range of attractions, including Ioreth's World Of Healing, and the Tales of the Elfstone exhibition. Please note that, following fire damage, the Tombs of the Kings Experience is currently closed.
The next train to depart from Platform Three will be the midnight service to Esgaroth via Edoras. Please note this train is fast to Edoras. It will then call at Helm's Deep, Fangorn South, Fangorn Entmoot, Fangorn North, Lorien Nimrodel, Carrock, Mirkwood Attercop, Erebor Central and Esgaroth. Passengers for Cerin Amroth and the Galadhrim railway, please change at Lorien Nimrodel. Pipeweed may be smoked in carriage A toward the front of the train, and Numenor Class is in carriages J and M, toward the rear of the train. Carriage F has been designated the No Singing carriage. Gondor Railways would also like to request all Ents travelling to Entmoot 3019 to refrain from taking root in the carriages.
This is the last call for the Grey Havens Express. Would any remaining members of the Eldar please make their way to Platform 8 immediately.
Finally, we would like to remind customers of our Half-Price Hobbits fares, for travel on Shire Trains between Bree, Hobbiton and Buckland. For further details, please enquire at the ticket booth.
Thank you for choosing Gondor Railways, and we hope you have a pleasant journey.
Gondor Railways - "where every trip is a quest"
[30 January 2004]
Give Us This Day, Our Daily Grease
There are few pleasures in life, to my unhealthy mind at least, better than starting Saturday morning with a fry-up. To be set up for the rest of the day, the warmth sitting on one's stomach like a bowling-ball, and the starbursts of cholestrol taking their message of pleasure round the arteries. Bliss.
Unfortunately, for those of us whose experience of frying-pans begins and ends with "Fawlty Towers", the creation of such a death-defying feast can present a problem. It is for this reason that I find myself forced out onto the highways and byways of this realm, in search of one of Britain's most archetypal sights - the Caff. [Note for beginners - in this post-modern, knowing age, an eatery may now spell itself "Cafe" and still be admissible. However, anywhere which adds the accent to the "e" is to be avoided like the plague].
Caffs come in various shapes and sizes, and different people have their favourite types. Many swear by the truckstop as purveyors of the true Lardy Grail - I am not one of that particular sect, however. Quite apart from my lack of transport, I feel that if I wanted to spend time in the company of oil-encrusted men with exposed arse-cracks and no conversation, I'd go to a Saxon fan convention.
For the Metropolitan grease-guzzler such as myself, there are a wide range of options, but they sometimes take a bit of finding. For example, my hallowed home area of Muswell Hill considers caffs to be an affront to God and country, but there are still a couple lurking out on the fringes, luring we dark shadows away from the avacado and rocket paninis which Cool Britannia (remember that one?) is supposed to munch its way to eternal youth on. Frankly this
arrangement is probably to the advantage of both sides.
Quite apart from the terrible risk of being confronted with a fat molecule, the other thing which keeps the Pret a Exister crowd out of the caffs is the look of the places. Though there are exceptions (the estimable Rose's, on Finchley Road, for example), the general idea is that the more dreadful a caff looks the more toothsome its product. Good signs include menus chalked up then held in place with grease, specials advertised with Dayglo cardboard stars Blutacked to the walls, and, for a truly intense Lard Experience, a bunch of flowers at the spot where the Environmental Health Officer had a heart attack.
As to the food itself, that too varies greatly. The English breakfast (which is suspiciously similar to the Scottish, Welsh or Irish breakfast, to be honest) is, after all, a malleable beast. The Unholy Trinity of sausage, bacon and fried egg must of course play a part, but beyond that all bets are off. If you can fry it, slop it on a plate, and use it to frighten off a jogger, it's in. The only matter of debate is whether chips deserve a place in the pantheon. Traditionalists are generally aghast at the idea, but having had some distinctly underwhelming fry-ups in my time, I tend to welcome their golden bulk.
All such petty squabbles pale into insignificance, however, when the sine qua non of the fry-up is wheeled out ... the Fried Slice. There is something almost heroic about the concept of the fried slice - bread, the cornerstone of human nourishment since the dawn of time, turned into a murder weapon. Just as the best pints of Guinness are marked by a shamrock drawn in the head, so the most splendid fried slices can be spotted, if you look closely, by the letters "RIP" picked out in saturated fat round the edge. Tastes bloody good, though, and worth every wheezing gasp later in life...
The big question, of course, is whether healthy eating habits and a more switched-on populace is killing off the caff. I'm not convinced of this, but it is true that, as Ian Faith said of Spinal Tap, "their appeal is becoming more selective", at least in London. As the City and the West End approach the Sandwich Bar Event Horizon, it is becoming harder and harder to find good caffs, though there are a few - the deliciously misnamed "Chez Monique" behind Holborn station being a good example. And in the outlying areas of the city, the relative density of caffs and sandwich bars tell you more about the place than any socio-economic survey ever could.
Still, I believe the caff will survive, because there are always enough of us out there willing to trade future health and wellbeing for a transitory thrill - sort of like bungee-jumping with cholestrol. And good on the caffs of Britain for continuing to give us the opportunity.
And now, if you'll excuse, I have to go and shoot my daily jogger.
[16 December 2001]
Gondor Railways
"Minas Tirith Central. This is Minas Tirith Central. The train now arrived at Platform 1 is for Dol Amroth via Lebinnen East. Passengers for north Gondor, Rohan and the East, please change here.
Would all passengers please ensure they take all weapons, helms and staffs with them when leaving the train."
We regret to announce that, due to flooding at Orthanc, the dawn service for Rivendell will be diverted via Fangorn Wellinghall and Moria. Customers should allow up to two days extra for their journeys. Passengers travelling beyond Moria Dimrill Gate are advised to obtain complementary flame-retardant armour, in case of Balrog attack. Gondor Railways apologises for any inconvenience this may cause.
Due to emergency engineering works following an earlier incident at Mount Doom, all MordorRail services are currently suspended beyond Minas Morgul and Morannon Teethgate. A replacement bus service is in operation between Gorgoroth and Barad-Dur.
Gondor Railways would like to remind all customers of our current special offer, the "Tirith Tourer" pass, offering free travel throughout Zones One to Seven, and half-price admission to a range of attractions, including Ioreth's World Of Healing, and the Tales of the Elfstone exhibition. Please note that, following fire damage, the Tombs of the Kings Experience is currently closed.
The next train to depart from Platform Three will be the midnight service to Esgaroth via Edoras. Please note this train is fast to Edoras. It will then call at Helm's Deep, Fangorn South, Fangorn Entmoot, Fangorn North, Lorien Nimrodel, Carrock, Mirkwood Attercop, Erebor Central and Esgaroth. Passengers for Cerin Amroth and the Galadhrim railway, please change at Lorien Nimrodel. Pipeweed may be smoked in carriage A toward the front of the train, and Numenor Class is in carriages J and M, toward the rear of the train. Carriage F has been designated the No Singing carriage. Gondor Railways would also like to request all Ents travelling to Entmoot 3019 to refrain from taking root in the carriages.
This is the last call for the Grey Havens Express. Would any remaining members of the Eldar please make their way to Platform 8 immediately.
Finally, we would like to remind customers of our Half-Price Hobbits fares, for travel on Shire Trains between Bree, Hobbiton and Buckland. For further details, please enquire at the ticket booth.
Thank you for choosing Gondor Railways, and we hope you have a pleasant journey.
Gondor Railways - "where every trip is a quest"
[30 January 2004]
Give Us This Day, Our Daily Grease
There are few pleasures in life, to my unhealthy mind at least, better than starting Saturday morning with a fry-up. To be set up for the rest of the day, the warmth sitting on one's stomach like a bowling-ball, and the starbursts of cholestrol taking their message of pleasure round the arteries. Bliss.
Unfortunately, for those of us whose experience of frying-pans begins and ends with "Fawlty Towers", the creation of such a death-defying feast can present a problem. It is for this reason that I find myself forced out onto the highways and byways of this realm, in search of one of Britain's most archetypal sights - the Caff. [Note for beginners - in this post-modern, knowing age, an eatery may now spell itself "Cafe" and still be admissible. However, anywhere which adds the accent to the "e" is to be avoided like the plague].
Caffs come in various shapes and sizes, and different people have their favourite types. Many swear by the truckstop as purveyors of the true Lardy Grail - I am not one of that particular sect, however. Quite apart from my lack of transport, I feel that if I wanted to spend time in the company of oil-encrusted men with exposed arse-cracks and no conversation, I'd go to a Saxon fan convention.
For the Metropolitan grease-guzzler such as myself, there are a wide range of options, but they sometimes take a bit of finding. For example, my hallowed home area of Muswell Hill considers caffs to be an affront to God and country, but there are still a couple lurking out on the fringes, luring we dark shadows away from the avacado and rocket paninis which Cool Britannia (remember that one?) is supposed to munch its way to eternal youth on. Frankly this
arrangement is probably to the advantage of both sides.
Quite apart from the terrible risk of being confronted with a fat molecule, the other thing which keeps the Pret a Exister crowd out of the caffs is the look of the places. Though there are exceptions (the estimable Rose's, on Finchley Road, for example), the general idea is that the more dreadful a caff looks the more toothsome its product. Good signs include menus chalked up then held in place with grease, specials advertised with Dayglo cardboard stars Blutacked to the walls, and, for a truly intense Lard Experience, a bunch of flowers at the spot where the Environmental Health Officer had a heart attack.
As to the food itself, that too varies greatly. The English breakfast (which is suspiciously similar to the Scottish, Welsh or Irish breakfast, to be honest) is, after all, a malleable beast. The Unholy Trinity of sausage, bacon and fried egg must of course play a part, but beyond that all bets are off. If you can fry it, slop it on a plate, and use it to frighten off a jogger, it's in. The only matter of debate is whether chips deserve a place in the pantheon. Traditionalists are generally aghast at the idea, but having had some distinctly underwhelming fry-ups in my time, I tend to welcome their golden bulk.
All such petty squabbles pale into insignificance, however, when the sine qua non of the fry-up is wheeled out ... the Fried Slice. There is something almost heroic about the concept of the fried slice - bread, the cornerstone of human nourishment since the dawn of time, turned into a murder weapon. Just as the best pints of Guinness are marked by a shamrock drawn in the head, so the most splendid fried slices can be spotted, if you look closely, by the letters "RIP" picked out in saturated fat round the edge. Tastes bloody good, though, and worth every wheezing gasp later in life...
The big question, of course, is whether healthy eating habits and a more switched-on populace is killing off the caff. I'm not convinced of this, but it is true that, as Ian Faith said of Spinal Tap, "their appeal is becoming more selective", at least in London. As the City and the West End approach the Sandwich Bar Event Horizon, it is becoming harder and harder to find good caffs, though there are a few - the deliciously misnamed "Chez Monique" behind Holborn station being a good example. And in the outlying areas of the city, the relative density of caffs and sandwich bars tell you more about the place than any socio-economic survey ever could.
Still, I believe the caff will survive, because there are always enough of us out there willing to trade future health and wellbeing for a transitory thrill - sort of like bungee-jumping with cholestrol. And good on the caffs of Britain for continuing to give us the opportunity.
And now, if you'll excuse, I have to go and shoot my daily jogger.
[16 December 2001]
