A Toast!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After rather a lot of frantic upping and downing, sanding and varnishing, tidying and hoovering, it was decided that, though things are far from purrfect here in Cookiecutter Cottage, it was time for a ¡Toast! And some very nice fish…

So, we raised a glass or two of semi-frozen Aqvavit to our tiny new home (and to the generous donor of the bottle) last weekend, and followed it with a brace of very fine Sea Bass from the rather upmarket fishmonger in St Andies.

When I say ‘we’ I did my best to get in on the action whilst fpu was otherwise occupied, but I was caught bang to rights and deposited without ceremony onto the fake stone effect vinyl.

These are so fresh their eyes purractically twinkle in a very Cap’n Pugwash-ish fashion. In fact, I think one of them winked…

Lime, grated fresh ginger, Chinese one-clove garlic (don’t ask. It’s a Lidl thing. They’ll purrobably never appear again, now we’ve just discovered them!) and parsley.

Oiled foil…

Fishy cavity stuffed with the above plus butter and sea salt. (Non-intentional advert for Philips…though we have just purrchased a very fine new Philips iron as recommended by Which? and sundry Amazon reviewers. I still get a frisson of fear at the thought of Auntie Beeb wielding her virtual red pen over a photoblog due to slavish adherence to the non-advertising rule…oh the scars never heal…)

En papillote and a fine kettle of fish

I was only just keeping an eye on it while she was otherwise occupied, honest…

Semi-naked sea bass. You won’t see such high-quality titillation anywhere else, I’m telling you now…

Not even landladyland can supply you with such top end images as these. Honest guv. Plain brown paper wrapper, under the counter, no questions asked. To you a pony me ol’ china. Cheap at arf the price.

 

The Battle of The Marags

There has been a slight hiatus in my wee Kingdom, o my dearest leetle cheums. A small disruption of the house-moving sort, conducted, I thought but didn’t like to say, with most unseemly haste.

When a person arranges for Fife’s finest to move us, lock stock and baskets, with only two days to pack, then a person deserves all they get is all I can say. Stress? Huh! Ah’ll gie ye stress so Ah wull.

Anyway, prior to the move to Cookiecutter Cott, of which more in another posting once I have edited the contents of catcam, I sent the parental units Forth to Edinburgh for a Most Auspicious Meeting.

It was with great purrleasure that I, at third paw so to squeak, finally got to meet one of my blogging heroes, Mr Tws, Thewhitesettler of his Croft (in no way to be confused with a certain chippy exiled whippersnapper) his very self no less.

Mr Tws very kindly partook of a small coffee with the pu’s and m’correspondent from Eek in Scotia’s holey capital and, during the course of which ceremonial libations, purresented the pu’s with not one but two - two – magnificent marags, expressing a purreference himself for Wullie John’s puddin’, but asking also that we put both it and Charley Barley’s ditto to the test.

Below is the photographic evidence of the veracity of said purroceedings, carried out under the watchful eye of an independent adjudicator, to wit, me.

Mr MacLeod’s pud is to the right of your picture, Mr MacDonald’s to the left.

It was a close-run thing, but Charley Barley’s magnificent marac was deemed more flavoursome, spicier without being too spicy and of a chunkier texture and was therefore declared The Winner.

We have had black pud with smoked salmon and scrambled egg, black pud with bacon and mash, black pud with lamb chops…and have thoroughly enjoyed all purrmewtations of same.

So a big Thank You to Mr Tws for bringing us such a tasty gift from the Long Island and lang may his lum reek!

PS It has came to my attention, via m’Correspondent in Brechin, that certain drunken goings-on have been taking place on my purrevious posting. Tut and, indeed, TCHA! Some people and you know who you are, are old enough to know better!

A Teenage Cat’s Fanclub

Saturday was a most glorious day in more than one respec’. The sun shone from a clear blue sky rather reminiscent of the Wrong Shade of Blue that briefly pertained to the kitchen at CookieCutterCottage, the air was balmy and a senior member (and I mean that in the nicest possible way) of my and Marmers’ Fanclub arrived at this our place of temporary domicile, bearing gifts.

And what gifts they were! Never before in the annals of FC/KC/Marmers/SC have we been showered with such delicacies. Sheba Gourmet tins, tiny and delicious…and chewy treats which even tempted a nervous Marmers away from his studious Fence Staring to allow himself to be propitiated in a manner seldom seen. Though MadLamb came very close…on both counts…

I of course allowed myself to be skritched, being a fearless feline. In fact, I imagine I overheard the words “Ya Big Sook” at one point, but no…surely not! It was merely natural politeness that lead me to abase myself in a furry purring heap. I adore getting into things and then getting out of things rather in the manner of Eeyore’s burst balloon and the empty Hunny jar, so the basket was a temptation irresistible.

I like to think we Did Our Best in fostering good relations between East and West anyway. What can a cat do, more than that?

A Flying Day Out

Lancaster flying over the crowd.

I really don’t know where to start.

Me, iPhoto and WordPress have been having a wee bit of a tussle, a stooshie, a virtual stramash this last two days. I have restarted, ForceQuitted and tried to jettison Flash Uploader plugin (no don’t worry, I haven’t an effin clue what I’m on about either!). I have sweated until my fur was matted and staring. As was fpu.

As you can see above, I have now down/up/sideloaded one photo. And it only took a few hours of hissin’ spittin’ and fur-tearin’-oot…

So. On Sunday I moseyed along to RAFLeuchars for the annual Air Show (airshow.co.uk) with the parental units. We went in Purple Sweetie. Which may have been a mistake…

It was a stunner of a day – peerless blue skies, a light breeze and the venison burgers from the Gourmet Kitchen van were uberyummy.

Those better purrepared had brought folding chairs, picnic rugs, eskies, hats, even small tents. Those less well purrepared sat on fpu’s quite new jacket and mpu’s ditto fleece on the lumpy grass – from 10-is am to 4:30-ish pm. Brutain’s hardy sons, as Para Handy would say.

Here (pussibly) are a great deal of photos for the Older Generation, who I believe are gettin’ a bit agitated what with the waitin’ and all.

When I click on ‘Publish’ all I can say is, these images better be there or I will be an ex kitty, affmaperch, stiff&cold.

The whole long day was excellent. The three hours spent sitting in the car going nowhere on the base were not. The RAF Corporal mpu accosted blamed the firm employed to run the car parks (getting parked on arrival was accomplished with military precision) and the one visible marshall from said firm blamed the RAF…what a fushionless bunch.

I saved the mighty Vulcan for last because it is the only one left flying in the whole wide world. That a thing constructed like a row of brick-built shithouses in a camouflage ballet skirt should bring a lump to so many throats is a mystery. But it was a most tremenjous and moving sight.

I hope this makes an old seadog very happy…

A Walk on the Wild Side

If you go down to the woods today you’re bound to get a surprise… So the ditty goes. There I was, prowling along on paddypaws, stopping to sniff the flowers……admiring the sunny butterflies sooking up the nectar and plumping up their wings…

…gazing up at the mountainly magnificence that is Largo Law (290mtrs) in a “Gosh that’s big” sort of way…

…pondering on whether a small stripey cat might silently slink into the ripening crop without anyone noticing…

…and deciding that purrhaps one might get lost, or even Meet Something Nasty like a heffalump or a woodshed like Auntie Ada, so best not risk it…

…getting a decided Crick in the Neck looking up at the spire of this church and thinking, “R Crusoe’s mammy and daddy are buried in that graveyard,” like you do if you’re an educated pussy…

…just minding my own business, humming a little hum, swishin’ ma tail and blinking in the dappled shade…

…taking a quick snap of mpu with catcam as he contemplates the Wonders of Nature…

WHEN

“Help help a Hoffasaur! A Dinolump! A Heffarex! A Tyrannoflump! A…a…a…a…

Oh.”

I felt a bit Silly. Luckily he didn’t mind. So we all strolled home and that was that. Just another Countryside Walk. Nothing to get hung about…

88 Two Fat Ladies @ Pittenweem Arts Festival

We’ve been a bit lackadaisical of late, fpu and me, but we’ve Pulled Ourselves Together, managing not to go to pot in the purrocess (though I believe we do know someone who Grows Their Own {shockin’}) and have slaved long and hard to download photos, upload photos, sideload photos – blimey, photowise I don’t know if I’m comin’ or goin’. Not nice for a kitty of delicat sensitivities I can tell you.

Last week was our first and most certainly not our last Pittenweem Arts Festival. A thing of beauty and a joy to behold, from the sublime to the ridiculous with the occasional Bulgarian Atrocity thrown in for good measure. From professional to amateur, from water colours to oils, from knitted fish to tortured fabric via chainsawn wooden apples, it was all there.

There are those for whom every brush stroke counts and those for whom too many brush strokes count for nothing.

Eighty-eight venues. And we visited every one during a four day odyssey. The good folk of the town had rented out their front rooms, back rooms, kitchens, bedrooms, attics, basements, gazebos, garden sheds, conservatories, garages, empty shops, church halls, community halls, an actual church, marquees, awnings…the venues outshone the art at times, they were so multivarious.

Here’s Harry Porter writing in the East Fife Mail – ‘…I also witnessed the uttering of one of the greatest sentences ever, as one art connoisseur educated his partner, “One must become obsessed with the object; only when one has achieved that obsession may one then start to deconstruct.” ‘

Absolutely…

And here he talks about a couple he “…followed…for a while, lapping up the bool-in-the-mooth dialogue on how bizarre it was that people still hung their clothes to dry on outside lines”

So I’ve included a photo of that same bizarre occurrence in the slideshow. Embra folks, ye cannie beat them…it’s the banter ye ken.

I am sorry to report that I never got the opporchancity to snap a photo of  fpu’s Wednesday T shirt, which bore the legend GROTESQUE OLD WOMAN and which elicited some choice comments. Purrobably just as well…not for the faint-hearted.

Meanwhile, on the House Purrchase front, moolah from various accounts has been consolidated and next week will be lodged with the solicitors; two brand new Catflaps of Opporchancity bought; John Lewis scoured for floors, material, furniture etc and an air of expectation hovers like a miasma around our temporary living space.

Marmers and I are becoming quite excited about the purrospect of being given the Freedom of Ferryport.

We were visited by MadLamb and Mia’s female Staff yesterday and we’d just like to say very thank you for the hugely tasty treat. And the other nice things…

So, back to the ‘Weem and a wee slideshow…

Pittenweem Art Festival

KC’s Un-patented Escape Tunnel

Whaat???

This is what happens when you’re a famous feline. The Paparazza insists on dogging your every pawprint. Sometimes it feels like there’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

However, I have my get-out claws. Feline Run!

After this purrticular intrusion into my Zen-like contemplation in the Sunroom of Transience, I felt the need to exit the purremises in search of solitude. Not as easy as it sounds…

First of all I wander out into the sunny garden, but still she haunts me, so there’s nothing for it but to go for my un-patented escape tunnel. As I slink under the fence, disappearing bit by bit like a Cheshire Cat in reverse, nothing remains but the tip of my fluffy tail.

Meanwhile, Marmers is wandering aimlessly about, doing a bit of bird-watching, humming a tuneless little hum, when he too decides to take time out. Just as my tippy-tail is slipping out of sight, he spots it and follows me down into the foetid jungle. Is there no escape?

If you’re curious enough to view the following Slide Show, I hope you notice what an extremely tight squeeze it is, as he forces his fat furry form down my purrivate bolt-hole

In the end I gave up and rejoined the patarraza, leaving m’Marmalade Chum to find his own way home. I am not my plump chum’s keeper after all!

Kingdom Cat’s Great Escape

Crail: Small Gardens in The Burgh

One of the many wonderful things about our new Kingdom, apart from vertical trees over 12′ tall, sunshine, Sainsbury’s, the Fife Coastal Path and sunshine – sorry I may have mentioned sunshine before…we’re not used to it you know – is the glorious Scotland’s Gardens Scheme, whose bible is The Yellow Book.

The Yellow Book lists all the private (and some public) gardens open for charity, the dates each is open, where to find them, how to get in touch if need be and which charities will benefit.

We’ve already ‘done’ The Secret Gardens of St Andrews; Wormistoune House (Crail); Cambo House (Kingsbarns); Earlshall Castle (Leuchars); Crail Burgh and  Strathkinness Village Gardens.

It’s all terrifically well organised. Each village produces a map with the open gardens numbered, which is available from either one central point (like Strathkinness Village Hall) or several; you get a sticker showing you’ve paid; each participating garden is well marked with yellow signs and balloons tied to fences/railings/gates/trees; garden owners wear an identification badge so you can buttonhole them and give them a good grilling on their pride and joy; there is usually a plant sales table in one and a tea/coffee/cake/strawberries&cream in another – the pièce de résistance so far has to be the strawberries dipped in a chocolate fountain in a magical garden behind a mediaeval house in St Andrews! That’ll be hard to beat…

Mostly, taking photos seemed a waste of looking time, but here are some of  Crail’s sylvan delights from the last weekend in July…

Crail Open Gardens

Anstruther Lifeboat Gala

kipper fryer

burger fryer

Harris the Hawk

big wheel

Pineapple’s cousin

fun&frolics

strange puppetry

The Reaper

jazzers

Ainster’s Lifeboat Gala was a very jolly day out – and also a lucky one. The weather was purrfect and conducive to dilly-dallying, buying stuff and eating stuff. (The following day it p***ed down unrelentingly).

Mpu bought a book, Square-Riggers The Final Epoch by Alex A Hurst. Fpu bought a blue handknitted matinee jacket with choo-choo buttons. They both ate kippers in rolls, which was a first. Folowed by a couple of Mister Whippy cones, one with raspberry sauce and the other with chocolate.

There was a display of magnificent Honda Goldwings on the prom, but the light was in the wrong direction and not even the mad tweakings of iPhoto could make them viewable. However the above pic illustrates the average age of the owners… Fpu admired the acreage of black leather. And I don’t want to know why.

The jazz band, as might be expected, was of an even more venerable vintage and was fine, apart from the sax which sounded like it needed a rebore.

Fpu won a can of Coke on the bottle stall. Sharing it with mpu meant lessening the grossness of the sugar attack, which is alleged to be 6-8 tsps per can. Shudder. I don’t eat sugar. Its bad for my pearly white fangs…

Some bipeds, who’s pearly-whites are rather less-than are going to sign on with a fang farrier tomorrow. Cats don’t require such unwonted attentions *smug mode*.

Fpu won a picture in a raffle at an amateur art exhibition up the road. The nice lady who phoned said it was a bird on a feather. It turned out to not be a bird perched on a feather, but a bird painted on a feather.

I leave you with that thought…

We Wants Our Brefuss

here we are then...

Marmers and I, having newly arrived here from here Flying Cat are just paddy-pawing our way around this quite exciting new home. Of course, like our current temporal residence (as opposed to virtual) this may change as we – or I – git the hang of all this here themery, widgetry, gadgetry etc…

Or not as the case may be…

At purresent, we are living in a bosky grove above the sea in Robinson Crusoe country in the Kingdom of Fife. In the fullness of time we’ll be off once again to a more permanent residence in Ferryport.

The header’s a bit nostalgic, but once we’re purroperly settled in the Kingdom, I will order a change…

This morning, as the hooked claw of Fate creeps towards the vole tunnel of Destiny, all we really really wants is OUR BREFUSS!!

So, if the ammanuensis known as female parental unit would git off her ever-spreading and head kitchen-wards, I for one would be Quite Chuffed.

Time for a handful of crunchies donated by members of our fanclub, Mister Tws and Ms Eek.