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No polish

  Sun 15th April 2012

My daughter Fiona and I went off to the park and had a painful time gathering nettles for Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's nettle soup recipe. We wore gloves but Lancaster nettles are hard bastards. We came back with over a pound of them rather than the six ounces we required. The resulting soup was earthy and a bit bland. Plenty of it left over to labour through.

This afternoon Fiona, Jenny and I walked up Warton Crag, a beautiful striated limestone outcrop of old, unkempt woods teeming with flitting, plant and unseen life. At the top it was clear enough to see Blackpool Tower--which I know doesn't advertise the place very well.

Below us, Morecambe Bay was spread out in shades of flatness; you could see how close humans have dared or needed to live close to flooding and seawater, and the sands which layer the corpses of humans (and horses), some caught out by the treacherous unseen quicksand channels of the Keer and the Kent, the most dangerous of the Lake District streams which feed into it; some by the tide and staying in the pub too long before setting off; and latterly, people who had never seen the sea before being commanded by Chinese gangmasters to gather cockles.

We came back down into the village and its main pub, The George Washington. George Washington's grandfather, who emigrated to Virginia as a child, was born in Warton. Someone I didn't recognise introduced himself, knowing my name and saying that we used to work together at a restaurant. I pretended I had had the recollection which never came.

The landlord, who was wearing an enamel England flag on his lapel, chimed in univited into our conversation with "It's all a load of rubbish. Don't believe any of it. He emigrated to avoid all the Polish people coming over here." I went back to the children, ashamed that I'd laughed along with it.


I send an email about nettle stings to the French woman, and asked her out for a drink.

"[...]I'm not sure you're quite my 'type' not that I have one. I reckon we would have a right giggle but it wouldn't go further for me I'm afraid."

I assume this means "Based on your pictures, I don't fancy you."I like her honesty, but am a little disappointed that she wouldn't base that assessment on at least one face-to-face meeting.

10 comments

I hate to spray my ignorance all over your comments section but what, in God’s name, is nettle soup? I suppose it’s self-explanatory. I’d have thought someone were pulling my leg.

Such vivid descriptions. No photos? Shame.

So is that a “no?” She’s not going to meet you? You never can tell about these things.

Mon 16th April 2012 @ 01:09
Comment from: [Member]

@unbearable banishment – it wasn’t quite a “no". more like a “i’m not going to put out for you, but i’m leaving the door open should you care to feed my ego by continuing pursuit. assuages my guilt about ‘leading you on’, while giving you the opportunity to humiliate yourself a bit while feeding my insecurities".

Mon 16th April 2012 @ 02:08
Comment from: [Member]

Nettle soup: soup made of nettles :) Here’s the recipe we used and readers’ comments about their several uses.

Thanks DF - that’s very accurate. I would be an idiot to pursue this. I recognise this type. Vicky is like it too. Nope - she’s been deleted, gone.

Mon 16th April 2012 @ 08:02

Nettle Soup: One of the main reasons I’m staying carnivorous (Supposedly omniverous, which means in my lexicon, carniverous plus potatoes and the very occasional tomato)

Isn’t racial humour just f*cking awful?
Just proves the English don’t have a real a sense of humour.

Pity about the froggie, but the stench of garlic and the remnants of frog legs between her teeth would probably have been a bit off-putting.

Mon 16th April 2012 @ 08:15
Comment from: young at heart [Visitor]

as I said on previous post……. are you sure ’she’ is all she says she is……… doesn’t sound like any french woman I’ve ever met….!!

Mon 16th April 2012 @ 09:45
Comment from: [Member]

Well-educated, trilingual, good dress sense, into arthouse films… sounded fairly French to me! Or a good liar. But you can’t start out by disbelieving people. Anyway, she’s out of my life now.

Mon 16th April 2012 @ 10:06
Comment from: Kolley Kibber [Visitor]

She’s definitely the genuine article. I have a friend who lived in Paris for years, and often experienced that kind of ‘frankness’ from the natives. She was once informed after a first date that the relationship would be terminated here, because she ‘had good arms, but did not look particularly toned in the abdomen.’

Mon 16th April 2012 @ 14:16
Comment from: nursemyra [Visitor]

“I reckon we would have a right giggle but it wouldn’t go further for me I’m afraid.”

That doesn’t sound French at all

Mon 16th April 2012 @ 23:27
Comment from: [Member]

KK: Welcome (back)! What a strangely precise way to be rejected.

Nursey: Hmmm… very colloquial Manchester French, I agree.

Tue 17th April 2012 @ 07:50
Comment from: Homer [Visitor]

Sorry to swim against the flow, but why is everyone getting their knickers in a twist about whether she’s French? Also, I think she’s being pretty fair by stating her position vis a vis romance at the start - much less of a blow to the ego to be rejected after a photo than after an entire date.

Tue 17th April 2012 @ 08:29


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