Today’s a quiet day in North Hinksey (Oxford), as I stay at home, work on my talk, rest, and do a few posts. For lunch my host took me to the Fishes, a local “gastropub”, which is what happens when rich locals take over the pub. The prices go up and the traditional accoutrements of the pub disappear. But they still have well-kept real ale, and the food is good.
On the way, a self portrait:
Inside: only two real ales on tap. I went for Morland’s Old Speckled Hen, a local brew and a creditable pint, although a wee bit too cold:
A good pint is a lovely thing, with a small, creamy head, and golden as the afternoon light shines through it:
Lunch: I went for sausages again, this time venison sausages with mash, watercress (again), and, to satisfy the captious reader of yesterday, two fried onion rings.
Genteel British ladies in the gastropub. Not a pint among them—they went for wine.
Cartoonist Dave Brown of the Independent (papers are in the pub) gives a Brit’s-eye-view of Trump, and it ain’t pretty. They wouldn’t put a scatological cartoon like this in an American paper:
And there was a closet whose legend will be familiar to many:
North Hinksey is an old and lovely village, founded in the 10th century, with many attractive houses, like this one:
The local church dates back to at least the 12th century:
Can you spot the robin below? It’s not the American robin but, as my host said, a “proper robin.” The species is the European robin, (Erithacus rubecula). Its call was beautiful.
This gorgeous bird, easy to spot, is of course the blue tit, Cyanistes caeruleus. Among other things, the species is famous for having learned to open milk bottles on people’s doorsteps and drink the cream, a trait that was culturally inherited. Now the behavior is of no adaptive significance since I don’t think milk is delivered to doors any longer.
And I was very excited to see my first cat in Britain, a hefty tabby in someone’s allotment. It walked like a tiger, and would not approach me. Still, the cats have been almost completely absent since I arrived here. For a while my hypothesis was that there were no cats in Britain.
Old Speckled Hen is a favourite tipple of mine, but if it’s not to your taste, try it’s close cousin Old Crafty Hen.
Drink responsibly.
‘Drink responsibly’??
*does not compute*
*does not compute*
*does not compute*
*does not compute*
*does not compute*
It’s an advertising slogan. It is intended to evaluate to “NaN”
.
.
.
That’s “Not a Number”, for those as don’t recognise it.
any more posts like this and I’m heading for my safe space.
Agreed. And I’ll be heading for MY safe space later… about 9.30 – for about 5 pints of ‘safe’.
Don’t kno nuffink about blue tits, Guv, but they have a bird called a coal tit which could pass for a chickadee anytime. I’ve seen them in Shropshire
There certainly are cats in the UK, we have two. Both females, Dusty and Millie.
Revised hypotheses:
(1) There are at least two cats in Britain
(2) At least one of them is a tabby, at least on one side
” and, to satisfy the captious reader of yesterday, two fried onion rings.”
Sorry, it was meant more as a reverie for my lost youth rather than as a complaint about your choice of food.
Having said that…
It should be onions fried until they are deep brown in colour, but not burnt. I am probably wrong but as far as I am aware onion rings are an import. I have no recollection of seeing them in the UK before the eighties.
They were around in the 60s. I don’t go back any further.
Speaking of Trump, the Atlantic’s “In Focus” from Tuesday, theme Carnival 2016, had a photo of a float in Germany with Trump – “Make Fascism great again”. Link is
http://cdn.theatlantic.com/assets/media/img/photo/2016/02/carnival-2016-around-the-world/c06_509004536/main_1500.jpg?1455047930
There are no “proper” cats in Britain.
Actually, there are wild cats (Felis silvestris) in Scotland, though they are rare.
Old Speckled Hen was the second beer and first bitter I tried on my trip last year. It’s actually available here in the States! But only in bottles, I haven’t yet found any place where it’s on tap.
Old Speckled Hen & other Moreland brands are unfortunately not a local to Oxford brand since 2000 when Moreland sold to Greene King of Bury St Edmunds in Suffolk.
They are still very good beers and can be found all over the world and indeed are often to be found in my bar refrigerator here in Nova Scotia. A welcome reminder of my old Oxford home.
Should read was sold. Sorry!
Old Speckled Hen is not bad. But I am getting sooo tired of IPAs. I used to love them. But they have become so overdone I have had an involuntary negative reaction to them. Like a song that you like but because it gets so overplayed on the radio you automatically change stations every time you hear the opening chords.
Here in the US it is typical of drinking establishments that have a good variety of imports and craft beers that about 60% to 75% of their variety is IPAs. And it isn’t uncommon to have only one or two choices other than an IPA.
I completely agree. It seems to me that many craft brewers in the US ramp up the hops in a manner like the chili heads that go for mouth searing heat. It’s a macho thing.
The great thing about British real ale is the superb balance between the hops and the malt.
I used to love IPAs and for the last two years I am just done with them…just done for the same reason…an old song I used to love, but just heard too many times.
What I don’t particularly like is that a lot of IPAs from small/craft brewers tend to be excessively hopped.
I’ll add an “amen” to this.
I’m in the UK and still have my milk delivered to the door. The blue tits have not yet attacked the bottles though.
Crazy. I remember milk delivery in the very early 70s but never saw the birds that attacked the bottles. I think they stopped milk delivery here in the colonies in the 50s.
You’d be one of the few remainders then. Ours stopped in the mid-80s.
Yes, I too still benefit from a door-step delivery of milk (in Newcastle upon Tyne). However, even where milk is still delivered I believe that Blue Tits no longer peck off the foil caps on the bottles. The other factor involved in the behaviour dying out is a change in tastes – in the 1970s most people had full fat delivered to the door and the cream would rise to a thick layer at the top of the bottle thereby providing a highly nutritious treat for the birds once they reached it. Nowadays the tendency is for people to get semi-skimmed or fully skimmed milk which does not provide the tits with the same reward.
On the subject of the Independent it was announced today that it will be ceasing to produce a print edition at the end of next month and will continue just as an on-line publication (as will its sister The Independent on Sunday). I find this very sad as it is a genuinely high quality newspaper that is unafraid of carrying a diversity of views within its columns.
When the blue tits first discovered how to open milk bottles, the bottles were sealed with small disks of cardboard. After foil tops were introduced (in the 60’s?) it took a little while for them to adjust techniques for the new style, but when my family lived in the Wirrall in the early 70’s, pecked-open milk was a fairly regular occurrence.
Back in Australia, Magpies (Gymnorhina tibicen, now in the genus Cracticus) were pulling the same trick, at least in the Sydney area. Cardboard cartons, then plastic bottles with screw lids, have ended all the fun.
Old Speckled Hen! … oh, sorry, just reminiscences.
Does anyone know if the secret non-blog blog password for the special cat doodle signing has been mentioned?
Yes it has. Just use the latin trinomial for the Scottish wildcat.
Also don’t know if you heard the sad news but the paper you are quoting got closed down today (well moved online!)
That is a fine looking pint.
Thst cat looks annoyed that you spotted him/her. Maybe the cats are hiding from you as a joke.
If you get a chance try a Salopian brewery ale, citrousy but lovely and from Darwins home county
Sorry for an off-topic comment. I want to submit a “Reader’s wildlife photograph” but I can’t for the life of me figure out which email address to send to.
A google search came up with this;
j-coyne(at)uchicago(dot)edu
Will that work?
It has before.
Thanks, I’ll try it.
Made from the finest supernova ash.
“No cats in Britian” I would move there if that were true.
Well…thanks to all this talk of English beer, I went and bought some cans of Boddington’s on my weekly grocery shopping trip tonight. These cans have some kind of device that makes the beer foam up when you pour it. So I’m sipping some right now out of an Imperial pint glass. It’s not quite the same as getting it at a real pub, but it’s close enough.
I also bought a big can of Foster’s while I was at it. Not English, I know, but it still seemed to be a staple of every English pub.
Boddies was never that great out of a can, but also it didn’t travel well when casked. The only decent pint of Boddies that you can get is in Manchester!
And Fosters. We don’t talk about Fosters around here.
Many a morning we awoke to a vandalsed milk bottle, foil gone along with the delicious cream. Actually, though certainly not as common as in the past, milk is still delivered here in Northern Ireland. But it is safe from greedy beaks as the foil-topped bottles have been replaced with plastic cartons with tit-proof lids.
The blue tit is great! This species is common where I live, but I have never seen any specimen as beautiful as in this photo.
Last time I was in the UK (2012) arugula (rocket) was everywhere. Looks like it is shaping up that watercress is the thing now 😉