An afternoon chat

Yesterday was certainly a day of lively discussion at the Pub. The Fox has already recorded some of the range of conversation on his blog.

As usual we did the Times 2 crossword. It seemed easier than usual & was quickly finished. We moved on to the Quiz in the paper. I was astounded when the Fox got the answer Amy Winehouse to one question.

There was a bit of talk of blues music as one of our friends had been to a blues festival at Skegness over the weekend.

Then Rob, the chef arrived. Our thoughts moved to more culinary matters. He had been astounded by one of Heston's recipes for salmon cooked in liquorice jelly. He went on to describe it. The salmon was cooked in, & coated with, this thick black jelly made with liquorice root. Rob thought it looked pretty disgusting & hated to think what it must taste like.

I couldn't help pointing out that liquorice is essentially an aniseed flavour & you wouldn't hesitate to use dill when cooking salmon. What is more, if the cooked salmon was cut in half just think of the visual affect of that black jelly edging that glorious pinky orange of the fish. Quite stunning I would of thought. Rob suddenly saw the point of the recipe.

Rob got called away to the kitchens. Another friend, Paul, chipped in.

"Do you know about the Abraham brothers? I don't expect you will."

With one accord the Fox & I replied, "Oh, the early photographers based in Keswick?" That surprised Paul.

The conversation then turned to the trials of those early photographers hauling their great heavy large format cameras & plates up and down the fells. The brothers took some fabulous pictures of the mountains & climbing them.

By way of light relief, as that topic drew to an end, Paul's wife, Cheryl, explained the moral quandary she feels she's in.

She keeps hens. Recently they'd got a new speckled hen. This bird had then attacked her other hens, pecking out their feathers. She then sent all the hens for rehab so hopefully they would learn how to live peaceably together. She'd just got them back the day before. From a vast pen of hens she'd had to pick her hens from the others being treated.

This morning, she went through her usual routine. Three came rapidly for feeding as they recognised the sounds, but no speckled hen. Eventually the latter was found.

"You're not Clarrie, are you?" Cheryl said to the hen. The hen looked sorrowful & confused, shaking her head.

Now Cheryl isn't sure whether to let the people who'd treated the hens know. This new speckled hen is certainly better-natured than the one she'd taken there, but she wasn't Clarrie. Would the owners of this second bird notice or care, provided they got a hen that was a good layer? Cheryl is certainly pleased to have harmony in the hen house once more. But this isn't her bird. Should she tell? Should she make the hundred-mile round trip back to see if she could exchange this one & get Clarrie back? Or should she just keep quiet & learn to love the newcomer?

It's amazing the range of topics an afternoon in the Pub can cover.