It was only a matter of time before they caught up with me. I was taken away in hand cuffs with a backdrop of flame and black smoke. Blue and red lights strobe off the whitewashed walls of the industrial buildings and a smile crossed my lips as the police car pulled away.
As some of you may know, I am very much a winter person. I enjoy the summer too and have had a wicked time over the last couple of months in the sun but I am definitely ready for the dark and cold now.
It was when we were talking about ready meals at work and I remembered last year when we had that really long winter and I was taking in hotpots and stew ever night to heat up in the microwave. I really miss chicken casserole and dumplings on a cold night.
I miss fingerless gloves and cups of warm Bovril out on the terraces; the smell of bonfires over on the allotments and the sting of cold air in my nostrils.
My preparations for the next cold snap have forced me (yeah right) into buying a new hip flash. It’s a bigger one than the others that I have at a whopping 6oz; fill the bastard up with a little Fireball cinnamon infused whiskey and we are ready for anything.
It’s also a time when I get to trawl through tonnes of knitwear because I love a jumper. I have seen a good few Norwegian fisherman style items that I wouldn’t mind getting hold of, bit pricey but you can’t beat the warming feel a good woollen.
Snowball fights, roasting chestnuts, toffee apples and the crunch of frosted grass in the park are all things that I just love about the winter months.
And the dark, I just love the long dark nights by a crackling fire with a good bottle of whatever and some clove cigarettes. Curl up into an armchair with a good book, maybe some Sherlock Holmes just to set the mood. I always feel those stories are quite cold and winter like in atmosphere, must be the Victorian thing.
And I really cannot wait to be at the football chowing down on a hotdog with a cuppa from the burger wagon. Everyone up in the terrace huddled together shouting at the linesman because he’s a wanker. I love giving the linesmen stick, poor bastards… but they are wankers and most of them need their eyes tested.
And some of the winter markets that I went to last year were just next level. There was an awesome wild boar stand up at Borough market last year that did the best pulled pork roll I have ever had. The thing was crammed with stuffing and apple sauce too and the mulled cider they had was divine. And as for the sausage man at our local farmers market, bugger me; that dude knows how to make some sublime sausages. My favourites include the kangaroo sausage and the red snapper; a spicy little number made with loads of habanero peppers in… a real hot bastard and no mistake.
Then there is the man that does all the regional cheeses, oh my. He had a great Lancashire blue on there one time that was amazing and he often has a Dorset brie that is just awesome.
You just don’t get that with the summer.
Summer food is all light and nothing more than salads with the exception of the good old BBQ of course. And summer drinks have far too much fruit in and have tonnes of ice in; Pimm’s for fuck sake, what’s that all about? I’ve seen it with cucumber in.
I don’t want a fucking salad in my glass!
Not for me, give me something that sticks to your ribs washed down with something warm and thick as tar. Give me a hearty meal, something that you’d find an old seadog swilling on returning from a month at sea.
Oh, and fisherman’s pie, now that is something I could get to grips with a good few times over the coming dark months, oh yes.
As you can tell I really like my food.
Winter is a time for stodgy, slow cooked stews and broths. Vast pots need to be simmering away over the heat filling our houses with the smell of game meats and fresh herbs. Great lumps of vegetables bobbing around in rich stocks while a jam roly-poly bakes in the oven.
Fuck it’s been so long since I’ve had a suet pudding and custard.
Here’s one for our American brethren, go check out a pudding called ‘spotted dick’. Now there my friends is a classic British steamed pudding, amazing with custard.
I really cannot wait for that nip of whiskey from my flask as I pull my scarf tighter around my neck and watch the first flakes of the season flutter to the ground.
But Christmas can go fuck itself!