Whisks, Robert (you'll see where I'm going with that), and Seniority

This year I have moved from the outer layers of the Holywell Manor complex (the Dellal building, which some would like to the exterior of Dante's Inferno) to the inner sanctum of the Manor itself. This brings with it some good points (for example a larger room and a view over the courtyard) but also has its drawbacks. One, the bar is right beneath my room, which makes for interesting times: when I have had my fill of lukewarm English Ale I retire (not hurt) for the evening only to try to get to sleep amidst the dull thud thud thudding over down below. But the Twin Towers of the IPod and the Bach Cantatas find themselves on the winning side.

My reign as Imperator of the Dellal Building (a self proclaimed title to be sure) is also over. During the summer break there was a period of 3 weeks where I was the only person in the place, and had the run of 3 floors of freshly painted student accommodation. In hindsight I would like to have said I rented out rooms on the sly, or provided usual housing for refugees, or cheap indoor paintball venues - but my caperings were limited to loudly singing Mozart arias while cooking and the liberties of vociferous swearing if e-poker wasn't going so well.

But thence - to the whisk. My menagerie of cooking implements are still in the Dellal building, and thus far I haven't mustered (or mustard... if you are keen...) up the energy to walk over there are return them. Sure it is only across the road, but a man needs to prioritise - and seeing England's abysmal attempts at scoring tries took precedence. BUT - to cut a long story short, in a way, there is no potato masher. As I have been eating mashed potatoes (+sausages + the Colonel...) on even numbered days (that's right) for years now, this has perturbed me. I tried the old fashioned method of using a fork, but that only goes so far. One day my eyes lit upon a whisk, and I thought that, if Nobel Prizes were given out for dire emergency kitchen ingenuity, then Stockholm here I come. So far the whisk has given me a week (=3 days of mash) of trouble free cooking, although last night disaster struck. Some of the potato got stuck INSIDE the whisk... it had crept into the interior on the sly and refused to come out regardless of how often I threatened it. So certainly there are some kinks to work out. So you, being on a need to know basis, now know.

I have resumed my morning walks around town, but since the parks will be open in the mornings for only a short while longer, I have capitalised on the greenish scenery of a morning. Also (I need to set up the triple entendre here) the mercury has been heading south and it has brought about a jumper or two for these antemeridinal sojourns.

THUS: I walked into the Parks on Thursday, instead of my usual route around town. And given the temperature, on the path less travelled by I saw the Frost.

That's right, I was saving that one up for some time now.

Lastly, one year on brings with it one year's experience in the job. A new bloke at the number theory group, Johann, has started - and he is going through all the motions that I and my partners in crime experienced. Furthermore, a new intake of people at the Manor has seen some characters appear, although no overt mavericks as yet.

But, as alluded to previously, I have a Mont Blanc of work to do (also, because it is on white paper...) and will need to kick on. But there are tales to be told of choral caperings, Gilbert (I almost wrote giblet) and Sullivan ... games?... and the inevitable quiz machine dogging. Until next time.