Sunday 23rd November 2025

On the 23rd November 1963, three events occurred:

1. News of the assassination of JF Kennedy reached the UK.

2. The first episode of Rd. Who aired.

3. Jools was born.

And this year that fell on a Sunday. Jen is out of the country, we met Mike last week, and Cath a person who comminates via texts, it meant just the two of us.

And what better way to start your birthday than going to the gym for some phys?

We were a little late, getting to the sports centre at half seven, but the car park was pretty empty, though this would change after eight when people started to arrive for the swimming gala.

I cycled through Grand Teton National Park, though along well defined cycle tracks always beside roads, but with a snow-capped mountain range backdrop.

I listened to a podcast, and increased the resistance by another notch.

I got it done.

Then back home for breakfast and brews, before staring to prepare lunch.

I adapted the recipe for hassleback potatoes, soaking them to remove starch before part-boiling, before cokking for nearly two hours, basting with oil every half hour.

Steak was seasoned, sprouts part-boiled and mushrooms chopped ready to cook.

I walk to the post box and snap some plants on the way, then pause to look down Station Road on the way back. The flowering heliotrope make it fee like Spring, but that is four months away, and there is talk of a bitterly cold December.

But then there always is.

The part-boiling of the potatoes meant that they crisped up quicker than previously, thus bringing lunchtime forward by an hour and twenty minutes.

Sprouts were fried in oil with bacon lardons and chestnuts. Mushrooms were cooked in butter and finally the steak cooked in a dry pan for two minutes per side.

A bottle of Chimay was opened, I dish up, and we sit down to eat.

Happy birthday, Jools.

After Desert Island Discs ended, we wash up, then retire to the sofa to relax and not try to sleep.

There was football. Always football, climaxing with Arsenal v Spurs at half four.

I swapped text messages with Mark in the US, an Arsenal fan, as the Gooners ran riot and won 4-1.

Darkness fell. Rain came down. We drew the curtains on the cruel world, and went to bed.