Today Andy, Jenny and Me visited a The Ethel Tipple school in Kings Lynn for children with learning difficulties as it may be something we need to consider in the future, it was a nice school, the largest class is 12 and the smallest is 5. We met the teacher who would be Sophie's, Mrs Quigley and she is going to arrange to meet Sophie. If this is thought the proper decision for Sophie
Today Kevin started a new job as Kitchen Porter at the Golden Lion.
I finished reading
Rumpole a la Carte by John Mortimer
It is interesting to read a book that a TV series is based on.
It was a book of 6 short stories.
Rumpole a la Carte
Rumpole and the summer of discontent
Rumpole and the right to silence
Rumpole at sea
Rumpole and the quacks
Rumpole for the prosecution
Below is an excert from the Summer of Discontent, which i found very amusing.
Hilda, She who must be obeyed, goes on strike.
Women, it seemed to me, make a great mystery about such simple tasks as cooking the dinner. After Hilda withdrew her labour, there I was in the kitchen, peeling the potatoes with a saucepan of water bubbling, ready to receive them. (There is after all no great skill required in the boiling of water). The chops were warmly ensconced under the grill and cooking well. Another saucepan was steaming for the inundation of the frozen peas. I took these out of the fridge and it would be a matter of moments, I thought, before I had them open and swimming. The I ran up against a problem, in what, upto then, had seemed the simple art of cooking. Those selling frozen peas clearly regard them as being as precocious as jewels, enormous precautions are taken to prevent a break in and the packet is covered with tough, seamless and apparently impregnable cellophane, I tried to rip off this covering, I tore at it with my teeth, I worried it as a dog worries a bone, but all in vain. Finally, I stabbed it with a sharp knife, causing a fusillade of little frozen green bullets to ricochet off the cooker and the adjacent walls, one of them hit the overhead light with a most melodious twang. At last I got a reasonable proportion of the elusive vegetables into hot water, but I was distracted by a whoosh and a sheet of flame which shot out at me from under the grill. Naturally, I had covered the fat with oil to ensure a sound cooking and, it seemed, that this substance was dangerously inflammable. I had never invested in a fire extinquisher, but, with great prescence of mind, I remembered the siphon on the sitting room sideboard, it was a matter of moments to search for it and, returning to direct a powerful stream at the blaze.
Strangely enough the soda water also appeared to be inflammable, because it strengthened rather than diminished the blaze. Then it occurred to me to turn off the grill, and I was beating the dying conflagration with a wet dishcloth when Hilda, who had been out when I started cooking, arrived upon the scene, coughing at a cloud of smoke in what I thought was an exaggerated manner and asking if she should call the fire brigade.
‘No longer necessary’ I assured her ‘ I was just cooking dinner’
‘Oh really,’ she said examining the charred chops ‘ I thought you were arranging your interesting collection of fossils’
