Monthly Archives: October 2012

A Trip to Rochester

Posted in Blogs by

Main Street Rochester

My friend and her boyfriend usually go out on Saturday evening so they asked if I would accompany them. They decided we could visit the town of Rochester. Apparently it was just about half an hour on the motorway, so I decided yes. During the day I was occupied with my dad, but in the evening I was ready to go. Rochester is a town on the River Medway in the county of Kent, South of London. I remembered it from my childhood days as a place famous for its traffic jams. We would spend our annual holidays on the Kent coast and Rochester was a traffic bottleneck, so it had remained in my memory as a place where the coach spent many hours crawling along.

Of course, today we have motorways. The route lead over the Queen Elizabeth bridge crossing the River Thames and afterwards the motorway. It was raining again, but we English people are immune. Just put up the umbrella or be a hoodie and no problem. Sorry again for the poor quality of the picture, pixel storm, but it was dark and I only had my little Lumix camera with me. You can see the streets are cobbled, keeping in the fashion of the olde worlde town that Rochester was in the center.

Rochester is for me today the Charles Dickens town. Memories of The Pickwick Papers came to my mind. The whole area is Charles Dickens World, the scene for Great Expectations also being set near bye in the old naval port of Chatham. I felt quite at home, being a Dickens fan, and saw that some of the shop windows had Dickens decorations, it being the 200th anniversary of his birth this year.

Rochester also has a Norman cathedral which is illuminated at night (thank goodness otherwise I could not have taken these pictures).

Rochester Cathedral Kent

Illuminated Rochester Cathedral

Rochester Cathedral Graves

It seems Charles Dickens wished to be buried here, but his wish was not fulfilled.

As it was Saturday evening, the local youth were on their way for their customary meetings in the various pubs. It was quite a cool evening, raining and I was glad to be dressed in a warm jacket. It seems today that the younger generation are toughened up and immune to cold weather. That the was the impression I had from the clothing tenue. Short skirts (were they skirts or longer blouses?), high heeled shoes making them all a head taller than myself and I am tall and of course the absence of nylon stockings. It seems that the winter coat is a thing of the past.

We took a stroll around the town. I would so have liked to visit Rochester during the day as I am sure it is worth it. A well preserved town, no shicky micky, and I could imagine the Dickens characters pulling in at the inn in their clothing of the day.

Eastgate House, Main Street Rochester

This is Eastgate House which features in two of Charles Dickens novels.

The rain decided to continue and we decided it was time to leave. The Queen Elizabeth bridge crossing the Thames is a one way road, so we drove through the Dartford Tunnel on the home drive, which passes beneath the River Thames. It was an interesting visit and Rochester is well worth it.

Creative Challenge #226 – Junkyard

Posted in Stories by

YMCA from Grenfell Avenue, Hornchurch

It was not really a holiday, but time to visit my dad who lived in London. Not exactly the tourist version of London, more the real world, people working for their living or just enjoying the senior years of life. On my way to my father’s house in the morning, combined with a bus journey, I walked along a residential street leading to the main road and bordered at the top with a few offices and small industries. Did I have my camera with me? Of course, a camera is part of my dress, I feel that something is missing without the camera. I then approached this “interesting” yard at the top of the street. The local YMCA was just around the corner and I found this a subject for a contrast photo, old and new.

I stood poised with my camera, focusing to what I needed. If I had been more interested in the details of what I was taking a photo of, I would have noticed him marching towards me with determined steps. My only remeberence is now the man you can see in the middle of the photo.

“Are you taking photos?” a  voice said, making me look up into the eyes of a young man, with a definite somewhat foreign appearance. His next question quickly followed “Are you from an insurance company?”. He was glaring at me and I thought now it has happened. What my other half is always telling me. “Be careful with your photography. Not everyone understands or likes being the subject of a photo.”

“I just found it an interesting subject, with the YMCA building in the background. I am on holiday in England and like to take a few photos of the area where I am staying” was my feeble answer, hoping that my camera and I would survive.

“I see, you know we sometimes have inquisitive people here with a camera prying into our private business.”

“No problem, but I was really just taking a photo. I can show it to you” and I made a feeble attempt to show him on the camerea screen. “I can even delete it from the camera”, I suggested, although it was not my genuine wish, but I was slowly becoming a unsure.

“No, not necessary” was the answer “but just don’t pry around too much. Not everyone is as understanding as I am”.

We were having our conversation at the entrance gates to the yard. In the background I could see another figure standing at the entrance to the “office”. I was really not sure if it was an office, imagining a smoky den with overflowing ashtrays and a gangster wearing dark glasses and of course the local river backed onto the office. Not the cleanest of rivers, brown muddy water, but flowing and even a few ducks found their nourishment in the waters.

“Jack, what is she doing. If she is causing trouble, I will pull in the boss. He will soon deal with a prying skirt and her inquisitive camera” called the voice from the office.

“No problem Sharpy” was the answer from my inquisitive friend (friend?). “She seems to be one of those arty farty camera people, taking photos to make herself interesting.

Ok Miss you better be on your way, before me and my partner think otherwise. Just take a  bit of advice and ask first before you take a photo. OK?”

“Ok” was my answer and I moved on, taking a photo of the river on my way to the bus stop wondering what those murky depths might be hiding.

River Rom

That evening I returned to my friend’s house where I was staying and told her and her boyfriend about my experience at the Junkyard in the morning. Her boyfriend laughed so I got curious to know what the joke was.

“It’s one of those places where they deal with second hand cars. Where they get them from and who they sell them to, or for what they are used is a bit doubtful. The place has always been there, and they are probably not too keen on insurance men, or paparazzi photographers.”

I decided to take a different route to the bus stop in future. I had visions of landing in a river with my pockets full of stones to weigh me down, or trapped in an old car and submerged, forever a murky secret of the River Rom. One thing did interest me, why there were so many telephone wires leading from the junkyard to the post outside – probably just the english way of doing things.

Telephone wires in Grenfell Avenue

A night out at the Pub

Posted in Uncategorized by

I am not really a pub person. In my younger days I quite enjoyed an evening with my friends, but somehow I have lost the taste. I do not like pubs that play loud music and I try to avoid large crowds of people. On top of this I don’t drink, so a visit to a pub for me is something completely different. My friend and her boyfriend like to go now and again to a local pub in Romford, the Wheatsheaf, and asked if I would join them. I thought why not, something completely different, so on a Friday evening I joined the local yokels in the pub.

Wheatsheaf Pub, Romford

We were in the smaller saloon bar which suited me fine. The usuals were there for a Friday evening, who my friends sort of knew from their previous visits. Not too noisy and I felt quite at home. It had a sort of olde worlde charm, so I made myself comfortable with a diet coke. I noticed the customary photo of the queen on the wall, otherwise the decorations were mainly photos of old aircraft.

Wheatsheaf Pub

Pub Wheatsheaf

It was a pleasant evening and I had an interesting conversation with one of the locals whose son also lived and worked in Switzerland. He had often been to Switzerland on visits. It’s a small world sometimes.

Eating Out in London

Posted in Blogs by

Menu in Snackbar Dagenham Heathway

During the day in London I was visiting dad. He had his own food, delivered weekly in frozen portions from a place called Wiltshire Farms. He could have transferred to Meals on Wheels, the local government organisation for delivered meals to the golden oldies that were no longer able to cook. Dad found that Wiltshire Farms delivered good food had a good choice and he could still manage to warm it in the oven. Ok, a micro wave would have been better , but in dad’s own words “I don’t want a Microwave”, so he would put on the oven once a day and warm it through. In a way it was good for him, keeping a certain amount of independence, and making him move to get his food. I also found that my dad could cope quite well on his own and did not mix in too much in his daily routine.

So as always when I stay, I took the bus into the nearest town at lunch time to go hunting for food. Actually I didn’t mind. Made a change and I discovered the culnary choices of the english food world. For my first lunch I went to one of the biggest stores in Romford, Debenham. It was clean (my main interest in a restaurant) and they had a good choice at a reasonable price. It was all self service, which saved time when ordering. They had a gentleman giving you a tray and showing you the way. He looked like Jimmy Rushing’s twin brother, a real Mr. five by five, as tall as he was wide. Anyhow they had Rösti on offer, a Swiss potato creation, but no. It did not look very Swiss, sort of packed in a pot and it seemed to be a children’s portion. What do you do – when in Rome, act like a Roman, so I went for fish and chips. Fish and Chips is a British national dish and what could possibly go wrong. They also had the usual jacket potatoes with twenty different ingredients on offer, but that was too complicated. I never did find what was so special with cooking a potato in its skin and mixing it with all sorts of creams, sauces and veg. So that was the first day dealt with and I survived. For my evening meal I usually got something for a sandwich. Dad lived on sandwiches in the evening. I found that Marks and Spencers also had a good choice for sandwiches, packed in brown bread which was more my taste.

One day I decided to see what the locals had to offer in Dagenham. I had some business at the local bank so decided to stay in the area. The lady at the bank recommended a cafe just down the road. So what could possibly happen. It even had tables and chairs outside fully occupied with the local native women, all of them with a cigarette in their hand (smoking prohibited inside) and were all engrossed in their conversations.

Snack Bar Dagenham Heathway
I entered the café, find it to be very clean, well looked after and with enough empty tables. I was not going for a full sized meal, as I was eating at my friend’s place in the evening. You can see the menu at the top of the page, and I went for the set breakfast No. 1. It was very reasonable and you got all the english breakfast trimmings. Sausage, fried egg, bacon, two slices of freshly made toast and of course baked beans in tomato sauce. It was very tasty, very good service and very nice people who ran the place. A young man and his wife, yes I could recommend this gourmet cafe to anyone spending their hoidays in Dagenham.

Another day I decided to go for it and walked into a restaurant in Romford which was a cut above the others in price. Ok, not so bad. Twelve english pounds for a buffet and eat all you want to.

Goji World Restaurant, Romford

I was somewhat confused when entering. There was a poster on a stand saying “wait here for your table”, but a young asian looking male soon appeared and asked me how many people I were. I told him I, me and myself, and he gave me a lovely table at the window, so I could watch the cosmopolitan world of Romford going bye. It was Sunday, but who cares. The shops were open, just like a normal working day. He said take a plate and just eat what you want. I decided to go asian on my first plate, prawns, noodles, chicken, a bit of everything. I deposited my empty plate, took a second and decided on traditional english Sunday lunch for my second, although the young Indian man serving tried to entice me into his Madras curry world (which I like very much actually). I told him not today, so it was roast beef, yorkshire pudding and carrots (which seem to be the standard vegetable). I did however get into an interesting conversation about the details of the Indian cuisine and its advantages. I just was not in an Indian mood on that day.

Eventually after eating through two plates it was time for a desert. Now I know I am diabetic, but there are times in a diabetic’s life when you decide who cares and after looking at the desert buffet I decided to go for it. I remained quite composed however and went for some small chocolate eclaires, and a piece of apple pie encased in flaky pastry. I am not the custard type and then I spotted a large bowl of whipped cream. Now I am really a fan of whipped cream so decided to help myself to a few spoonfulls. Actually the apple pie disappeared under a rather thick helping of whipped cream, which even had crushed meringue mixed into it. A desert to be remembered.

What could get better? My next visit to Romford was combined with a visit to the Brewery. It used to be a Brewery, but had become a shopping center. I discovered the Toby Carvery.

Toby Carvery, Brewery, Romford

Another gourmet temple in the heart of Romford. Not quite, but it suited my taste and purse. There was a buffet with the basic meat. Roast beef, a turkey, roasted pork and roasted ham. I went for the roast pork. Afterwards there were the supplements –  take what you want. At last I discovered something other than peas or carrots,  yes they had leek. I love leek so took a large portion, selected some baked potatoes, stuffing, and various different sauces. I nearly burnt my mouth on the mustard, but it was good. Another discovery for eating out in the local area.

So not wanting to leave you all in the dark here is my first plate with the roasted pork

Roast pork and the trimming in Toby Cavery, Brewery, Romford

And of course I followed it up with a desert, Lemon Curd Tart with whipped cream.

 

Lemon Meringue Pie and cream in the Toby Carvery, Romford

Not all meals were spent alone. There is a sort of custom that when I am in England I have a meal with my friend, who I was staying with, and another school friend from the olden days. We used to be young at school, now we are all members of the golden oldies club, but it was fun catching up. This time no photos, we were too busy having a chat.

Almost forgot to mention the drinks. I do not drink alcohol, am more or less tee total, but discovered that cranberry juice is nearly always on offer in England. I love cranberry juice, so that problem was solved.

Let’s go for a London bus journey

Posted in Blogs by

Norwood Lane Bus Stop, Hornchurch

This is the bus stop I mostly used, Norwood Avenue in Hornchurch. Staying in London and having to travel to my dad’s place every day, the bus was a necessity. I grew up in London, visit about once a year, and have now been in Switzerland 46 years, so you do get out of touch eventually. Busses were my main means of transport in my residential days, travelling to school and home and otherwise going places, but as everything, things change over the years.

First of all I had to equip myself with an updated oyster card. This is a payment method for London busses and the easiest and cheapest way to do it. I acquired my card a few years ago and keep it in a safe place at home to take with me on my London trips. So the first step is to go to a newsagents and get it uploaded for a week, costing about £18, which is quite reasonable, allowing you to hop on and off of busses all over London.

I soon noticed that my days of hopping were gone, and with a careful step I managed to get onto the platform. The oyster card is placed on a sort of electronic reading device next to the driver and then you are ready to go. The next step is to find a place to sit. Being in a somewhat more greyhaired advanced age, the seat has become an important asset in the bus, but unfortunately travelling at certain times seats can be rare. Of course you can go to the top deck of the bus, where there are almost always empty seats. Another problem as the driver pays no real attention to who is seated or not, he starts the bus when everyone has been loaded at the bus stop. Climbing up bus stairs on a moving bus is like a helter skelter ride at the fair, but with no real guarantee that you arrive safe and sure. I thus prefer to remain on the ground floor and usually occupy the first seats reserved for the aged and ailing if possible. Anything else requires mountaineering skills having to climb to a higher level.

London Bus, Rush Green road

Possibly the first two or three stops might be spent standing and clutching onto the rail with a tight grip to keep your balance, but somewhere on the way a seat may become available and then you sit and start to enjoy the bus ride, hoping the driver takes the sharp curves with care. There is a programmed announcement system at every stop so you know where you are. My journey to my dad’s place was from Norwood Avenue to Oxlow Lane on the 175 bus (busses are numbered) and after a week in London I knew each stop by name.

I really had to admire the mothers with their prams mounting and leaving the busses. They had special wider places to park the pram and stand (although if a wheelchair arrived, they had to give way). They pushed the pram onto the bus and left backwards with no problem. I noticed that the busses were much cleaner and more cared for than they were a few years ago. There had been a lot of vandalism and it was becoming an ordeal to take a peaceful safe journey, especially in the evening. There were notices forbidding alcohol and warnings that the busses were under surveillance by CCTV. On some of the busses you actually saw the screen showing what was being seen. I took the opportunity to take a photo of the screen showing me sitting on the bus.

Camera in Bus

You can see me on the extreme left with the camera in my hand. In front is the place reserved for prams and wheelchairs. My neighbour on the bus had deposited her shopping trolley there. The quality of the photo is naturally not so good, as busses are not made for winning Pulitzer prizes with the camera.

You are never really alone on a bus and somehow a conversation always develops with the person sitting next to you, especially with the golden oldies like myself. It usually starts with the weather but leads to all sorts of interesting subjects. I once got so engrossed with my conversation that I missed the stop where I should have left the bus, but bus stops being very near to each other, there was no problem in walking the short distance back.

There are two kinds of bus stops. Those where the bus always stops, and those that stop by request. The request stops mean that if you see your bus coming, you take a step near to the curb of the road and put your arm out signalising the bus to stop. It was here I found it was time to have an eye test. I had my eyes tested a couple of years ago, and Mr. Swiss had been telling me for some time I should think about having new glasses. As I stood waiting to signalise the bus it had to get very near for me to read the number (and they are big). Bus stops accomodated many busses and 175 can resemble 174 or even 5 I realised. Yes, it was time for new glasses. It once happened that I was sitting at the bus stop taking a photo of the street, or perhaps playing with a stupid game on my iPhone and the bus I was waiting for just sailed past as I did not see that it was arriving.

I often travelled back from my dads in the evening, around eightish when it was dark. This was no problem and everyone was well behaved on the bus. I was becoming a real profi with riding busses in London. I noticed that it was a good idea to avoid busses from 4 to 5 in the afternoon as this was the time when the uniformed school children were let out of the school, but here again they were very well behaved and absolutely no problem, the were just so many of them. I must say they were very well behaved, and in general and it was a natural thing for seats to be offered to the more needy and helpless (like myself?).

Yes bus journeys in London are fun. My biggest problem was getting off the bus. The step seemed to be so far from the pavement, but I even got used to that eventually.

Rush Green Road, Hornchurch

When Angels Travel, Heaven Laughs

Posted in Blogs by

Over Switzerland in plane

As I do not believe in Angels, or heaven for that matter, the angels did not laugh and it was probably an act of revenge when I left Zürich in my plane heading for London. I managed to sort of take the dream photo from the plane window. As I could only take my smaller point and shoot Lumix camera (being loaded up as a professional photographer with my Nikon and all the trimmings would have been a bit too much to carry), the photo is not perfect, but on the lefthand side you do see the Jungfrau, Eiger and Mönch in the Bernese Overland according to Mr. Swiss. I boarded the plane, got through customs and everything under control. There was one small mistake that happened, but I only discovered the mistake in London City Airport when I landed. I was so happy that everything went well, too well.

So there I was all on my Todd waiting at London City for my luggage. So I waited, and waited and waited and realised there was no more luggage coming. The thing we all dread had happened, my suitcase was apparently not on the plane. Not being someone lost for words, I enquired in rather loud tones where my luggage was at the desk. After a few phone calls and astonished expressions, the lady told me it could be that they did not notice that my luggage was still on the plane (which was just ready to start for London again, so no chance of a look to see). I was assured that it would be returned as soon as possible and that it would be delivered to my address in London by a courier service. She also said it happens everyday at the airport (what a reassurance!). I was given a piece of paper with a web address where I could check now and again (I was doing it every five minutes when I got to my domicil) to see how things were developing.

My friend and her boyfriend who were waiting for me on the other side of the exit phoned me to ask where I was and why I had not yet entered the airport like everyone else on my flight. I told them what was going on. Eventually I got out, making a few loud remarks to the staff in the lost luggage section. They said they had sent a notice to Zürich Airport and it was all happening, but they had not yet answered. I told them to use a phone and they said that would not be necessary. So I asked for the phone number and told them I speak the language good enough to ask myself. I started to dial and asked for the number and it seemed suddenly one of the luggage freaks had decided to call (was she afraid that an angloswiss would go beserk?). To no avail, no suitcase. So I arrived at my friends place with the request for some clean stuff to be getting on with for the next day. On the way to her place we stopped off at my dads.

I had not seen him for a year, but he was looking well for his age (97) and was quite able to have a good conversation. He lives in Dagenham, so afterwards I went to further fields in Hornchurch (if you don’t know where all this is – it is East from London towards the Thames estuary).

The suitcase adventure lasted from Wednesday when I arrived, until Friday morning at 09.30 hours when it was delivered by one of our ethnic minority/majority. A very nice gentleman, smiling and happy to place my case in my hand. In the meanwhile the case had visited Lisbon. Now do not ask me why, but it was obviously a mistake made in Zürich Airport. I was kept informed by London City Airport by phone. A lady had called me and told me that she found my case in Lisbon. Unfortunately she was probably Asian origine and I did not understand the name of the town, interpreting it as Eastbourne. However, on the lost luggage site on the computer I saw that it was Lisbon. The case was delivered the day before to London Heathrow, but delivery was only made the next day early in the morning to where I was staying. Luckily my friend could keep me suppied with clean socks and other articles of clothing necessary. I quite liked the nightdress she gave me, so decided to wear it all the time. A toothbrush and toothpaste was also supplied.

A big problem was that my diabetes tablets and cholesterol tablets were also travelling to Portugal, but I decided doing without them was a wiser choice than putting myselves into the hands of the NHS (Biritish National Health Service).

I survived and am still debating whether I can get some Swiss Francs out of the Swissair for the inconvenience.

So that ends the first part of the London visit Chronicle. More will follow.

Plane London - Zürich

Creative Challenge 225 – On the Edge

Posted in Stories by

Solothurn, North-West

“This is it” she thought “If you want to do the job, then do it properly. No second thoughts, the last chance of a lifetime”. Morana knew what she wanted to do, there was no stopping her. She took a determined step forward and precariously lifted one leg over the iron banister. She held on the railng with her hands to keep her balance and pushed upwards to get the other leg to follow. The wind was blowing stronger, but not too strong. It was a gentle summer wind, almost refreshing.

Now she was poised on the edge, shaking a bit from the exhaustion of the climb and from the steep drop to the town square. Looking downwards made her nervous. It was now or never. She felt like a circus actor, balancing on the tightrope, surrounded by nothing. Suddenly she was startled when a large bird flew over her head and dropped a sample of his recycling process on her head.

“Nooo, I did not bargan for that” uttering some words that her mother did not like to hear from her lips, but she did not care any longer. Morana was doing what she wanted to do, and not what her mother wanted. All her life she had to follow what the others said. The bird returned, circled around her head and made a neat landing on the railing next to her. Not exactly what Morana wanted, but it was ok, at least she was not alone in the most important moment. The bird started to make throaty noises, as if in sympathy with Morana’s predicament. “Don’t worry, I am with you now and we can both fly away together.”

“No, I want to do this alone.”

Suddenly she felt a movement behind her. She turned her head and saw a Japanese couple, tourists, with their camera ready and pointing. Not in the direction of the breathtaking view, but in her direction. They were speaking in their incomprehensible language and she was sure they were laughing, although she did not find the situation in the remote funny.

“Go away, leave me alone” she shouted in their direction.

“What are you doing” were the next words she heard, loud and clear, from a uniformed man. Was it a policeman? No, it was the wrong uniform. It was the man that sold the tickets for entrance onto the tower. “It is not allowed to sit on the raililng. They are there for the protection of the public.”

“Just leave me to do my own thing, please. I do not need any interruptions at the moment, or distraction.”

“Ok, miss, just take it easy. Don’t move, Help is on its way. Just breathe deeply and relax, it cannot be that bad, nothing is that bad.”

Morana was surprised at the change of tone in the ticket salesman’s voice, suddenly with feeling.

Morana took her courage in her hands. It was now or never. She reached into the bag she had on her shoulders and opened the clasp. She took out her camera and made the photos of a lifetime, one after the other.

When the ticket salesman returned, he was accompanied by a doctor and two members of a rescue team dressed in their uniform of illuminating colours. Morana was then standing on the platform showing the Japanese tourist the photos she had taken with her camera, who were nodding in appreciation of the perfect results.

“Are you all right Miss?” asked the doctor. “Do you need help? Tell me your worries” and he carefully approached Morana and put his hand out. “Just give me your hand and I will take you down. I know that life has a lot of problems, but nothing is that bad.”

“Sorry, I don’t understand. My name is Morana Risk and I work for the local newspaper as their star photographer. At the moment I am working on a project called “On the Edge” and showing a series of photos that are taken from high altitudes. My only problems are the interruptions from people that don’t let me get on with my job.”

My New Toy

Posted in Blogs by

Waffle form and recipe book

I am just a fool for these new fangled ideas. On the other hand, I do like waffles and so I had a look at this one. There is an organisation in Switzerland called Betty Bossi, and this ficticious super cook is reponsible for all new ideas in the kitchen. She writes cook books, develops new cooking appliances and sends a magazine once a month. Of course I belong to the club, like all good Swiss housewives. Ask a Swiss housewife, who is Betty Bossi, and she will know. Part of the modern education for Swiss housewives. I am a Betty Bossi fan, must admit. Her cook books are full of good ideas.

Being a member of the club, I am on line with my orders (Betty Bossi) to see what is new. Anyhow I decided to order this wonder work (with some other stuff as well) and on the day it arrived I even used it in the afternoon. I was convinced. you even get a recipe book with it. I was surprised that it was not metal, but some sort of silicon construction, bendable, almost like rubber, but Betty Bossi assured me it withheld temperatures of 220°C in the oven.

First of all the recipe. There were about 8 different recipes, some sweet, some savoury, some wholewheat etc. etc. I went for the basic sweet one.

230 grammes flour
1/2 desert spoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
80 grammes sugar
1 packet vanilla sugar
3 eggs
3 dl cream

Just throw it all in a mixing bowl (also from Betty Bossi, my special mixing bowl) and switch on the electric mixer. You get a sort of thick sauce and just pour it into the mould. Stick the mould in the lowest part of the oven on a baking tray and bake for 15 minutes. You even get a special instrument (something like a plastic skalpel) to remove it from the form.

Baked Waffles

This was the result. I was convinced I was on the right path. Now what to with this new creation? As already once informed on one of my blogs, I have an apple glut from my tree. So I peeled, cored and sliced four apples, tossed them into a micro wave proof bowl and threw some sugar over them. After ten minutes in the micro wave they were ready. They were nicely cooled down by the time the waffles were ready to be eaten.

So for desert we had waffles with apples and topped with whipped cream (from the aerosol – if you think I spend time whipping cream, then forget it). You get 8 waffles at once. Just stick the ones you don’t eat in a airtight tin. Today I put two in the toaster to warm them up a bit (Betty Bossi said reheat in the oven, but sometimes my ideas are better). With butter and jam perfect, Mr. Swiss found. I had a second helping with apples and so did son No. 1. Here is the finished result.

Waffles with apples and cream