Still waiting for news on my laptop and now doing this on a second hand borrowed old machine held together by pieces of sellotape and hope. Still seems to work though which could be something to think about if the news on the laptop is bad.

In the meantime in half anticipation that all has been wiped and my failure to back up comes back to bite me I have started to revisit what I think is the last hard copy of the book about mackerel. Leafing through it would be no bad thing if I was forced to sit down and write the whole thing out again. There are a lot of rough edges and some defenestration would no doubt do it some good. You never know there could be a chance to give the man with a black beard some kind of voice in it. I am reasonably sure that so long as he got fed the occaisional pint he would have something to say on most of what’s in there.

There was the summer almost nine years ago when Galen was six. He was being a nuisance in the kitchen and in exasperation got sent up the pier to look at the boats. The Ahakista equivelent of ‘Go play with the traffic!’ He did what he was told and came back 10 minutes later holding a large brown crab and asking ‘What do I do with it?’

Later in the pub I asked the man with a black beard if he could tell me how he cooked his crabs.

‘The crabs that come in from the bay. All they are good for are the claws.I know its bad and there ‘s those who say its a waste but the rest of them is nothing but water. The meat in the claws is good though. And there is so feckin’ many of them out there there is no matter how many you catch they are still clambering to get into your pots.’

‘But the best crabs to eat are the ones you get down the pier.’ We looked out of the window. The two fishing boats were tied up at the end of the pier and there were a dozen other boats of different colour and size lined up behind up to the slipway. It was early evening and there were two childen down by the bottom of the slipway peering into the water lines in hand.

‘They are doing it now. You want to keep them busy then give them a line and some bacon. No good stuff mind. Or a piece of old meat. Tie that to your string and put it down there into the water by the wall. Now the skill, the skill of it is pulling them out the water. It is easy enough to watch ’em taking hold of your bait but then you need to tease them out of the water. And once you get them out of the water pull them up fast or they’re dropped off and gone.’

We pulled at our pints thinking on those crabs lost back to the water.

‘The shit that those little crabs eat. You’ve seen the dead fish that gets thrown into the water there. They get fat on that. It doesn’t matter what those crab eat they still taste good. Are those yours out there?’ He pointed to the two small girls at the slipway. ‘You  get them to fill up that backet. Give them a washing in some clean water and then boil them up. They are green and dirty now but in two minutes they will be bright and red. You leave them to cool for a while and you can eat them then. There’s no need to peel them. Take a good bite and you can pull out with your tongue all that is good.’

Laptop has now been left in the care of a dodgy looking shop on London Road. No doubt it is the process of being stripped down for parts and that will be the last of it. Well see.

So in the meantime I am able to steal a quick few minutes on this thing and I am struggling to find anything to write about. There are those in the background no doubt shouting well leave it alone and go watch some television or something. Well I will in a minute but before I do that I can share with you this evening’s supper.

There was some debate last night as to what we should have for tea. There was aubergine and chickpeas left from the night before and a large bowl of rice cooked with lentils and spices none of which attracted the children. There was a general complaint from them that they’d been eating too much chicken and did not want it again. Which is fair enough but when the don’t eat anything else is a little frustrating. The debate concluded with our having chicken again.

It was only a small one and for some of its roasting it shared the oven with the sticky ginger cake. I stuffed it with three preserved lemons from a jar I had bought in The International Store a few weeks ago. It was smeared with olive oil, salt, pepper and ground cinnamon. To keep the kids happy it was served with roast potatoes.

There was enough left for me to finish it off this evening cold. I had it with some of the rice and a few pickled green chillies. The preserved lemons adding a gentle warming background flavour. I will do that again.

Following the return from Sweden all the adults wanted was a quiet house for the day and no disturbance. That was fine for the teenager who wanted to spend her day doing art and watching Friends. I am watching her now, eyes intent on her paper and scissors whilst Chandler and Ross flit across the screen in front of her and every so often there will be a burst of laughter and she is back into her world. Will they be marking her knowing the subliminal influence that must run through it all.

For the younger daughter we had some baking to do. There had been a recipe that caught  my eye in the weekend paper from the previous week for a Sticky Ginger Cake. So when she said she wanted to make some cakes I got it out and said lets do this. She asked what ginger tasted like and did she like it? I played down the answer and anyway it had lots of syrup in it.

I am not a great cake maker but as we started to measure out the ingredients I was surprised that the cake needed only 25 gr of flour. We could have been heading for a disaster but I was able to get myself 2 minutes on this thing and established that it should have read 225 gr. After that it was a breeze apart from the arguing over who should be responsible for spooning the treacle and syrup out of the tins without making mess and who should lick the bowl.

One of the privileges of being an adult should be being able to clean out the bowl with your fingers without a parent to tell you off. And then you go make the mistake of having your own children and the little buggers want to lick out the bowl as well, So you end up in an unseemly fight round the kitchen as to who gets the last lick.

Having got that over with (daughter won) half the cake went in one go. Warm slices of dark cake on small white plates. The rest is now swaddled in grease-proof paper and foil slowly developing its flavour. It will be good tomorrow.

Next week we will have a go at Sticky Toffee Pudding.

‘Did you hear about the man who wanted cheese and onion potatoes. He was English like you and spoke with a smart voice.’

We were stood at the bar watching the weather. A mist was coming in down the bay. It had obscured the hills on the other side. It would be followed by rain.

‘He was in the pub in Kilcrohane, Fitzpatrick’s Pub, you know the one, Eileen’s pub. He was there with his family and you know how Eileen always has a bag of potatoes for sale in the corner. Four Euro a bag and no better potato. Pink Fir mostly but you have to watch them as they cook. They only take a minute to turn in the water and if you leave them to long they are gone into mush. But get them right with a good lump of butter they are fine.’

‘This man he’d be here for his two weeks in the summer and he thought he would have a bag to take back to his house. So he’s paying for his pints and the coke and he asks the girl on the bar in his smart voice “And can I have a bag of potatoes?”.

‘Naomi it was and she looks at him strange,” What flavour will that be. We have salt and vinegar and cheese and onion.” The man there is quiet for a minute and I was there watching him work at is mouth. How do you answer a question like on a brown bag of potatoes. He worked his mouth and looked at the bags in the corner, “They come in flavours?” ‘

The man with a black beard laughs, ‘But the joke of it was she though he’s asked for a bag of Tayto’s.’ He pointed to the cardboard box filled with the red and blue packets of crisps, laughing still.

‘The man there he got his potatoes and Naomi now she listens closer if she’s asked for a bag of potatoes.’