Last night Hugh and I went to see Admiral Fallow at The Kazimier in Liverpool. I am not sure that either of us were sure of what to expect and given the cold and thick rain I don’t think we would have been too disappointed if the other had decided not to go. So we were both pleasantly surprised.

I had picked up their last album Tree Bursts in Snow in June when we spent a few days in Edinburgh. I had never heard of them before but it had pride of place in Avalanche Records new home on Grassmarket so I thought I would give it ago. I have not listened to it as often as I should. It was probably overshadowed by The Dexy’s album which I picked up the same day. I was also discouraged by a review that mentioned Snow Patrol. I know very little about Snow Patrol apart from the all pervading Chasing Cars which the kids like to sing very loudly at inappropriate times – that is probably all the time – particularly when it comes to the kid with the loud voice.

I saw the poster advertising the gig in Probe Records when buying more albums that I can’t afford last week and didn’t think I would go. Then Hugh sent the email asking if anyone was interested so I said I would be up for it.

One of my favourite parts of a gig is watching an unknown band set up on stage and trying to get an inkling of what they might be like from the number of guitars and other instruments being subjected to the soundtrack. The guitars goes to one of my golden rules of a gig. The ideal should be no changes of guitar. As soon as they start being changed and swapped around points get knocked off. There were perhaps too many guitars last night but it was kept within reasonable limits. Other instruments included a flute, clarinet and an accordion. All these were good things although there was some Jethro Tull nervousness with the flute.

There was a definite Scottish timbre to the music which may be partly where the Snow Patrol reference had come from but King Creosote is from Scotland and there was some of that as well, particularly on the quieter moments. The flute and the clarinet wove round the back of the sound for most of the time and no one stood on one leg. There was some swapping of guitars but mostly between electric and acoustic so I could live with that.

Perhaps the best moment was when the whole band, six of them, came to the front of the stage to sing a song a cappella. There were loud bits as well and even some distorted guitars and tattoo beating of drums.

I was reminded of a review I had read a few days previously of the new album from God Speed You! Black Emperor.  We saw them in concert years ago and there were quiet bits then loud bits and then even louder bits and there was something redemptive about those loud bits, a great sense of release in the overpowering noise. The review noted all this and then noted that Coldplay now make a similar noise when they go loud, although not as good and with Chris Martin singing on top.

So no cooking last night and this evening and tomorrow I am out to see Mark Mulcahy. There will be a short report on that and on the partridge I am planning to eat with quince sauce on Friday.

There is some benefit in the clocks going back, winter is tightening around us and we have the benefit of warmth found, a newly made fire with chopped wood from the garden. It is getting dark just after 4.00 in the afternoon and I spent an hour outside as the afternoon merged into that winter glooming. The beds are a tangle of old and dead vegetation but as I pull and cut it away there are the first half shoots of next years growth.

In the last ten minutes or so before it got too dark to work it was quiet, just the sound of my breathing and the rustle of my hands in the dead leaves. It was still and there was a temptation to allow the time to stand still for a moment or two, to pause in my work and look up to the sky and close my eyes. Behind me a Robin turned the soil looking for food.

When it was finally dark I came in to make a late lunch. I had bought two medium chickens at the International Store, these were cut up into eight pieces, the carcasses put to one side for stock.  The chicken pieces were then fried off in olive oil until golden, a handful of peeled garlic cloves were thrown in and once they had taken on some colour I poured in a glass of white wine and some saffron water. Once that was simmering the lid was put on and it was left for forty minutes. About halfway through I stirred in some raisins and pine nuts.

Earlier in the day I had chopped up ten quinces, covered them with water and left them to simmer for a couple of hours.

Once they had collapsed into the water I forced them through a sieve and stirred a pound of sugar into the pulp.

We had the chicken with crusty rice flavoured with cardamon and cinnamon and flat bread that had been heated in the oven.

Th quince pulp has been put back on the oven and is bubbling slowly and volcanically. It is a deep dark red and the smell is starting to perfume the house.

Listening to Tom Waits and waiting for him to get to Kentucky Avenue.

The two bird feeders in the garden are full of nuts and there is a steady stream of Blue Tits and Great Tits that come to swing on its metal step taking turns to have their go at the nuts. More occasionally there is the odd Coal Tit and a Nuthatch.

Elsewhere in the garden we have left the windfall apples by the stone wall and at any one time there are half a dozen black birds and a few fat pigeons pecking away at them, leaving behind a pockmarked skin.

Last nights Turbot was a bit like feeding strawberries to a donkey but the kids enjoyed it. I roasted it whole in the oven for twenty five minutes having seasoned it with salt, pepper and dash of olive oil, rubbing it in and enjoying the feel of the hard nodules over the skin on its back. 

We ate it with a bowl of potatoes that had been cooked in the oven with carrots, white wine and water and a plate of red kale from the garden.

A quiet Saturday. The sky has been clear and blue for most of the day but now the dark is coming down and grey clouds are skitting over the horizon. It has been snowing elsewhere and who knows it is almost cold enough to snow here. I will be lighting the fire later.

We had chickpeas last week but I didn’t quite finish he jar. I should have put it in the fridge but I forgot and after a few days a light bloom of mould had starting to grow. A week later it is almost two inches thick, grey and dirty black at the end. Almost good enough to eat. I waited for light and the weekend to take a picture. It will seem a shame to throw it away.

On the trawl round Birkenhead I started at Wards. I had been meaning to get some halibut. I had not had it before and I had spotted a recipe in the Margot Henderson book I was cooking from last night. But my eye was caught first of all by some Red Gunnard that were considerably cheaper and then by a small Turbot. We are only in with the kids and it would be an extravagance but it would be great roasted whole and the kids will enjoy it.

There were more quince in the grocers so I bought another ten to make some quince cheese. At home I unwrapped the Turbot and Tom looked on greedily the smell twitching his whiskers.

In the afternoon we went down to the Oxton Art Fair in The Williamson Gallery. Des was running a children’s workshop and in the corner a portrait booth had been built. I was sat down and five minutes later was given for a £ a small portrait that appears to have captured my furrowed brow.