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4th August 2022
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@oystertherapy
Update inbound once I can log into account correctly
4th August 2022
Autumn/Winter Collection A cursory catch up November 2020
The second London lockdown is slightly less inhibitive, so I was wandering around Little Venice the other day grabbing a hot drink and saw one of the boat restaurants advertising takeaway oysters.
I spent the next three days going in and asking for them only to be told their delivery had not arrived. On day three I was assured I could collect some the following day. I got in the correct mind set for a cheery oyster session, putting aside a bottle of prosecco, and preparing my living space for their arrival. I was very happy and expectant when I braced myself against the autumn winds to collect my dozen watery treats.
The place was doing decent business on my arrival and I waited my turn, in a socially distanced, masked queue and made my order.
After a short wait they arrived, on a plate. I asked how I was supposed to get them home to be told I had to eat them on the premises or use one of the tables nearby as they were a high-risk food. Apparently, I could not be trusted to transport them to eat in the comfort of my own home, an easy fifteen-minute stroll away.
I chose an empty, wet wooden bench, with a now cold, howling wind thwarting my efforts to prise the oysters out of their shells simultaneously battling with a now tepid hot chocolate and set of earphones. It was all messy and took away any pleasure. I gobbled the oysters down without giving them the time and consideration they deserved and hopped up in a few minutes and threw the disposable plate in the litter bin.
It was definitely not my finest oyster experience and to be honest the oysters weren’t very nice: Carlingfords, which were salty and fresh but they had a too much metal aftertaste and certainly were not complemented by the hot chocolate. Actually, I felt a bit ill. On the up-side I also had been given a cute little loaf of soda bread which has kept me going for a few days.
Which leads me to a silly story. I was speaking with my girlfriends in Sydney the other day and apparently it was just me who misheard (they both deny having said or hearing it) how much they thought I liked bread. I laughed and thought what a funny observation to make and relay to me. When people ask me about my favourite food, a myriad of things come to mind and never once has it included bread. I cannot remember ever asking them to make me bread, gotten concerned when the bread supply was getting low or even making too many sandwiches.
But since they mentioned it, I have noticed something. I do like bread. What a funny thing it was to find out about myself. I smile when I go shopping now as I invariably firstly skip up to the baked goods. I wonder why I misheard them, but what an impact it has made to my life.
I love bread! Who knew? The signs were there all along. The only speciality shop loyalty card I have is for Gail’s, a bread shop. I crave sourdough and ciabatta loaves.
Next, they will be saying I love potatoes…. hang on! I do love potatoes.
As I finish typing this morning this is the news I read – sad and shameful.
https://www.abc.net.au/news/2020-11-19/afghanistan-war-crimes-report-igadf-paul-brereton-released/12896234
To get the horrible taste out of my mouth I attach an antidote – people who have spent their life only spreading joy and happiness. I will forever love Underworld.
https://youtu.be/q9bPWyqW-ek
Peace and Love
Shirley x
a summer like no other – bitchin’ and moanin’ – if you can’t say anything nice, say nothing – but I gotta
Living a lockdown life in London – July 2020
I located some oysters for sale at £1 a pop at the local fishmonger but cannot be bothered to buy them and am too scared to attempt shucking them myself with a screwdriver.
I have developed a sizeable dose of agoraphobia during the pandemic and it is all I can do to even creep up to the local shops for essentials to eat. I have been prone to this in the past and it is not much fun. And when I do make the effort and mask up and gloves on and eyes shielded with glasses, I do not know why I bothered. This is not the London I know and love and no longer recognise it. People finally (well in two weeks) will be mandated to wear masks – I have been wearing one since the lockdown started. I have a photo which captures my mood perfectly and it does make me laugh out loud. I do not like cats, but the teary cat face says it all.
Me:
The streets are deserted in the morning and then a shitshow when busy in the afternoons with loads of people not quite putting the masks they do have on correctly and those without not giving much heed to distance.
Personally, I have never liked people being ‘in my face’ and now I know more about ‘mouth rain’ I am glad I have kept my distance. What a grim lot of humanity we can be. I was told a particularly unsavoury tale recently about basic hygiene. It is too repulsive not to share.
An old man in the local pub went to the loo when a friend of mine was also in there. He was wandering out of the toilets without washing his hands and was asked “why don’t you wash your hands?” He replied, “my dick’s clean” and shuffled out. Eww and gross on every level. Hands up who agrees?
I know Britain has been referred to as the dirty man of Europe – I think that is completely justified. And now we are not even the dirty, sick man of Europe – we are the dirty and sick man of well, just the UK.
I didn’t vote for Brexit and the brexshit is starting to hit the fan. The incompetent government who are shysters and chancers all, have mishandled the pandemic and behind the scenes are currently dragging the UK into a place of potential economic and cultural woe justified by a false sense of security of taking back control. If what they are proposing is taking back control, I want to remain completely out of control with open borders and single markets.
I spend way too much time listening to news podcasts and that has added to the general depression I am in. I have however found one funny guy on Twitter who is a Republican hellbent on ousting that odious Trump in the election. The guy is involved with The Lincoln Project. On his personal feed he posts viral clips of invariably white folk brandishing guns, yelling at the top of their lungs usually at old women about their rights. He always tags them with ‘he/she/they seem nice’ – it makes me laugh every time. Thank you Rick Wilson.
https://twitter.com/therickwilson/status/1281570756799889408?s=21
It is strange to think that for those of us who survive these strange days will look back from the future and say to each other “ do you remember the plague?” and we won’t be recalling the middle ages, but our very own plague. And I read recently the bubonic plague is making a comeback – well why not?
And we still have the promise of absolute awfulness to come.
https://www.bbc.com/news/health-53392148
Among all this strangeness I finally was granted UK citizenship. I was due to take part in a public ceremony back in March, but lockdown started the day of my appointment, so it was put on pause. Until last week when I was offered a private ceremony – “that’ll be £100 thanks” – for the privilege which I took. It was surreal turning up to Marylebone Town Hall which is a glorious building to find it locked up. I knocked on the door, was ushered in and told to sit down and wait. The place was deserted and after a few minutes I was pointed in the direction of a woman standing at a desk who then pointed me in the direction of the stairs which I climbed and sat down on another chair and waited.
After a few minutes, the Registrar turned up and we both went into a beautiful and ornate room big enough for a reception for around 100 people. And there we stood, just she and me, distanced. I pledged my oath, she welcomed me to the UK and played a CD of the National Anthem. I collected my certificate and was out the door within 15 minutes. Now, I arrived in London in 1987 determined to get a European passport. I know I am good at deliberating and taking my time, but 33 years and one Brexit later, I end up with the chance for a UK passport. My Australian one will open more doors to Europe than the new one.
I am not even remotely in the same league as the poor Windrush folk, but I felt compelled to get this passport in the end. Despite having been given indefinite leave to remain years ago, a few years back when the government started “taking back control” I was told that my original Home Office letter no longer was valid - indefinite, not indefinite. I had to pay £800 to upgrade my existing paperwork for a resident permit that again, despite me having the right to stay indefinitely, had an expiry date on it. I would have to pay again for its renewal. So when I kept seeing people born in this country and some who had been brought here as babies did not have the correct papers and were now being threatened with deportation, I had to finally go through with the process.
Do not get me wrong – I love the UK and have happily lived and worked here for years but I suddenly felt I too could be caught up in my very own little windrush moment. And it does happen that people can lose their identities and rights. Here in the UK in 2020, who would have thunk it?
So here I am British and Australian finally. Wanting to escape the pandemic but unable as now the Australian government wants a contribution of AS$3,000 for two weeks’ quarantine costs on arrival in Sydney. I could quarantine myself in more familiar surroundings for a lot less than that. Unless they are serving champagne and oysters at every meal during the two weeks I am not interested. I will wait until they lift the restrictions.
In the meantime, I remain furloughed and not feeling optimistic about the job I have ever coming back to me.
Still, mustn’t grumble! Just will continue on my slippery hell slope of pandemic madness. And in that I know I am not alone. The mental health of the nation is in a right state. No-one is having any fun. And it didn’t need to be like this.
Lots of love
Shirley x
The New Normal - 08 April 2020
What a difference a week makes – the virus kills everyone not just us boomers and our PM is stuck in intensive care. I have been in lockdown for nearly a month as I was already self-iso earlier. I am not sure if I haven’t already had it – looking forward to an antibody test. Bring it on.
It is a month since I bothered with a bra or any makeup. That is quite liberating. I read on social media somewhere the older you get, the uglier looking you are prepared to go out – I totally ascribe to that. Odd then, I have a daily routine which does involve picking out a nice dress to wear so I swan around the flat all dressed up (minus bra and makeup) with nowhere to go! Like so many of us I do online exercise classes and look out the window a lot. I have taken up reading again which is so therapeutic.
I have a pair of tits on the balcony – how can I resist saying that – whose ancestors bred in a box there. They have come back after ten years and are just gorgeous. They keep poking their heads into the box and flying away but I am hopeful they will breed. Last time there was a couple they had seven fledglings I watched popping onto the balcony and jumping off on their maiden flights. That must have taken some doing but off they went and kept coming back until they had grown. It was such fun and I take great delight watching them now.
The lack of planes overhead has made London sound like I imagine it was like in the 1930s – the birdsong sounds above everything else – the occasional car and ambulance siren no doubt whisking someone off to the hospitals and that is it. I remember when I was in Mozambique I was sitting by the pool and heard a big scary ‘thud’. Turned out it was a mango dropping out of a tree. The outskirts of Beira (ah poor Beira) were completely untarnished by any noise pollution. So, it is here for the moment.
I wander to the shops once a week and the madness has calmed down and people tend to be more reasonable, waiting at a distance and being patient. It isn’t like they have anywhere else to go, I guess. I went to Waitrose this morning to get stuff for Easter. My big outing. I was also looking for smoked oysters so I could do a taste along with Patty.
Being cooped up inside my self-isolationist self cannot excuse not talking to friends anymore – “Ah, I am busy today, feel sick, working late” no longer valid. The best I can come up with is “You caught me at a bad moment, I am walking from my living room to the kitchen”. Doesn’t cut it really.
So, Zoom, Houseparty and Jitsi are the new communication choice. I miss hugging my children and laugh at our resemblance to the Brady Bunch – original series and not the cartoon version – not sure I don’t look more like Alice the housekeeper than the sprightly Mrs Brady! But I recall Alice despite her dowdy appearance, did have a fancy man in tow. Maybe braless and clean faced will serve me well. And I have taken up cleaning mainly owing to the germ paranoia that I suspect is everywhere just like that pesky virus.
I take perverse delight in watching Trump and wondering how low he can go and how mad he needs to be before someone doesn’t just escort him into the nearest white van and quietly dispose of him. I have never wanted to be in anyone else’s head but you know what – I would love to be in his for maybe a minute. I simply cannot figure out if he stays up late to think of increasingly moronic and dangerous things to say or if it is always like a tap turned on full with no filter or off switch. I tend towards the latter. I have never seen such an ego out of control and with so much airtime and power. And he remains the Leader of the Western World – god help us all.
Oh yes as I was saying I was going to do a virtual houseparty with tinned oysters with Patty but there weren’t any at Waitrose so that will have to be done later.
Walking through London with virtually no one else around you is eerie – so much so I cried last week when wandering home from our charity shop which has been handed over to provide space for donations to the frontline staff at St Mary’s. Cried and snivelled loudly all the way down Porchester Road and up Harrow Road towards home. Not a person there to care or notice. Not that I needed help or pity – it was just so poignant being in such a vibrant city as London and it being post-apocalyptically quiet. It overwhelmed me at the time.
But hey this is the new normal for a while so I now wonder how long it will take us all to trust each other and get close again when this horror is over.
I keep hearing “Streets of London” in my head which is such a sad song and then “Baker Street” which is so uplifting but my hit pick for today’s mood – I give you The Clash and “London Calling” – which I think perfectly sums our situation up right now.
Happy Easter, Happy Passover and Happy Ramadan, Happy Mahavir Jayanti, Happy Buddha’s birthday, Happy Vaisakhi to any or all of you who have these coming up. Being a newly born-again atheist, I am looking forward to zooming my children and eating and drinking everything in sight this weekend.
And a big shout out to Jacinda Ardern who announced essential workers included the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. She just gets it right. Where Trump just gets it wrong.
And I send you all my love.
Shirley x
Love in the Time of Corona - 18 March 2020
Well hell, hello everyone! I was going to start a new blog but this blog is already here so I thought like so many other podcasts and news reports I will just change the name to cover this extraordinary time. So, no oysters but some reflections on day two – is it only day two – of social distancing and for me a semi self-isolating status. Although in reality I live my life in a state of constant self-isolation. It has been interesting to see how people react to being told to stay inside.
Hmmm well we did know this would happen sooner or later right? And our world will never be the same again? I am grateful I am slightly older as my younger self would be completely polarised. I would either be defiant and flaunting all directives and laws or I would be inside under my covers crying. Knowing me as I do, I admit it would have been the former and then I would get the virus and quickly snap to other me, too afraid to look out the window. But at time of writing I have a slightly sore throat and a hugely big dose of hypochondria.
The irony of seeing throngs of people all pushing up against each other trying to push their ways into supermarkets makes me smile. I have been up and in shops around 6am, not panic buying but trying to feed my latest addiction – snacks. As I get older instead of sticking to my life long strict regime of restricting my diet I now think “Ooh a lovely snack in a lovely package and overpriced, that is for me” so I have become obsessed with Itsu beef twerky and other very strange things. They are lovely. And having looked for weeks got hold of last four packs of twerky yesterday on my early forage. That is my stockpile sorted. Oh, and wine. I joined a wine club and had my first delivery only to be emailed yesterday with the news that owing to overwhelming ordering, all deliveries are on hold! So as the shelves get sparser and sparser and while there are no paper goods, pasta, rice or tinned food there are snacks! Strangely there is still a lot of coffee and cereal. Curious what folks consider their essentials in a crisis. I use a lot of flour as part of my adult “eat what you want” ethos and bake cakes but apparently now everyone is a baker. No flour to be had. I am lucky/unlucky not to have a freezer so space is limited for me to squirrel away six months of stuff. While my collection of goods is eclectic at best there is enough food to keep me fed for six weeks. Although it would not necessarily be anything better than bar snacks and a well-considered can of refried beans! Why did I buy that?
My daughter and her flatmate have the virus and are stranded in their flat in south London. I am being advised to take precautions as I spent the weekend with her the day before she started showing symptoms. My place of work has closed for the foreseeable future. I am mid-way through a recruitment process of joining the NHS so I suspect down the road that will come forward as the NHS is going to be stretched beyond its limits over the next days, months and possibly years and I have skills they are going to need especially if the figures being thrown around like confetti are to believed. Most of the population will at some point get infected. I am ready to type!
My son started working in a school just last week – which will now be closed on Friday. Don’t know what happens in a case like that – he has left the capital and taken all his stuff up to a new town in a new job.
I am not going to annoy myself with any governments’ decisions on how they will or will not protect people’s livelihoods. All I know is that if Richard Branson asks for cash he gets billions and if I ask for an extended overdraft if I am lucky enough to be granted, it will be paid back at the new exorbitant interest rate which doesn’t really help me at all. It will be interesting to see how this all works out.
The rich currently think they can buy their way out of the crisis and the rest of us left to become statistics in a virus meltdown. We will see, maybe that is not how it will happen Money cannot buy protection from this so it will probably be a good leveller.
My own theory is loosely based on the Gaiai theory. As we hit 7.7 billlion people on the planet, there are simply too many people on earth. Recently we have been talking about climate emergencies, turning back the clock, addressing the issues. Talking and not much doing as the multinational super companies continue to pillage the planet to make more cash.
I think the Earth has taken things into its own hands and said “enough”. All my life I have been told that at some point there will be more over 65s than under 25s in the population. Successive governments have spoken about it and not one has done anything about it as usual. So now we have reached tipping point where we are faced with an aging population and not enough young’uns to sustain us and themselves. Something has got to give. Hence my Gaia analogy. If we are not going to do anything, the Earth itself will take things into its own hands. I am not in any way gloating – hey I am inching up towards the older demographic but it was only a matter of time. In theory I am happy to lay down and give up for the younger generation but really, I don’t want to die right now.
But if I do I, I would like it to at least help this flailing world. Another curious human behaviour is that during difficult times, especially if locked indoors with a low boredom threshold, everyone starts breeding. The last thing we need right now while the earth is attempting to shed itself of too many folks, is a new bunch of mouths to feed. But a baby boom is almost inevitable now. I am a baby boomer and am conscious of what a self-entitled, smug group of people we collectively have become.
I wish everyone good health, good hearts and good humour.
The Muppets always do it right! I give you ‘Cabin Fever’.
Speak soon. Got to go cough…….nooooooooo…….
Lots of love
Shirley xxx
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xsezrzS27UY&feature=youtu.be
Time Travel 14 September 2019
I am overdue a review from back in May and have lost the thread for that one so I will cut straight to recent history; as in, yesterday.
My best friend the divine Ms M was in town again - she does a lot of travel - and we both had some time to spend together. After some thought we chose Wright Bros, South Kensington branch. Neither of us had been there and it was easy for us both to get there so I booked a table.
I hopped on my stretched limo - read bus - and started what I expected to be a relative 'walk in the park' bus ride. Funny I should think that as the traffic slowed and slowed to a snail pace as we reached Hyde Park. Hmmmm I then thought to check google and sure enough there it was, final night of the Proms in London featuring an outdoor version. For those of you who know me, I hate being late and although I knew I probably would arrive on time I started fretting and texting. Happily I got to South Kensington in perfect time. Time enough to feebly put on some app to locate exactly where I was meant to be, get lost, and re-find the restaurant that I had managed to stroll past several minutes before. I arrived a minute ahead of the booking. I took a seat outside and then my buddy Megan turned up and it took so little time to decide what we needed, yes needed was champagne! And it appeared.
Wright Bros South Ken is a small place but it has a lovely little buzz of locals humming inside and felt quite French bistro to me. We were advised the Mermaid Cocktail & Oyster Bar would open in half an hour. The name sold itself so we agreed to be seated when things were ready.
September in London and we are suddenly in an unexpected early autumn heatwave so there we were basking in sunshine and heat sipping our bubbles. By the time we had finished it was time to relocate. One of the most perfect London balmy early evenings. One of the last chances of topping up the depleting Vitamin D for the next six months. Shall we go downstairs now!!! Of course, the Mermaid Lounge was calling us like an ancient Siren. Fuck you sunshine!
We were led downstairs and found ourselves plonked right back into last century circa 1978. Our perfect time and place. There were the mandatory mermaid sculptures on walls and a fabulous mermaid neon sign. The room was dark, small and intimate - just like me - and very welcoming, a metaphorical womb. Here is the thing about mermaids. They Are Not Real. Just like Unicorns. Not real. There seems to be a trend that people are behaving and speaking as if they are. Um let me reiterate. Not real.
It needs noting I am the mother who never ever let her children believe in Santa, the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny but felt ok about believing in a god. OK we live and learn. I have more faith today in mermaids than in any benevolent godilke creature looking out for me.
Funny thing about Santa. My son quite rightly pointed out his non-existence at nursery school one day approaching xmas. He was told not to tell lies and was punished accordingly. I did speak to the teacher to attempt to underline the irony of being called a liar in Catholic school when he was in fact, telling the truth! Ah that good old Christian double standard that has confounded and confused so many of us for too long.
Joy after joy; not only had we time travelled back to the perfect era, it was happy hour in the Mermaid Lair which meant £1 per oyster! We couldn't order fast enough. They were the staple and always reliable Jersey rocks which delivered the zinc laden, salty hit we were seeking.
We followed this strong start with a dressed crab - nothing worse than a naked one, right - and some prawns, the fiddly ones that seem so labour intensive but are always incredibly tasty. All washed down with a nice light Pinot Noir.
It was finished off with a round of cheese and a sweet wine. Not too much not too little, just Goldiocks perfection.
Thank you Wright Bros for getting it right again and for the spendid experience.
The pesky sun had disappeared by the time we left the darkly lit basement but was still a lovely warm temperature so we walked back towards Hyde Park. Remember that? We got to the periphery and could just make out some music wafting softly across the trees. It was dark, the place was virtually empty which belied the reality that probably about 50,000 people lurked somewhere in the park but fortunately far enough away from me. Me, the person who hates crowds, will not queue and generally thinks there are TMP(too many people) on this fabulous but faltering and failing planet.
Meg and I walked, we talked, we at times continued on the dirt path in the comfortable and comforting silence that life long friendship can offer. I got off the path to hug a few trees that needed a hug - or was it me that needed it.
As we drew closer to Hyde Park Corner the music became more audible and yes it really was Chrissie Hynde singing in the distance. Her distinct and delightfully sexy voice washed over us and we sang along with it. We were still in the 70s.
Then spontaneoously we locked arms, started skipping a la Judy Garland in 'The Wizard of Oz' and burst into our own song. With no-one to judge us, laugh or wonder, we sang a song we sang as teenagers when we performed in pantomimes at childrens' parties at the AMP centre in Sydney on Saturday afternoons.
"Let a smile be your umbrella on a rainy, rainy day".
Applause, bow, blackout.
Shirley x
bubbles, mermaids, oysters
Two nights out, many oysters, many bubbles, much fun, much love.
Two friends, one week, two oyster outings - J Sheekey and The Cow
My best friend showed up unexpectedly in London a couple of weeks back. We had a great get together, enjoyed a meal at home, went to Tate Britain and then travelled to the hipster White Cube gallery to enjoy the new Tracey Emin exhibition.
She was then off to work out of town and coming back to London so we set another dinner date; this time with oysters. I trawled online through the usual suspects, starting with the Cow of course, due to its proximity to my house and my reluctance to travel where there are Too Many People, which these days, is pretty much anywhere in central London or trendy areas: we had already endured pushing our way through Borough Market for about ten minutes until we could take no more.
All our favourite haunts were fully booked and I just didn’t get it. Then I did. The night we wanted to eat oysters was Valentine’s Day. I realised we had little or no hope of finding a seat anywhere but we did find a bar stool only booking at Wright Bros right near Borough Market. We agreed it would be better than nothing and Wright Bros do offer very fine food. Valentine’s Day and oysters go hand in hand of course. And I have never had it impact on me before. Our preference was J. Sheekey but it was hugely overbooked. I laughingly said that as it was the Most Romantic Day of the Year, we could probably count on an argument or two and a cancellation closer to the day. And that was the end of the conversation and it drifted out of my mind.
The morning of February 14, I wandered off to work and starting looking forward to another meeting with my mate. I heard my phone ping mid afternoon and while she had been engaged in Very Important Meetings, she had also found time to call around and guess what? There was a cancellation. At J. Sheekey! What a fine result. Every cloud indeed has a silver lining.
So I hot footed it down Piccadilly across Leicester Square, where I noticed again, the deluge of TMP (too many people) and squeezed past the heaving masses and found myself in the quiet and definitely genteel delight that is J. Sheekey. It is an establishment of the luvvies and been around in theatreland for 100 years - literally - and I had forgotten how gorgeous it was. I was a bit ahead of my friend so I was parked at the bustling bar and ordered pink champagne. It was, after all, Valentine’s Day and as there was no one there to buy it for me, I would buy it myself. “There you are my sweetheart, enjoy”. It slipped down way too easily and I proceeded to down several more during the course of the evening, necking the quality bubbles like it was lolly water. Sweet nectar indeed. I had gone off champagne but gladly can announce that I love it again. Very much.
Seated at the bar were a couple; a gorgeous young woman with a scowl and her older male, fawning companion. Next to them a flamboyant gay couple with crazy shirts and lots of style. Next to them another male and female grouping, having a quiet fight. Ah, Valentine’s Day was in full swing. Bickering all round. Why people insist on putting themselves in these stressful situations I really do not know. Next to me stood two diminutive people, probably actors, who looked vaguely familiar and there was further gushing by the maitre d’ as he settled another couple into their seats.
I was settling in with round two of the pink champers when Ms M then arrived. She ordered the same and no sooner had we been served, we were ushered through the very full Atlantic Bar. In the corner, there was the best seat in the house, a two seater corner booth. The cancellation! The romantic date gone sour. And that was where we sat. In pride of place. We felt blessed and laughed that we had predicted such an outcome. We were served swiftly and beautifully by the highly professional and efficient staff. And we had some French oysters that I had never had before. They were Ostra Regal and just a mmmmmmmmouthful. We also enjoyed the tried and trusted jersey royals; always a safe bet. Utterly satisfying food experience. Loved them.
We followed with our second course of whole crab and prawns. I had forgotten how high end this place is and the quality of the food was sublime. We washed it all down with more wine and every morsel was perfect.
It was the first time the two of us had been left to own devices for years so we just nattered and chattered for hours, backward and forwarding in our lives. Remembering being young teenagers and making career plans and fast forwarding to what had actually transpired.
And as we are now deep into middle age, we had time to reflect on such things and realise how we have remained true to ourselves and our passions. I have always written and forever wanted to write a book - will a sitcom do - and Ms M is incredibly artistic and talented. Finally we both have time to finally spend more time on these pursuits instead of getting caught up in Life and Careers. My one regret is that I have always been so easily distracted away from my passion but am now on a steady course. If I do not pursue it now, it will be all too late and oh so tragic. So we discussed how lucky we have been and remain so, with good health, sharp brains and the wit and wisdom to pick up our dreams where we had dropped them back in our 20s. I mused over my younger self and accepted that some of my artistic goals were simply ahead of their time and that these days, are appropriate. And writing is a pleasure that definitely gets better with age, as confidence and wisdom have a bigger role to play than one’s ego.
Oh yes then we had the most fantastic dessert. Served in a caviar tin, it was a quaint collection of chocolate treats, each one a mouth pleasure. Washed down by more champagne.
We said farewell and planned another get together in two months. And she was gone.
Four days later, her partner and my other bestie, rocks into town! They were both up in the air passing each other as one flew south, the other north.
VD was now over so I made a booking. At the Cow. I think this is where I came in.
We met at the downstairs bar and raced upstairs to the restaurant. I have done so many favourable reviews for the Cow. It remains good value with high quality food. My daughter joined us and we started with some oysters. Non romantic and flavoursome oysters. We had jerseys again and fines de claires.
Now, I have, over the years, eaten more than my body weight in oysters, all over the world. And in the Cow, dozens of times. But! As my baby girl - well she is now 28 but always my baby - picked up one shell, there was a small worm wriggling on it. Ewww, ewww, ewwww. She flung it down and I motioned to the waiter to please explain. He did explain and it did make sense, and apparently it is not uncommon to have some extra sea life on the shells occasionally. It definitely was on the shell and not squirming around in the oyster and he did bring another clean replacement, although I wasn’t sufficiently sickened by its appearance not to eat the wormy oyster. And they were very lovely as well.
The three of us had a big reunion chat and recalled being together in Sydney twelve months ago, living the life in central Sydney. Followed by a stint in the Dordogne last August, sitting in an infinity pool, sipping drinks in blasting heat. What a year that was. We had a most enjoyable night and said our goodbyes as the uber taxi turned up.
And that is what long term, long distance best friends do. I am already excited at the prospect of them both being here together in May and I think another visit to J. Sheekey may be in order. No notable card flogging days due at that time, exploiting people’s emotions and feeding their feelings of inadequacy.
Thank you my dear friends for always looking after me, looking out for me and accepting me. I love the laughter, the singing, the freedom and the fun that true friendship offers. You are both so precious to me and I love and treasure you. And we have 3 lifetimes of years to prove our ties are unbreakable.
Shirley xxx
happy new day – time is irrelevant and just a human construct – dec 31/1 jan
“I really don’t know what to say or how to say it. That is the hazard of neglecting a routine blog month after month. When I sat down just now to pull it together the thoughts are now sounding like one of those most hated end of year tomes, the Round Robin.
Be that as it may, I am going to document – primarily for my own edification, and to entertain you my dear reader – the main influences I have been thinking about throughout this year.
I start by saying I think this has been my most happy year ever. It scares me to write it down, it scares me to think it, as I have a twisted view on life where I feel I am tempting fate by even acknowledging that things are good in my world.
But this is the thing. It is exactly what I need to say out loud to dispel my half-baked, pick ‘n’ mix spiritual/religious/quackery beliefs that I am cursing what is by being happy.”
Blah blah blah. I had written 2500 words following this little set up and now have dispensed with it all.
I was going to reflect, ruminate, reminisce, get nostalgic, remorseful and perhaps a little sulky. All in a state of relazing.
But no! I am not going to do that. I am looking forward to a bright new tomorrow – I don’t really like New Year and the undue pressure it puts on people to change their minds, their behaviours, their lives. I am going to have a shower, next year! I am not going to make my bed until next year! Oh, what fun.
Anyway, this year ends in a better way for me than how it started and I guess my takeaway and summary is that I enjoyed the journey this time. And now I am used to this way of thinking and believing I am going to let it follow me into tomorrow, i.e., next year.
For someone who says that writing is their greatest pleasure and I feel fulfilled only when I am doing so, I sure know how to procrastinate. I went to a cheese shop first thing this morning, I have done a crossword and played several sad rounds on that saddest of solo activities, an internet game that I will not dignify with a name. All the while telling myself I will finish my blog as I need to get it up today. It will be a bit late for my Aussie family and friends but will straddle the UK/US festivities in good time.
I ate some wonderful oysters this year, courtesy of my best friends in Sydney, my family, my niece, my writing project buddy and myself. Each occasion in a special space. I have enjoyed 8 months of constant summer heat which was such a treat. I want to do that again. And as the year closes and London is at its gloomy, greyest best, I am also immersed happily in the refreshing chill of the Northern Hemisphere winter.
Let’s go back into reality and relive those oyster moments, shall we?
Driving around Queanbeyan and finding oysters and prawns and retiring to the pool to sit and eat and drink and talk with my new writing buddy. What a joyous time that was.
Eating oysters in Sydney Quayside with my two most loyal and dearest companions. In the company of my brother and daughter who had until this year, never met each other. And it was as though they had known each other forever.
Taking myself to David Jones Oyster Bar and sinking some of their lovely oysters mornay. Have never sourced them outside of Australia, god knows why, they are such a tasty way to be served.
Sitting at a party surrounded by strangers drinking champagne and eating oysters. Bliss. And being welcomed like a long-lost family member.
And I forget the rest of the unforgettable times, but they were wonderful and fun.
What lies ahead? Not sure although I am steering myself along on a road hoping that I may find the experiences I am seeking along the way. I cannot predict how things will unfold or how they will look as finished episodes but that is now my new fun. Living with uncertainty; having lived a life where I need to practice conversations in my head before I embark on them so I know generally what will be said in response. What. Was. I. Thinking! What self-limiting and slightly despotic behaviour.
Since returning to London I have frequented the Cow and had a memorable meal with my longest held friend. We met when we were 2 years old and haven’t seen each other since we were teenagers. Again, just like slipping on a pair of favourite old shoes; familiar and comfortable.
On we all go towards tomorrow. I wonder what it will bring?
Love and Peace.
I love.
XShirley x
Ai Weiwei’s poignant work in Sydney earlier this year on Cockatoo Island.
OysterTherapy turned 5 today!
Happy birthday to us!
where oh where have you been?
I have been on sabbatical and holidaying so the blog has also been enjoying a break.
Australia was just gorgeous with hot sunny days all but for three days in the two months I was there, I ate many delicious oysters and was treated so kindly and lovingly by all my family and friends.
Will be back on board with this soonish…until then……xxx
RIP Grenfell 💚💚💚
Goodbye and Hello - an open and shut suitcase 18 February 18
Caught up with Patty a few weeks back and we landed and parked in the basement of Selfridges. We settled into a comfy corner couch and ordered drinks. Over six oysters and various sharing starters we did our usual download of 'what's been happening' over the past few months. It is always such a joy to see my spiritual sister and long term friend. I occasionally yearn for the early days of our blog, when we had the luxury of time to spend on our favourite activity, that is eating oysters and talking. Sadly, our schedules so seldom align these days so every moment is precious. We had a lovely time and I have only today realised I hadn't even documented it. So here it is. Love you Patty. And here we are on Sunday 18 February and I am.....working! Yes still putting in those six days a week shifts.....delighted to report only two more weeks of this silliness and then I am homeward bound! Fortunately this job affords me some spare moments to write without impacting on the job. So, the next review will be coming from the sunny climes of Sydney and I am going virtually straight from the airport to an oysterie....is that a word? It is now. Have received the badge of honour that is being sacked from a ridiculous job, although that is a moot point given I resigned in week two due to the toxicity of the place. How I lasted seven months is nothing short of a miracle. And I didn't cry once. Humiliated and demeaned certainly and constantly but it didn't get to me. However management got wind of me taking extended time off so have taken advantage and given me notice. I have never felt such a weight lift from my shoulders. It is pretty entertaining now, the bullying has reached an all time level of madness that leaves my fellow workers speechless and me literally laughing and running down the corridors....being shooed away as apparently I am such an anathema to management. However the place is leaking like a sinking ship with resignation letters falling like confetti. Completely comical. Indeed it is. I even resorted to my own impression of Quasimodo, as that was how I felt and the rest of my team were on the brink of tears or throwing themselves out the window. We all laughed. So Sydney here I come and will be spending two glorious months, working a little and playing a lot; there will be oysters aplenty and reviews and photos. Looking forward to catching up with all my dearest family and friends. Can. Hardly. Wait. Packing bags lightly for the inevitable return avec my favourite Aussie snacks. Have been known to carry upwards of 15kgs of cheezels et al back to London. I remember last time I took the long haul home I had bad lower back pain and dreaded the flight. I spent much of the 24 hours in a foetal position and was planning a visit to an osteopath on arrival. Much to my delight and surprise, I skipped off the A380 fully refreshed and pain free. Well apparently it is time for another visit as my back is killing me again and codeine doesn't even touch the pain, so I hope to have the same result this time. And I have just been informed that over the counter codeine is now prohibited in Australia. Is this true? Well I will declare my meds on arrival and hope I can bring in my stash. All being well I can ditch the drugs if the embryo curl works again. See you soon home of origin! Lots of love Shirley x
Mandatory Shirley scrabble, oysters and Aussie treats!
Welcome 2018 - a quickie, as opposed to what...
And how remiss to miss the end of the year update. However I remain a slave to the money and keep working too many days so have no time or energy left over to even scrape together a few words about my favourite things - oysters - but here we go.
Just before Christmas two dear Australian friends were visiting London en route to even colder climes and despite me cancelling one night we did have a chance to meet up for a catch up and some oysters.
Really, I should change the blog to The Cow as that is the only place I end up these days, but as I am now hatching my plan for self granted long service leave which will of course include an overdue extended stay in my hometown of Sydney, there will be oyster indulgence in other eateries in the next couple of months.
But yes we went to The Cow and it was festive and fun. The oysters were fine but I was more excited, well, overexcited by the care package with which my mates came armed. There were - for us Aussies you will get how wonderful this is, others, this may be lost on you - twisties, cheezels, cherry ripes and violet crumble bars and a generous quantity of each. I unashamedly opened the first bag of twisties there and then in the pub and they made a more than adequate first course. Once opened, I do not and cannot stop until they are devoured so it was a good job well done on the ‘Party’ size bag. Gone!
I was battling for a theme for this blog as well and it has in fact taken a memory hike for now but no worry. We had a lovely evening which was the main thing, caught up with news of marriages, births and fortunately no deaths were reported.
The annual Oystertherapy Award by default has to go The Cow and it is a deserving winner. It is a cool place and remains a popular haunt for the hipsters and media of west London so that is good enough for me. It offers good quality food consistently at reasonable west London prices and it is very comfortable. And I adore the crazy artwork. Altogether a great place. I am lucky to live a mere ten minutes walk away; it would be a drag for me if I was required to travel for such fare! Anyway, well done you guys, keep up the good work.
And so it can to pass that I ate and drank my bodyweight several times over during the Christmas break while I rested and binged on TV. Completely perfect for a cold and cosy Christmas London. I even went for a jog on Boxing Day. Just the once but it rekindled my love of it. Perceived duties remain against me but I intend this year to get my life into a more manageable shape. Not unachievable new years’ resolutions but continuing on my plodding with determination to get my existence into lifestyle. I am confident it will all come together nicely. Not only do I have Jupiter, the lucky planet squarely stuck in my sign of Scorpio for the nearly the entire year it is also the Year of the Earth Dog in Chinese astrology. Guess what? I am an Earth Dog. So I have everything in my favour, concrete plans in place and I am actually taking positive action to get things done. Some days I lose confidence but then I simply shake that inadequate emotion off and get up and take one more step. And suddenly you are ten more steps down the road than you were before, metaphorically.
So Happy New Year to all. I have no platform or soapbox I wish to hop onto today. I am simply touching base, keeping this baby blog ticking over, counting my blessings and getting on with my vision.
Will be back again soon comrades. Take care and keep safe. We live in interesting times.
Love Shirley x
Birthday Blog - The Wrong Oysters - November 2017
Guess where I went for my birthday? The Cow, a surprise I know. I was craving the Cow Fish Stew, it is simply scrumptious and was again this day. Before my main course I shared half a dozen oysters with my daughter. As it was my birthday I was determined to enjoy my favourites, Fines des Claires. They are more costly but certainly worth the expense.
When they arrived I look at them quizically…..they looked more like rock oysters of the English type. I took a taste and they were salty, just like West Mersea ones. I gobbled them down regardless as they were lovely but I remained unconvinced they were French. When the waiter returned I questioned him about them. He confirmed they were Fines des Claires and then kindly brought me a West Mersea to compare and contrast. It too had the telltale saltiness and looked quite ‘rocky’ in shell texture but I remained unconvinced. Anyone who has read this blog over the years must recall I have never ever had a French oyster that tasted salty, this is why they are my favourite ones in this hemisphere. I have repeatedly mentioned their taste as subtle, sweet and no salt! Short of feeling I am developing oyster amnesia or my tastebuds have taken a hiatus, I remain bemused by the oysters I ate that day. It is obvious and essential I undertake some urgent research to get my taste back on track. I have a reliable set of senses - less sight and sound these days - so am sure what I ate that day were not French. Hmmmmmm……
Monthly musings coming up….. I was sitting in my club the other day enjoying a quiet lunch by myself and trying to adjust to the refurbishment they have completed in the sports area. This place is classic Art Deco, gentle curves, lots of steel and style and subtle colours. No more! They have painted the ceiling of the pool area a garish cross between royal and dark blue. I sat there and tried to like it, considered writing a letter to the club Secretary and then accepted I have neither the time nor energy even to do that. I will rely on others to do my bidding as I am sure I will not be alone in questioning the provenance of the colour in any Art Deco colour scheme. I am giving it the benefit of the doubt and thinking perhaps younger people might enjoy the change but it really is just plain ugly.
I remember some years ago I spent almost an entire day composing complaint letters and sent five out to lucky recipients. I got replies from them all I think. Selfridges got a serve about their use of Selfridges instead of what was then Selfridge and Co; I wrote a letter to the taxi rank at Royal Oak pointing out a horrid misspelling on a banner that was 30 feet long and another to Andrex questioning the size of their toilet tissue rolls being made larger so there were less sheets. I also wrote to a dinky little fun fair in the country that had got Alice in Wonderland all mixed up; they had a picture of her squeezed into a small room with her ‘drink me’ bottle by her side. My recollection at the time was when she drank the liquid she in fact shrank and the oversize came later. And I wrote another one which I cannot recall.
The fun fair replied first and were grateful for my input and were in the process of making amendments. I got a typical corporate PR reply from now what is called Selfridges which did zilch to placate me. Andrex didn’t even dignify me with a response and I was hoping for at least a few free rolls. The sweetest response came from the misspelt banner man. He explained he was from Iran and English was not his first language and he was grateful for me bringing this to his attention. I felt like a class one heel but was also touched by his genuine appreciation.
What funny things to remember. Anyway as I sat there in the club I realised I was probably now one of their longest standing members, having become a member in my teens. I mused how it has seen me through boyfriends, breakups, traumas and wonderful friendships and lovely London holiday accommodation before I moved here. It just stands there and I wander in and out, spend time there and love the place. But that colour! I think it has to go.
You are never too old to learn correct? I sailed through the menopause and in typical fashion felt quietly smug about it. I felt sorry for and offered support to friends and relatives that seem to have suffered enormously and sometimes for years, not months. Well here’s the thing I didn’t know. Anyone out there heard of the second menopause?!?! Just when you think it is all over and you can shrivel and become invisible and forget the whole miserable hormone deal, another bout can strike. I was at work the other day and suddenly got flushed and hot and felt awful. Like I expected to feel some five plus years ago. I mentioned it to a work colleague who is a nurse and she nonchalantly said, “oh, it is probably just the second menopause”. WTF!!! I think it actually is related to medication I am taking but the cruel concept that Mother Nature, yes Mother, one of the Sisterhood, could serve such a cruel experience. You have been warned wimmin!
I was relaxing into my age and thinking I could chill and forget having to work too hard at being presentable and now they say 50 is the new 30, 60 is the new 40, 10 is the new 15; so will the pressure to perform and remain young and vibrant and available and sexually alluring ever end? Apparently not and that is probably a good thing otherwise I would be walking around the streets in my jammies right now. If I had any….
That is it for today my lovely reader…..love you and hope you can feel it where you are anywhere in the world….. Long live hormones! Love and Peace, Shirley xxx
Oysters at The Cow and Incubus - straddling realms October 2017
Another week of oysters, another disclaimer:
While researching for this topic, there is a lot of negativity around these phenomena and therefore as usual know I am speaking completely from my own perspective and would not ask anyone to invoke an Incubus or play with a Ouija board. With that warning…on we go…
I met up with my son and daughter the other day and we enjoyed some delicious Fine des Claires and West Mersea oysters. Well my son enjoyed a salad but us girls tucked into the flesh eating. They were so gorgeous. The French oysters have no saltiness but are gentle and satisfying, and if they were a feeling more than a taste, I would call them a zephyr.
As it is approaching Halloween perhaps this is a timely tale of my experience with Incubus. Maybe my search engine isn’t very good but there is very little information out there, so I feel I will need to go to a bookshop and investigate further. They are a certainly a long running theme in Myth. And now they are mixing it with my Modern life. Occult meets the Ordinary.
Over the past two years I have had three encounters. At no time did I ever feel threatened or afraid. Because as I have mentioned before I have suffered nightmares continually for most of my life my threshold for nocturnal fear may be extremely highly developed.
The first time I was slightly bemused and actively realised I was in a state of sleep paralysis and could not yell out or move. Like being involved in an accident, it took some slow-motion time for the possible reality of what was happening to become apparent. I could see and feel a dark presence pushing hard against my body as it lay prone in bed. I surrendered to the force and then realised without knowing how or why, that it was an Incubus. Strange especially as I didn’t even realise I knew the word. But as I became more conscious I felt a real weight on top of me which prevented me from moving an inch.
So I didn’t. And couldn’t. I had an intensely deep and sexual sensual overload. With a creature that does not exist! It was not momentary like a snap shot; it felt like it was taking place in real world time. And my arms were by my sides. I was doing nothing and yet was having some of the most intense sexual feelings of my life. I could feel the penetration and some subtle movement, but not much else. It felt like having missionary position sex. People of a nervous disposition or who get embarrassed easily, look away and apologies. But that is what happened. Incredible orgasms achieved without lifting a finger. Am I perhaps just turning into a teenage boy and am experiencing decades too late wet dreams or the girl equivalent. It has been several months since it happened, and I occasionally wonder why it happened at all.
I have mentioned it to a few people and have had interesting and informative input. They could be a reflection of facing my inner demons; they could - and this scares me the most - be a lost memory of a trauma. I don’t think it is either. As they are creatures of larger than life legend that threaten to suck you dry of your soul along with your mental and physical health, they sound like they could be things to steer clear of.
My next question is this. Are they heterosexual? If you are gay would an Incubus come to you if you were male, a Succubus if you are a girl?
For me the jury is out as to whether they are good or bad. So far, I seem to be the only person suggesting they are enjoyable. Am I a freak? A fraud? A fool? An alliteration lover? If you have any insights or information, please let me know.
I am also working on a private theory about psychic sex - anyone keen to get into bed with me on that one? Metaphorically that is! Not even sure if that is the right description, I made it up. It involves mixing it up with spirits from ‘over there’ if they are in fact, over there. Food for thought. And so are oysters. They could be related.
Ciao baby! xxx