I tin of bean sprouts or fresh if you can get them
Fry the onions and pork mince in hot oil for 5 minutes. Add the yellow bean sauce, soy sauce and sugar. Cook for another 5 minutes. Blend cornflour with stock and add. Stir until thickened. Simmer gently for 15 to 20 minutes.
Boil the noodles in boiling salted water for 5-6 minutes. Then drain. Transfer to a large serving bowl and pour the meat sauce over the centre.
Garnish with julienne cucumber, spring onion brushes and bean sprouts.
Jane looked at herself in the mirror. What had brought her to this? She was bloated, overweight and podgy. Having broken her leg some weeks ago and spending some time in a wheelchair, the pounds had piled on. She was now more mobile and ready to ditch her crutches and get down to losing weight.
First Jane needed to get some medical advice on what was possible and she had an appointment with Mr Mark Walker this afternoon, a consultant orthopaedic surgeon. She had broken her leg whilst skiing in Gstaad with Pete, her boyfriend. She hadn’t wanted to go skiing, being more a sunshine and beach girl, but Pete was not the kind of man to deny his pleasures.
Disappointed with her reflection in the mirror, Jane tried on several clothes, now piled up on the bed in an untidy heap. It had been several months since she needed to leave the house, preferring to hobble about the house on crutches and unable to face the flight of stairs from her first floor flat. She lived alone, despite dropping hints to Pete about moving in together. Goodness, she could have done with a more sympathetic partner, but he was more interested in being seen out and about with able bodied people.
All her clothes were tight, frumpy or old fashioned. She finally decided on a woollen grey dress which stretched over her lumps and bumps and with a supportive piece of underwear, she turned sideways on and at least her stomach looked flat. She couldn’t wear heels of course, but chose some gunmetal ballet pumps with matching tights. She accessorised with a long gold necklace and a red scarf. All in all, she started to look like the old Jane. Somewhere deep inside, she felt some excitement that the worst was over.
Pete was too busy to take her to the appointment, so she bumped down the stairs on her behind and opened the front door to the awaiting taxi.
At the hospital, Mr.Walker came out of his consulting rooms to apologise that he was running an hour late.
When he finally called Jane, she hobbled into the room, feeling somewhat awkward, but hopeful.
“I’m sorry you have been waiting so long Jane, and thank you for your patience,” he said.
“That’s OK Mr. Walker,” Jane mumbled, wishing she was somewhere else.
“Please call me Mark,” he told her.
“I need to take a few notes he told her,” pen poised over a blank sheet of paper.
He asked her how the accident happened and how long she had been recovering, then he asked a few general medical questions such as “Have you ever smoked?”
She replied, “No”.
Then he asked about her drinking habits. She felt a bit guilty but decided it was in her best interests to tell him the truth.
“I drink more than I should, to be honest,” was her reply.
“How many units?”
“I don’t know about that, but half a bottle of wine a night and then two vodka and tonics. Sometimes, after dinner, I also have a liqueur.”
“So you use alcohol as your anaesthetic?” he asked her.
She just nodded, feeling somewhat embarrassed. If only he knew all the things she had to put up with, he would understand why she had to numb herself with alcohol.
For starters, she had discovered condoms in Pete’s luggage when he went away on a business trip. She hadn’t confronted him as she felt so lost and lonely. Who else would look at her on crutches?
Mark’s deep voice broke into her thoughts, “I shall arrange some water therapy sessions for you twice a week and then I’d like to see you next month to assess your progress.”
She left the hospital in a haze, called the taxi and sat on a bench with her thoughts. She was thinking how good it would feel to be able bodied again.
When she reached home, she made a cup of tea and sat in her favourite armchair, looking out of the window, her mind in a turmoil. She was glad Pete had a business dinner in the evening as she felt the need to be alone with her thoughts.
A few days later she attended her first water therapy session. Getting changed in a changing room with a slippery wet floor was a challenge but she kept one crutch at her side at all times and had a swift shower. The physiotherapist told her to get into the water, using the steps with a handrail. She joined 5 other people, walking the length of the pool, followed by various exercises to strengthen the muscles. Despite messing about with other women himself, Pete was very jealous. That evening he questioned Jane about the physiotherapist. He wanted to know if it was a male physiotherapist. When she admitted he was, the third degree began about whether he touched her, massaged her leg or looked at her cleavage. In fact, he hinted it would be better if she didn’t go to any more sessions. Not wishing to set off his bad temper she reluctantly agreed to give up the physiotherapy.
A month later, she kept her appointment with Mark.
Whilst she was lying on the examination bed, he asked her why she hadn’t attended all the water therapy sessions to strengthen her muscles and she hesitated to reply.
“You can tell me anything,” he ventured. “Your secrets are safe with me.”
She suddenly burst into tears and he asked her to get off the examination table and sit in a chair.
Whilst climbing down, she slipped as she jumped onto her good leg. Mark caught her and she was aware of his strong arms around her and the closeness of his full lips as he supported her. It all happened in seconds, but the moment seemed to last forever and she started to blush.
When she composed herself, he asked her to restart the water therapy and come and see him the following month. He asked for her email address so he could chase up her progress and ensure she attended the treatment.
Pete had invited her to a business dinner on Friday evening. She felt happy that at last he seemed to be including her in his life. He even offered to come around an hour earlier to help her get ready,
which she appreciated. Pete worked as a salesman for a large marketing company in the City. All the salespeople were expected to attend the dinner in a nightclub and partners were expected.
She had set out a long red dress on the bed which clung to her shapely curves. Next to it was a little black cocktail dress with matching shawl. When she slipped on the red one, Pete was so taken with how beautiful she looked, he flung her down on the bed and kissed her until her lips were as red as the dress. He jumped up suddenly, mumbling about being late for the dinner.
Jane felt flustered and confused. Needing to feel relaxed and more than anything, comfortable, she changed into the LBD and sat on a chair to carefully apply some make up, finishing off with a light slick of pink lipgloss. She hobbled to the full length mirror and was happy with her reflection.
Jane hadn’t failed to notice how handsome Pete looked in a grey mohair suit with a lighter grey shirt. He didn’t bother with a tie, just leaving a glimpse of chest hair showing at the collar.
They arrived at Buddha-Bar-London before the others and went to the bar to order a cocktail. Jane chose a Hotch Kiss 22 in the hope it would settle her nerves, even though some of the ingredients were not familiar. Pete ordered the Manhattan and moaned about the prices, spoiling the mood. It wasn’t long before the Head of Marketing arrived with his Plus One (always a new simpering young woman….at least then years younger than him). They seemed to have already had a few drinks but insisted on having a cocktail too. Soon Pete’s friend Andy arrived with his wife Miranda. Jane liked Miranda who gave up studying law when she became pregnant with Natasha. Now Natasha was at nursery school, Miranda had returned to her law studies.
Jane and Miranda ordered a glass of Viognier and sat chatting, waiting for the others to turn up so they could go to dinner. As it happened the evening passed in a very pleasant way and as there were quite a few of them, everyone agreed to experience the sharing menu which was excellent.
About 1 p.m. as everyone decided to stay behind and listen to the chilled out music Pete whispered to Jane that his boss was insisting they go on to a “proper” nightclub. He said, “I explained to him that you have a broken leg, but he is persisting, so I have called you a cab.” Great, she thought. Jane loved dancing and to be shoved off home, not even allowed to watch from the sidelines didn’t put her in the best of moods.
When she got home, she went to the bathroom and sat on a stool to take off her make-up and change into a nightie. She had enjoyed the evening so much and was feeling on a high. It had been her first night out for ages and she almost felt able-bodied again until Pete had decided to have a little dance at the restaurant with Hetty, a new recruit from sales. She was of Russian descent and certainly couldn’t be called shy. She certainly had all the dance moves and kept whispering in Pete’s ear.
After finishing in the bathroom, Jane, wandered over to their fridge and put ice in a glass followed by Tia Maria….and why not…..he hadn’t offered her a liqueur after the meal, always thinking about economising, even though she earned a higher salary than him as a freelance journalist..
The Russian Blue are a sweet tempered, elegant cat. They are intelligent and suitable for most cat lovers, being very sociable animals. There are quite a few breeders in the UK, so finding a kitten should be fairly easy. Expect to pay around £900 to £1,700.
A new kitten might be a little timid when first introduced to you and your home. It’s best to provide food and water, plus a litter tray of course and eventually they will seek you out for a cuddle and affection. They do become very attached to their owners. They normally get on well with other cats and dogs. Breeders say it’s rare for them to scratch or bite.
As the name suggests, Russian Blues have beautiful silvery-blue fur which is velvety and easy to groom. It’s short, thick but fine with a dense undercoat. An occasional brush with a soft brush would be a good idea. They have vivid almond-shaped green eyes. The wedge-shaped head is topped with large, pointed ears. The body is long and graceful with long legs, a long, tapering tail. They have small oval paws. Their lifespan is about 15 years, although it wouldn’t be unusual to reach the late teens. They are not prone to illness and don’t have many health issues. They can appear to be staring into space or like they had one vodka too many.
It is thought that the Russian Blue was first shipped to the UK back in 1860 by British sailors returning from the Russian port of Archangel, so they were known as Archangel cats. The cats boarded the ships with the sailors and went all over Europe.
Russian Blacks and Russian Whites have been cropping up in litters for years and were first officially bred in the UK in the early 1960s. The GCCF has given preliminary recognition to these cats, which are identical, except for their colour, to Russian Blues.
Paul Rankin’s lamb shank version of Irish Stew is easy to make and completely satisfying to eat! The lamb is cooked in the oven until it is almost falling off the bone and when combined with the braised veg it is hearty and delicious!
Paul Rankin was on James Martin’s Saturday Morning Kitchen this week and I felt I really want to give it a try with mashed potatoes. What else? I plan to make it in the slow cooker with the current cost of living crisis.
Irish Stew

INGREDIENTS
• 4 lamb shanks
• 1 tbsp vegetable oil
• 2 tbsp pearl barley
• 300ml lamb stock or water
• 1 fresh thyme sprig or ½ tsp dried thyme
• 1 fresh parsley sprig
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 140g carrots, roughly chopped
• 1 large leek, washed, trimmed and cut into 8 pieces
• 4 small potatoes, peeled and quartered
• 2 small onions, quartered
• A handful of fresh parsley leaves, blanched and refreshed
METHOD
1. Preheat the oven to 160C.
2. Ask your butcher to trim off any excess fat from the shanks and to remove the knuckles from the shanks. Heat the oil in a large frying pan over a high heat. Fry the lamb shanks until nicely coloured on all sides. Transfer them to a large braising dish and add the barley, stock or water, herbs and 1 tsp salt. Cover tightly with foil and a lid and cook in the oven for 1.5 hours.
3. Remove the dish from the oven and check that the lamb is moist and almost falling off the bone. If you think that it’s not quite ready, return it to the oven for another 15 minutes. Transfer the lamb to a warm serving plate and cover while you finish the braised vegetables.
4. To finish the vegetables place the braising dish on the hob and bring back to a simmer, adding more water if needed to give a nice consistency. Add the parsley and check and adjust the seasoning to taste.
5. To serve, ladle the braised vegetables onto four warm plates and place a shank on top of each serving.
Finely chop a 20g pack of tarragon. Put in a bowl with 125g of softened unsalted butter. Add half a teaspoon of Dijon mustard and the zest of one unwaxed lemon 🍋 and a quarter teaspoon of salt, plus some freshly ground black pepper. Use a fork to mash everything together. Baste chicken breasts or pork chops with this butter just before serving or toss through steamed new potatoes.
Rick Stein mentioned on a television programme in India yesterday that he remembered his mum reading this poem to him as a little boy.
It’s rather long but quite interesting.
On the Coast of Coromandel Where the early pumpkins blow, In the middle of the woods Lived the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. Two old chairs, and half a candle, One old jug without a handle-- These were all his worldly goods, In the middle of the woods, These were all his worldly goods, Of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Of the Yonghy-Bonghy Bo.
Once, among the Bong-trees walking Where the early pumpkins blow, To a little heap of stones Came the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. There he heard a Lady talking, To some milk-white Hens of Dorking-- "'Tis the Lady Jingly Jones! On that little heap of stones Sits the Lady Jingly Jones!" Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
"Lady Jingly! Lady Jingly! Sitting where the pumpkins blow, Will you come and be my wife?" Said the Yongby-Bonghy-Bo. "I am tired of living singly-- On this coast so wild and shingly-- I'm a-weary of my life; If you'll come and be my wife, Quite serene would be my life!" Said the Yonghy-Bongby-Bo, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
"On this Coast of Coromandel Shrimps and watercresses grow, Prawns are plentiful and cheap," Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. "You shall have my chairs and candle, And my jug without a handle! Gaze upon the rolling deep (Fish is plentiful and cheap); As the sea, my love is deep!" Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
Lady Jingly answered sadly, And her tears began to flow-- "Your proposal comes too late, Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! I would be your wife most gladly!" (Here she twirled her fingers madly) "But in England I've a mate! Yes! you've asked me far too late, For in England I've a mate, Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! Mr. Yongby-Bonghy-Bo!
"Mr. Jones (his name is Handel-- Handel Jones, Esquire, & Co.) Dorking fowls delights to send Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! Keep, oh, keep your chairs and candle, And your jug without a handle-- I can merely be your friend! Should my Jones more Dorkings send, I will give you three, my friend! Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!
"Though you've such a tiny body, And your head so large doth grow-- Though your hat may blow away Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! Though you're such a Hoddy Doddy, Yet I wish that I could modi- fy the words I needs must say! will you please to go away That is all I have to say, Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo! Mr. Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo!"
Down the slippery slopes of Myrtle, Where the early pumpkins blow, To the calm and silent sea Fled the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. There, beyond the Bay of Gurtle, Lay a large and lively Turtle. "You're the Cove," he said, "for me; On your back beyond the sea, Turtle, you shall carry me!" Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Said the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
Through the silent-roaring ocean Did the Turtle swiftly go; Holding fast upon his shell Rode the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. With a sad primeval motion Towards the sunset isles of Boshen Still the Turtle bore him well. Holding fast upon his shell, "Lady Jingly Jones, farewell!" Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, Sang the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
From the Coast of Coromandel Did that Lady never go; On that heap of stones she mourns For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo. On that Coast of Coromandel, In his jug without a handle Still she weeps, and daily moans; On that little heap of stones To her Dorking Hens she moans, For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo, For the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bo.
lifeinyourseventies 