pumpkinstrokemarrow

It may have been that the population of local government bizzies and assorted nannies was in decline for years as a result of the confiscation of their powers by central government. But the population is certainly bouncing back on the crest of the eco-wave and the amount of direction on how to dispose of our rubbish is reaching epidemic proportions. And I believe most of it to be nonsense. It seems to me to be quite obvious that the best thing to do with organic waste of all sorts is to landfill it. That way it does not rot and in due course will become coal for the benefit of our posterity - whatever that might be in some hundreds of millions of years or however long it takes to make coal. (I'm not sure I would bet good money on hoomans being around in a thousand years never mind a million. We don't seem to be learning how to organise ourselves quickly enough). The next best thing is to incinerate it in a power station. At least that way you get the benefit of the heat. The worst thing to do is let it decompose naturally, throwing all that carbon and heat into the sky where it is no use to anyone.

On the up side, I suppose it is a tribute to the success of the IT industry, that the eco-nuts can even think of weighing our rubbish as it leaves our dwellings and recording the results on a national eco-crime database.

Yesterday, amongst other things, was a car day. We start off with a Maserati on the way back from Cheam. Black sports car, rather shabby and dull looking. None of the splash of a Ferrari. Most disappointing. Why would one spend a year's income on such a thing? But then, sitting outside a bar in Howie Street, we see a very flashy looking pastel blue sports car with an elevated roof. That is to say, the entire roof section had been pushed up by about a foot so that the occupants got some fresh air on what was a very hot afternoon. The two occupants were black and dressed in blue clothes which matched the car. Exhibiting our racial stereotypes, I said footballers and BH said dealers in substances. We learnt later that this was the latest thing in show-off car. Next, a very smart BMW drifts into the parking space about two feet from where we were sitting and the two occupants drift into the bar. And last, a Mercedes convertible drifts into the parking space across the road. The driver pushes some buttons and the roof unfolds itself out of some compartment at the back of the car and neatly installs itself. Driver gets out, pushes some more buttons and the windows rise, sealing up the vehicle against passing bad people. All most impressive.

Several other events on the way to Howie Street. We were pleased to find that the Mona Lisa cafe restaurant is till alive and kicking down the Kings Road (where, as an aside, I note that there were lots of shops selling costume jewellery. Much better than one could get in Epsom). Where we had once been for breakfast many years ago having parked the car more or less outside, by chance. Excellent place, without web presence of its own to post here but featured in lots of guides. Very good taramisu yesterday.

Prior to that, in a charity shop in Battersea Park Road, acquired for 50p, a book by one T R Ybarra, which appears to be a memoir of a Caracan childhood by the son of the daughter of a US diplomat and a Venezuelan general and war hero of one of their then frequent civil wars. Whoever owned the book cared enough about it to paste the dust jacket inside the front cover and a hand corrected and signed typed letter from a cousin of the author to the author inside the back cover. Who was the owner to go to such trouble? The memoir appears to be full of more or less outrageous anecdotes, one of which was about some forebear, the first archbishop of Caracas. It seems that he was such an important man that it would not have been fair for any one locality to have all his mortal remains, so they were shared out. The gravestone marking one share had come back into the family as a treasured heirloom and read: "Under this stone lie the heart and eyes of Don Francisco de Ybarra, first archbishop of Caracas". Presumably we can trust the Lord to reassemble all the bits of the day of judgement.

Prior to that, some debate in Battersea Park about the large fish lazing about in the lakes there. From a distance, they seem too long and thin to be carp and have the shovel snout of a pike - while being a bit fat for pike. Long flat and shallow dorsal fin. Narrow tranverse stripes across the dark back. One even jumped out of the water for our inspection, exhibiting a very pale belly. Two of them finally came close and we decided that they really were carp after all. But were they all carp?

And lastly, needing a bit of nose-bag on return to Epsom, tried our luck in the Cafe Rouge there. Sat outside for about fifteen minutes, along with half a dozen other parties, with no action. They didn't even bother to tie us down by getting us something to drink. So moved across the road to Wetherspoons where we were quickly (say 10 minutes from order to delivery) served with what we were going to have had at Cafe Rouge - a Ceasar salad - for about half the price. Something over £11 for two decent meals and two drinks. Chicken not that great but plentiful - presumably a job lot from Thailand or somewhere which also did service for half a dozen other dishes on the menu. And Wetherspoons sell warm beer which is more than can be said for Cafe Rouge. The down side was that the place was rather crowded and noisy. Lots of youff. But an excellent deal for all that.