The Sunday Ishmael: 25/08/2024

 

I guess everyone knows that the eponymous creator of our blog named himself after the opening line of Moby Dick. I started  Terry Eagleton's How to Read Literature the other day, and was much struck by Eagleton's musings on the opening line of Moby Dick. Why should the narrator invite the reader to "Call me Ishmael"? 

"Because of the name's symbolic connotations? The biblical Ishmael, the (bastard) son of Abraham, was an exile, outlaw and wanderer." .....the narrator has adopted a pseudonym to "signify his status as a wandering outcast"

I guess that sounds about right for our mr.ishmael - who was also enthralled by the sea and its dangers - he ran away to sea when he was 15, his mother having died the previous year, and served as a cook's boy on a merchant ship before they had heard of health and safety or employment rights. On the outward leg to Canada, he suffered extensive scalding when the ship lurched and he was drenched in boiling water. He was laid up in his bunk for three days and his pay was docked for those days. Here's an extract from his post on we who go down to the sea in ships: 

In 1966, a troubled kid, I ran away to sea in this old tub, the SS Ramore Head, from Belfast; it was old then, well, twenty years old, nineteen-forties construction, and at the cheap end of that unsophisticated style of construction;  it was no pinnacle of the shipwrights' art.

        

 But she did batter her way through the North Atlantic's midwinter gales and I remember standing on her plunging and soaring stern a thousand miles from anywhere, thinking, terrified and awestruck as I was -  Fuck me, this is good. Or words to that effect. I was unknowingly hymning my people's love affair with the mighty ocean.  Now that I am a man I have never put away this childish thing.  I live on  a quiet shore but I love it when it gets noisy and I take ship sometimes a dozen times a year

Y'know, once upon a time, the land was too much afforested, it was untravellable;  we made our way around our coastal  settlements - pilgrimages, trade, curiosity - by boat;  the Severn, the Irish Sea, the Channel and the North Sea being our motorways.  We really are ancient mariners.

Coming back, in '66 from the States, up the southwest of Ireland, I saw tiny, flimsy little fishing boats, tossed like corks in massive, skyscraper seas, their crews dancing around the decks, hauling and casting nets.  I have never, since,  begrudged the price of fish and chips.

Here's the entry in the National Archives:

London: SS Ramore Head (Ulster Steamship Company Ltd) travelling from Montreal to London.
Embarking at Montreal.
Official number: 99114.
List of passengers disembarking at London.
Date: 1918 Sep 4

So it looks like mr ishmael's boat was older than he thought - unless the name was just handed on to a replacement ship.

The dire conditions endured by sailors of the mercantile fleet were alleviated some time after mr ishmael disembarked in Belfast, but such refinements as better terms and conditions for the crew led to the decline of the British Merchant Navy, once  one of the largest ship registries and source of crew in the world, with 33% of global tonnage registered in 1939.  The Merchant Navy had engaged in major conflicts:

U-boat Campaign, (1914–1918)
Battle of the Atlantic, (1939–1944)
Operation Pedestal, (1942)
Falklands War, (1982)
Gulf War, (1991)

but shrank to a mere 1,054 ships on the British Ship Register in 2023,  as GreedyBastard ship owners got around H&S regulations that presented such an affront to capital by registering their shipping in countries with a more flexible approach to terms and conditions of employment - flags of convenience. Here's wiki, employing a little more moderate language: "Each merchant ship is required by international law to be registered in a registry created by a country, and a ship is subject to the laws of that country, which are used also if the ship is involved in a case under admiralty law. A ship's owners may elect to register a ship in a foreign country so as to avoid the regulations of the owners' country, which may, for example, have stricter safety standards. They may also select a jurisdiction to reduce operating costs, avoiding higher taxes in the owners' country and bypassing laws that protect the wages and working conditions of mariners. The term "flag of convenience" has been used since the 1950s. A registry which does not have a nationality or residency requirement for ship registration is often described as an open registry. Panama, for example, offers advantages such as easier registration (often online), the ability to employ cheaper foreign labour, and an exemption on income taxes."

The abuse of crew - appalling wages, long hours, sleep deprivation, cramped conditions and inadequate food, is common in the industry. But the modern slavery practised on 35 men from the Philippines, Ghana, India and Sri Lanka was uniquely savage. The men have all been recognised as victims of modern slavery by the Home Office after being referred to it between 2012 and 2020.

The workers were employed by TN Trawlers and its sister companies, owned by the Nicholson family, based in the Scottish town of Annan. The TN Group denied allegations of modern slavery and human trafficking and said its workers were well treated and well paid. Well, they would say that, wouldn't they?

The Group's dredgers, built in the 1970s and 80s, work by towing metal nets along the seabed. They scrape up shellfish, stones and other marine life which gets caught in the nets. Deckhands throw back the stones and pack the scallops in ice below deck. Crew worked 18 hour shifts, seven days a week when the dredgers were at sea. Documents were held by the Nicholson family. The crew were denied food, water and safety clothing, and were denied medical treatment following injuries. They were reduced to melting the ice from the packed scallops to drink. Police forces on several UK coasts knew of allegations about TN Trawlers, which had been prosecuted in 2007 for illegal catches worth hundreds of thousands of pounds. Tom Nicholson and TN Trawlers were ordered to pay £473,000 under Proceeds of Crime laws. They were also ordered to pay almost £150,000 in fines and costs after the Maritime and Coastguard Agency found a string of defects and safety breaches on vessels between 2009 and 2011. A 2012 police briefing, noted that six Filipino fishermen swam ashore from TN boats and complained of mistreatment.

In Hamilton Sheriff Court in October 2022, some 10 years after the men were removed from the boats, Thomas Nicholson Snr and TN Trawlers pleaded guilty to failing to get adequate care for Joel Quince, a man who sustained a head injury and was denied medical treatment. Nicholson's not guilty plea to withholding some of the crewmen’s passports without reasonable excuse. was accepted and the charge dropped.

Ishmaelites are already aware of my strictures about not eating Scottish farmed salmon. Don't believe any of that marketing bollocks about crystal clear waters - like this hype: "In this remote place, in the untamed wildness of its cold, clean waters, everything converges. The Atlantic Ocean and the North Sea. Powerful currents and strange, tumultuous tides. The very forces of nature itself, continually cleansing and replenishing the nutrient-rich waters. And the nearby Gulf Stream creates the perfect conditions for raising salmon with a superbly firm texture and moist, buttery flavour." And with ineradicable sea lice that eat the poor buggers alive, and with cataracts from peering through murky water in the pens, thick with uneaten food. and there's the collateral damage of dead seals, shot by the pen workers for trying to help themselves to a bit of salmon. I did tell you about the announcement on Radio Orkney, shortly after we moved here, that on no account should people eat the salmon that had been escaped from storm-damaged pens, and flabbily washed up on the beaches, because they were not fit for human consumption.

Well, now you have to add to your banned list dredged scallops. I don't like them myself - just a lump of white tissue, with an orange bit sticking out, and, like musselsforfuck's sake, it's the sauce that people really like - garlic and wine and cream, with a quarter of lemon and a sprig of parsley. Alright, you can eat the hand-dived ones if you insist, but this firm really should be boycotted.

All the men spoke of their bitterness at working for the company – and their experience of the justice system in the UK.

Joel Quince said his eyes had been opened.

“I see now how it works,” he said.

“This is how your UK law is done... You favour the wealthy people, and you don’t care about the poor.”

I have an illustrated Encyclopaedia on my shelves, published by Collins, with an inscription thus: Love from Mother to Winnie Xmas 1919 (the hands that wrote those lines are coffin dust now.) It is a very useful and beautiful book, with numerous coloured plates and sections on General Knowledge, a Gazetteer of the British Empire, a Guide to the Civil Service, and, most importantly, Letter Writing and Etiquette. For example, it tells you how to address your envelope when writing to the Speaker: "To the Honourable James Allen, Speaker of the House of Commons" and goes on for 101 closely-printed pages, authoritatively advising on how to conduct oneself in every imaginable social situation. It enumerates four unvarying principles upon which etiquette rests, namely:

1. Avoidance of all appearance of affectation in manner, speech or dress; and the endeavour not only always to be perfectly natural oneself, but also to help others who are perhaps shy and nervous to be easy and natural in their behaviour.
2. Remembrance of the courtesy, chivalry and reverence which should be extended to women and all old people as their just and lawful due.
3. Avoidance of taking liberties and dislike of allowing them to be taken.
4. Acknowledgement of the fact that there are of necessity very many different ranks of society, and, keeping this fact in view, the avoidance of all attempts either to push into ranks above one's own, or to condescend to or patronise members of those ranks below it.

Hmm - well, thank goodness we now have Tik Tok to guide us through the intricacies of the modern world. Of particular usefulness is the advice given by Influencer, Jools Lebron: ""You see how I do my make-up for work? Very demure, very mindful,” she told her millions of followers. "A lot of you girls go to the interview looking like Marge Simpson and go to the job looking like Patty and Selma. Not demure". When dressing for the office, her shirt "only has a little chi-chi out, not my cho-cho", adding: "You should never "come to work with a green cut crease".

Yes, that's right, it's a fat ugly bloke in a wig.

What's on Telly?

Steven Pemberton, that's what, reading an abridged version of  Kazuo Ishiguro's Remains of the Day, with utterly delicious settings in a vintage car and  the servants' quarters of a stately home. It is only an hour and I highly recommend it. It is part of Series 2, which seems to be a series of abridged novels in dramatised readings  by important actors. Here’s the link:   https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/m001z96c/the-read-series-2-the-remains-of-the-day-the-read-with-steve-pemberton

Remains of the Day has two central themes: Lord Darlington, the protagonist’s employer, was a Nazi sympathizer who was politically active, as so many of the aristocracy were, in attempting to move England into allying with Germany  during the inter-war period,  and was disgraced after World War Two; and the unexpressed love of the protagonist, Stevens, for Miss Kenton, the housekeeper. Constrained by his position and his need to keep up appearances he never declares his love and she marries someone else. He narrates the events of his life and his regrets, as he takes a motor trip in 1956 to visit the former Miss Kenton, in the erroneous belief that her marriage is unhappy and that they might renew their emotionally constipated friendship. This comes to nothing and the novel ends with him having unlocked his emotional core too late and reconciling himself to making the most of the remains of his day. 

Apparently, at the time, some thought that Kishiguro was foisting upon his readership a study of Japanese-ness under cover of a very English setting; but the orthodox reading is that it is a study of Englishness, its conventions, constraints and limited emotional range. I think it depicts the straight jacket that institutions force us into – it could be a top-notch butler’s role in a magnificent country house belonging  to a traitor, or a senior manager’s job in a local authority: work and duty overwhelm love and autonomous authenticity. The same dilemma that Shakespeare explored in Antony and Cleopatra – love or duty.

I don’t think it would be a misreading to see Stevens as autistic, or certainly neurologically diverse, as he performs his life in the way that he has been taught by his emotionally cold and very proper father.

It is a terrific work and a terrific reading by Steven Pemberton.

There are four splendid anthologies of the writings of stanislav and mr ishmael, compiled by his friend, mr verge, the house filthster. You can buy them from Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:

Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.

IIshmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps 

please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.

Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr

Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux

https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

At checkout, try WELCOME15 in the coupon box, which (for the moment) takes 15% off the price before postage. If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for "Lulu.com voucher code" and see what comes up.

With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.

Coloured plate of pear and pear blossom from Collins' Encyclopaedia.

There's nothing more futile than complaining about the weather. Especially in Orkney.

 

They start early, the phlebotomists at my Health Centre. I suppose they have to, to beat the dawn. I'd rolled out of bed and into my big coat that hides any little deficiencies in the grooming department, and battled through the early morning rain and wind. Not so the phlebotomist, perfectly groomed and made-up, and making light conversation as she stuck sharp needles into me and drew out another armful of blood.

"That's it, then, for this year", she said, with a gloomy satisfaction.

"What? The summer?"

"Yes, its autumn now. Soon be Christmas. Still, mustn't grumble, we had one or two nice days this year."

Past the window, down which rivers of rain were being blown sideways, you could see the swings in the play area, which had wrapped themselves around the cross bars, and leaves ripped off by the wind hurtling past.

"Looks like the gales are back, it's getting like the hurricanes of 1952 and 1953."

That was when farmers lost hen-houses complete with hens out to sea and the West Mainland Mart in Stromness was demolished. A twelve foot chimney stack on Tankerness House rocked precariously and customers rushed out of the Cosy Café underneath. Then the stack went, its entire length falling sideways on the roof. The top of the stack went over the roof ridge and crashed into the courtyard in a shower of bricks, dust and rubble. Kirkwall's sea wall was breached: three tremendous seas struck the wall, which disappeared in a smother of foam. Once the wall had gone, the Ayre Hotel was fully exposed to the sea, which hurled great boulders of broken dyke and road way against it, smashing the downstairs windows and allowing the sea to rush in.

The SS Earl Thorfinn had been serving the North Isles for twenty-five years and set off on the usual Saturday run, carrying its crew of thirteen (one was only 15 years old), ten passengers, two bulls and four pigs. They were off the Holms of Spurness (below the southern tip of Sanday) when they first experienced the full force of the hurricane, with visibility down to nil and heavy snow showers. Finding it was impossible to reach the shelter of Sanday, the master and the chief engineer decided their only option was to run before the wind. A glimpse of land on Stronsay meant a course could be set and the crew braved the storm to secure the derrick, the cargo hatch and the deck cargo.

Off Auskerry three heavy seas in quick succession came over the starboard side and the master believed it was a miracle the ship did not roll over, as her mast almost touched the water. Shortly after that, the steam steering gear was carried away, filling the wheelhouse with escaping steam. As it couldn’t be repaired, the hand steering gear was engaged and sometimes five men were needed at the wheel to keep the ship on course. Finally, twelve hours after the Earl Thorfinn’s head turned south, at 9.30 in the evening, they reached Aberdeen, after being thought lost at sea. The master and crew had survived one hundred miles of mountainous seas that would have daunted much larger vessels but there was still no chance to rest. The harbour was closed and they had to steam to and fro through the rest of the night and most of the next day, until finally getting in after three o’clock in the afternoon.

They always say, the Orcadians, that after Show week, that’s the summer done. The last of the shows was the Coonty Show – all the isles and parishes have their own shows all week, culminating in the Big One, which was on Saturday, 10th August.

The till girl in Tesco asked me the next day, if I had managed to get to the County Show – but it was only a conversational ploy to tell me that her little dog had been a noble participant, winning the Third Prize – not quite the Olympics, but at least there weren’t any competitor transdogs to hit the wee pup in the face. I asked the Till Totty if her little dog knew she was in a competition, and the girl said, of course, and she was very proud to have everyone admiring her. So I said, you’ll have to console her with the thought that she will do better next year. Oh, that’s okay, said TillTotty, sunnily – my wee dog thinks she came first – everyone clapped and she got her own rosette.

So, Coonty Show out of the way, and the storms hit – and this on the hottest day of the year in London. My garden took a battering – ripped-off leaves and willow branches sailing past the window, and the hanging basket had to come down. The garden chairs ripped loose from their moorings and cavorted around the back garden in some sort of stop-start minuet, and the windows rattled. I wanted to pick all my lavender, so that I could dry it and use it for future Lavender and Blueberry Cheesecake, but I can only hope that the lavender is resilient and will dry in the sun, should we happen to get any more this year.

My own little dog, Harris, sadly missed, never won a rosette in his life. A gentleman up north from Lanarkshire, he never grew entirely accustomed to the Orkney weather. He would sit on the back of the couch, gazing into the garden, not believing his eyes, and dash to the door, hoping for his walk. I'd open the door to show him the impossibility of a small person like him venturing out, he would agree with me that the front door opened on to a world of storm, and run though the house on the off-chance that the back door would have a pleasanter outside world and was always disgusted when it was raining and winding front and back.

Here's Harris, hair combed back by the wind

I hope that you and yours are all doing well and basking in the August sunshine. Spare a thought for me, confined to barracks on my windy island off the north coast of Scotland, best part of England. Did you know you is living hon a i-hsland, the call-centre bloke asked, explaining why an engineer couldn't visit, as arranged. Yes, I replied, glumly, I had noticed.

The Sunday Ishmael: 18/08/2024: War, Lavender, Aunties and Food

 War - 

Has Ukraine crashed the British economy?

A: Pretty much yes.

Was this a contributing factor in the British riots? 

I would say so - as ordinary folk struggle to pay mortgages or rent, afford to put petrol in their tanks, put food on the table - well, they're going to be cross - stands to reason.

This is what the West was told in September 2022 by Mikhailo Podolyak, adviser to President Zelensky:  The destruction of the Nord Stream pipelines was "a terrorist attack planned by Russia and an act of aggression towards the E.U."

No it wasn't, you lying bastard. That always was an unlikely bloody story, yet it sold in the West, as the Western media and politicians remorselessly whipped up suspicion, sowed propaganda, and wanted to join in a war that really, truly, basically, had nothing to do with us.

The truth is emerging, as we always said, that it was the Ukrainians that carried out a bombing attack on Germany's territory, an attack on the infrastructure of a sovereign nation and NATO country, knocking out 3 of the 4 gas pipelines that had supplied Germany with 30% of its gas supplies. The attack on the seabed pipeline destroyed €20 billion of investment. The intelligence agencies of the United States of America were warned of the planned attack and attempted to prevent it - but obviously had no influence or utility at all in Zelensky's eyes other than to supply weaponry, as he allowed the terrorist attack to continue.

The perpetrators were a privately funded, independent group of military saboteurs working with the support and direction of the Ukrainian military and the consent of Zelensky. A senior German official told the Wall Street Journal, which has conducted an investigation into the event: "An attack of this scale is a sufficient reason to trigger the collective defence clause of NATO. Our critical infrastructure was blown up by a country that we support with massive weapons shipments and billions in cash." The definitive removal of cheap Russian gas also played a key role in transforming Germany’s economy from one of Europe’s most dynamic to its most stagnant, with growth forecasts now at just 0.1 per cent for 2024. The knock-on effect has had a devastating effect on the economies of other Western nations, including Britain.

The information that the attack was by Ukraine was kept secret to avoid an anti-Ukrainian backlash among the German public. But this summer German prosecutors issued their first arrest warrant for one of the suspects, following a detailed investigation by 

 German law enforcement. 

On 6 September 2022 the German-flagged Bavaria Cruiser Andromeda left the Hohe Düne marina in the Baltic port of Rostock. She had been hired for 2,998 euros (£2,600) a week by a Polish company owned by two Ukrainians. At least six passengers were on board – all of whom were carrying forged passports, one of them Bulgarian. The yacht was not, because of its size, required to carry an Automatic Identification System – but marina security camera footage and docking records identified the Andromeda at Sandhamn then Christiansom and Wiek on the island of Rügen on the days before and after the explosions. Undersea cameras found that three of the 2.8 cm-thick steel pipelines lying at a depth of 80 to 90 metres on the Baltic seabed had been breached by explosive charges and then catastrophically exploded under the 120-bar pressure of the gas contained inside them. In January 2023 the Andromeda was searched and it was confirmed that traces of explosives had been found aboard.

In June 2024 the German Prosecutor Jens Rommel issued a confidential arrest warrant for a Ukrainian citizen and professional diver who allegedly masterminded the operation. The suspect was thought to be in hiding in Poland – but Polish authorities made no arrests, and allowed the suspect to return to Ukraine. August Hanning, formerly chief of German intelligence agency BND accused the Polish government of complicity in the Nord Stream attacks. He said: "These are decisions that were made at the highest political level. And I think that there was an arrangement between Zelensky and President Duda (of Poland) to carry out this attack." Henning also accused Poland of tipping off the suspects rather than cooperating with German police.

 German public opinion has shifted against supporting Ukraine's war against Russia and towards limiting the use to which German-supplied missiles and rockets can be put. The  AfD party wants to repair the Nord Stream pipelines and reopen the remaining line as soon as possible, while the BSW party has called for the immediate halting of all weapon deliveries to Kyiv ‘in view of the Zelensky disclosures.’

Ever feel like a mushroom? Kept in the dark and have shit shovelled on you?

What I did on my holidays (continued):

When you leave the cities of what we used to call the West Riding, and get out into the fresh air and sheer goddamned beauty of North Yorkshire - (Herriot Country, you know) you can't go very far without falling over ruinous abbeys, stately homes, National Trust this-that-and-the-other, magnificent rivers and  Betty's Tea Rooms (waitresses in black dresses and frilly white aprons, fancy teas, hearty Yorkshire cakes and long queues to get in.) One of the more unusual places to visit is Yorkshire Lavender.

Unusual, because Lavender is a Mediterranean plant, enjoying dry, well drained soil and long, hot summers. You don't really associate that with Yorkshire. I love it - the hillside is filled with the languorous smell of lavender, being busily worked by bees, and rows of blue, pink or white lavender curve sinuously across the hillside.

There's a shop where you can buy lavender-scented goo of all kinds, and a café, where Lavender and Earl Grey tea is served, Lavender and Blueberry cheesecake,* lavender scones and the like. It's all a bit posh, very English and very polite.

We drew into the carpark just as a coach was disgorging its contents. My immediate thought was that this was an outing of the Bariatric Outpatients Department of Bradford Royal Infirmary. There were some very, very, very big ladies. Many using zimmer frames, at least one waiting for a mobility scooter to be wrestled out of the lower abdomen of the coach. They were halt, lame, fat and shrouded. Quick, quick, exhorted my companion, we don't want to be held up behind that lot when it comes to the tea and cakes. Screeching into the nearest parking spot, we made double quick time into the café, so we were calmly ensconced at the penultimately-available table, tucking into tea and lavender-toasted crumpets, with no sense of guilt whatsoever, when the first of the Bariatric outing heaved into view.

She landed in the seat next to mine and from her capacious bag she produced the packed lunch that she had no doubt prepared before leaving home that morning, unwrapping her sandwich and tucking in, with open-mouthed enjoyment. You know that embarrassment you feel for no reason at all, other than being English, when someone does something very wrong? Not murder, more like a social solecism. Well, it was like that. The waitress came over to this human juggernaut and attempted to remonstrate with her - only food purchased here can be eaten in the tea-room - but before she got very far my unwanted table companion demanded loudly, with a spray of crumbs: "Dhee". There was some confusion before this was translated by the tour guide, who had belatedly arrived, as a request for a cup of tea. So honour was salvaged, the lady was provided with tea and we left before an attempt was made to extract payment from her. No doubt there was a purse secreted somewhere amongst the many black layers of clothing on this fine summer's day.

And there the matter would have rested in my imagination as the coach outing of the Bariatric Society. Until I came across a strange BBC offering called Bradford Aunties on Tour to Blackpool. Or something like that. And there they were - huge, wrapped, with layers of exotic make up and blingy accessories, going to the seaside. These Aunties are as frightening as Giles' Grandmother. They may not be anyone's aunt, but any woman of Pakistani and Muslim heritage gets to a certain age and size, and they become an Auntie, permitted to bully, nosey, interfere, condemn and gossip, all under the banner of preserving the culture, heritage, language and  traditional cuisine. A sort of  underground police force. One said, despairingly, the youngsters, they eat burgers (she made it sound like turders)  and chips, not our traditional food. One, flat-footedly dancing with ankle banglets, felt that the Culture would be gone in two generations, unless the Bradford Aunties got their hands on them to teach them The Ways. Self-confessedly unable to drive a computer, let alone a car, operate a mobile phone or speak the King's English, the mission of the Aunties was to bring the Culture to the Youth. Not allow the Youth to teach them the Forms and Wisdoms of 21st Century Britain and teach them how to behave in restaurants. We can only hope that the Aunties are right - that the Culture will die out in two generations.

Food Corner

Talking of Yorkshire restaurants, and naming no names, mr ishmael and I  once holidayed in Richmond and dropped into a Michelin-starred restaurant in this little village out on the edge of the moors, it being recommended by the very gay proprietors of our holiday accommodation. Well, we mused, they are gay, so they will know a thing or two about good food, it is a nice drive out and it's a sunny day, and they can't charge as much for lunch as they would for an evening meal, and we are on holiday, after all. mr.ishmael later summarised that dreadful gastronomical experience with this pithy sentence: "Anyone daring to complain about his food was confronted by the angry, sweating chef himself, raging at them and throwing them out of his gaff; how fucking dare they criticise his raw lambs kidneys on a bed of quick sautéed dandelion leaves?"

All the tables were full of middle-class types, with middle class, middle income cars in the carpark. It was a work day, so what were they doing out in the wilds of the Yorkshire moors, instead of toiling to make a few dishonest bucks? They ate studiously, carefully and quietly. The menu was limited. "That's good", said mr ishmael, with the air of one who has been in the trade and knows these things - "when there's 45 items on the menu you know they have all been made in a factory in West Bromwich and packed into plastic cartons and driven round the country, along with the cocaine, heroin and cannabis, thrown into deep freezers and brightened up in the microwave. If there's just a couple of things, you know the chef has made them himself. What's everyone else eating? Right, I'll have the kidneys, too." 

He had entirely failed to notice the fastidiously careful manner in which the diners were dissecting their kidneys. So, guided in all things by mr ish, I had the kidneys, too. It was a long wait. mr ish's usual strategy of dealing with his food-delay-anxiety syndrome was thwarted by the refusal of the michelin-starred restaurant to sell him a packet of crisps. His outrage was almost at a par with that expressed by my chum the other day, when the restaurant-with-aspirations at which we were lunching refused to make him a piece of toast. 

So the kidneys arrived on monster 12 inch diameter plates (this was before the fad for small plates dining). Many, many lambs must have died to yield up their kidneys for those two platefuls. Halved, they nestled in three concentric circles, the outer circle with the nasty bits face down, displaying their shiny brown backs, the next circle with the intimate bits facing up, exposing a thin brown rind around pinkish stuff, and the inner circle comprising raw kidneys, blueish, with the white tubules like cauliflowers in the centre. Nothing else. No mash, peas and gravy.

"Jesus, you can't eat that", hissed mr ishmael, observing me wielding the ridiculously-heavy knife and fork to slice off what cooked bits I could find. "They're raw. You can't eat raw offal. You'll die. Everyone in the restaurant will be lucky to recover from this."

Observing mr ishmael's distress and his implacable refusal to pick up knife and fork, the waiter glided across to enquire what was the problem. "If you don't know, you shouldn't be in the catering business. Do you know the function that kidneys have in the body?"

So the waiter produced the chef, who belligerently offered to make mr ishmael an omelette. The offer was kindly declined and mr ishmael paid the bill, on the basis that they'd obviously gone to a lot of trouble to artistically produce lots of raw kidneys. On the way back to Richmond we bought a couple of packets of crisps. 

So, for nostalgia's sake, I checked the current online menu of this nameless restaurant, to find that little had changed. Here you go:

Natural garden-fresh flavours and heady aromas with a background ‘playlist’ of buzzing bees: nasturtiums, Grandad’s greenhouse-intense tomatoes, lavender and the citrus overtones of lemon balm.

Starter: Halibut 

Citrus-cured Wild Halibut, Pink Grapefruit, Rapeseed and Nobashi Prawn ‘Scampi’, Pickled Herring Ice Cream, Sea Rosemary and Oakwood Dressing £16

 

Main: Duck

Duck Three Ways: Yorkshire Reared Duck… Heather Honey, Globe and Jerusalem Artichoke Yoghurt and Bigarade Sauce, Whipped Pluck Tartlet, Local Bilberry Preserve, Heart ‘Jerky’ Duck Tea and Kitchen Garden Botanicals £36 

Additional Side:  Seaweed-buttered Jersey Royals  £7

Pudding

White Chocolate and Cep Mushroom ‘Magnum’ with Thyme-scorched Syrup, Medjool Date and Salted Cracked Hazelnut, Jivara Cremeux  £12

I'll repeat the highlights, in case you missed them: raw halibut with pickled herring ice-cream, for fuck's sake, followed by duck with an offal tart and gravy made from its heart, with potatoes in seaweed (extra) and for pudding - mushrooms and chocolate.

I don't think they are buying those dishes in from a kitchen in West Bromwich and I think I'll stick to crisps.

Why would you eat pickled herring ice-cream? And before eating raw halibut you should be very certain of your chef's credentials - halibut is prone to bacterial and parasitic infections. When preparing halibut for raw consumption, it is important to start with fresh, high-quality fish. The fish should be cleaned and filleted properly, removing any bones, worms and skin. It is recommended to freeze the fish at -4°F (-20°C) for at least 7 days or at -31°F (-35°C) for at least 15 hours to kill any parasites that may be present. 

Seriously, Bird's Eye fish fingers are the safe choice.

To read more of mr ishmael's culinary and other adventures, there are four splendid anthologies of his work, compiled by his friend, mr verge, the house filthster. You can buy them from Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:

Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.

IIshmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps 

please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.

Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr

Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux

https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

At checkout, try WELCOME15 in the coupon box, which (for the moment) takes 15% off the price before postage. If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for "Lulu.com voucher code" and see what comes up.

With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.

* Blueberry Lavender Cheesecake

Ingredients

Crust

· 110 grams digestive biscuits finely crushed

· 1/2 teaspoon dried edible lavender buds coarsely ground

· 4 tablespoons butter melted

Blueberry Topping

· 1 1/2 cups blueberries

· 1/4 cup water

· 3 tablespoons organic cane sugar

· 1/2 teaspoon lemon zest

· 1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

· pinch of salt

· 3/4 teaspoon dried edible lavender buds

Cheesecake Filling

· 3/4 cup double cream chilled

· 8 ounces cream cheese room temperature

· 4 ounces goat cheese – or substitute more cream cheese if you don’t like goat cheese

· 1/2 cup  sugar

· 2 teaspoons lemon zest

· 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

· 1/2 teaspoon dried edible lavender buds coarsely ground

Instructions

1. Put the digestive biscuits into a food processor. Process until they’re a fine, sandy texture. Transfer to a medium bowl. Add lavender, salt, and butter. Mix well with a fork to incorporate butter into all of the crumbs. Put a round piece of greaseproof paper in the bottom of a 7inch diameter springform pan. Press crumbs with a spoon and hands, into the bottom and a little less than 1/2 up the sides. Be sure to press firmly. Place in the freezer.

2. Place 1 cup of the blueberries and the water in a food processor and blend until they’re chopped into small pieces. Transfer to a small saucepan. Add the sugar, lemon zest, vanilla, and salt. Bring to a simmer over medium heat, stirring continuously.

3. Add the remaining half of blueberries. Place the lavender in a reusable muslin bag and add to the sauce. Reduce the heat and continue to stir as the lavender steeps. When the sauce has thickened, about 10 minutes, remove from the heat.

4. Continue to steep the lavender for another 15 to 20 minutes. Then remove the muslin bag. Let the sauce cool completely.

5. In a large bowl, whip the heavy cream with an electric mixer until soft peaks form. In a second large bowl, use the mixer to whip the cream cheese, goat cheese, sugar, lemon zest, and lavender. Once the mixture is fully combined, use a spatula to gently fold in the whipped cream.

6. Take the crust out of the freezer and pour the filling in. Smooth with a large spoon. Refrigerate for a minimum of four hours best overnight. When ready to serve, remove from refrigerator and release from springform.

7. Spoon a liberal amount of blueberry sauce on top, and cut immediately. Cheesecake will last for 4 days in the refrigerator.

Note: you can slice it and freeze the slices but it will go squidgy - not necessarily a bad thing.

The Sunday Ishmael:11/08/2024

 

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,

Then reached the caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;

And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far

Ancestral voices prophesying war!

extract from Kubla Khan - Coleridge

What with Elon Musk prophesying war, and Nigeria, Malaysia, Indonesia, Australia, Canada, India and the United Arab Emirates issuing travel warnings for the UK, Robert Tombs, emeritus professor in History at the University of Cambridge, has weighed in to reassure us, in the Spectator,  that there won't be a civil war because the citizenry aren't armed, organised, or militarily experienced, unlike during the 1642 English Civil War, or Bonny Prince Charlie's stramash in 1745 or that little problem in Ireland in 1916. He concludes: "However ostrich-like today’s politicians often seem, we should only start to worry if they permitted the English Defence League or indeed Extinction Rebellion to ship in large numbers of guns and practise guerrilla warfare in Hyde Park. So civil war is unimaginable in any foreseeable circumstances."  

Reassured? Well, you shouldn't be. What the good former professor (emeritus means the holder has retired, but is allowed to retain the title as an honour) has  left out of the equation is the invention of the mobile phone and its potential for instantaneous communication of grievance and battle strategy, and, of course, the interest of foreign governments in destabilising and weakening  Great Britain.

Turns out the retired Prof. was only chopping words, though - as he concedes: "widespread and recurring civil disorder is all too possible. Weak policing is clearly an element. .... There is always a criminal element that enjoys both recreational violence and the opportunity to do a bit of looting. But there is always a political grievance too. Throughout history, people riot or rebel when they believe they are ignored. What protects democracies is that they listen and respond. Otherwise, they make themselves increasingly reliant on force."

And Keir Starmer has informed his Cabinet that a "standing army" of 6,000 special duty public officers are on standby to be deployed nationwide to tackle any further unrest. I'm assuming when he says special duty he doesn't mean Specials - volunteer community bobbies. At least, I hope not. He couldn't deploy the Army - the optics of sending tanks and the soldiery down the streets of Birmingham would be absolutely appalling. So he is persisting in dealing with this as a policing matter perpetrated by naughty criminal types. What he isn't doing is taking the good professor's advice that democracies should listen and respond to the people. For pity's sake - he and his Labour crew are in office in consequence of the disillusionment of the people in a Conservative Government that was disinterested, uninterested and detached from the daily reality of people's lives in the poor areas of the cities. What does he think he will achieve by sending some of the rioters to prison for a short time? And it can only be for a short time thanks to the appalling overcrowding of Great Britain's prison establishment. He is making warrior heroes out of them. Learned nothing from Northern Ireland, eh, Kier? At least if some Community Service/ Community Payback Orders, with a requirement to clean up some of the mess and plant some daffodil bulbs in the grounds of mosques and burned-out Premier Inns, were handed out, then some good might come of it. But really, a good Government would start listening. Get some research students out to interview the defendants and collate the reasons for all this - as opposed to an Official Inquiry, led by some ennobled pillar of the establishment which will take evidence for ever and then tidily sweep its findings under the carpet - a full and far-reaching cover-up. Mind you, it is not hard to determine the reasons. As Douglas Murray, also writing in the Spectator, laid it out:

• In 2011, the proportion of people on out-of-work benefits in Sunderland was 18%, today it is 19%. In Rotherham it was 16%, today it is 18%. In Hartlepool, it was 21%, today it is 23%.
• In the towns in which rioting has occurred in the last week or so, there is not one in which the job situation has improved in 13 years. Instead, employment has got demonstrably worse.
• Incapable of improving education, incentives and job opportunities in these areas, all governments have increased legal migration to Britain and claimed that the economy was growing as a result. This is bollocks. Multiple studies show that the migrant is benefitted, but the economy remains unimproved. It undercuts local labour, and the increased demand for housing and limited housing stock makes their situation much worse. To say nothing of increased pressure on the infrastructure of GPs, dentists and education.
• In 2011, foreign-born workers made up 14% of Britain's workforce. Now it is 21%. Employment has grown by 3.6 million, but 74% consists of immigrant workers. Only 929,000 of these 3.6 million workers were born in Britain.

Why 2011, you may ask - that is when the last major wave of rioting engulfed Britain. 

Those warnings by foreign Governments against travelling to Britain:

Nigeria: issued a "travel alert" warning of "an increased risk of violence and disorder occasioned by the recent riots in the UK.....the violence has assumed dangerous proportions......demonstrations by far right and other extra-parliamentary groups in parts of the UK in recent weeks have been large, and in some instances unruly."
Malaysia: The High Commission warned: "Malaysians residing in or travelling to the United Kingdom are urged to stay away from protest areas, remain vigilant and follow the latest updates and guidance provided by local authorities."
Indonesia: warned its citizens in the U.K. to stay vigilant and "avoid large crowds and places that have the potential to become gathering places for masses or groups of demonstrators."
Australia: warned its nationals to 'exercise a high degree of caution' when travelling to the UK, and to "Avoid areas where protests are occurring due to the potential for disruption and violence."
Canada: the travel guidance has elevated the risk level to those travelling to the U.K, to 'High degree of caution' due to terrorism and unrest. "Demonstrations take place regularly. Even peaceful demonstrations can turn violent at any time. Past violent clashes between protestors and security forces have resulted in assaults, riots, looting and vandalism."
India: issued the advisory: "travellers would be aware of recent disturbances in some parts of the United Kingdom. The High Commission of India in London is closely monitoring the situation. Visitors from India are advised to stay vigilant and exercise due caution while travelling in the UK....It is advisable to follow local news and advisories issued by local security agencies, and to avoid areas where protests are underway. Many countries around the world, including the US, Germany and Denmark, issued travel advice to their citizens following riots in England in summer 2011."

UAE: warned that: "unstable security situation in various cities across the UK" poses a potential hazard to visitors and citizens alike. This comes as Met police officials have vowed to safeguard London amidst "one of the worst spates of violent disorder in the last decade" as additional protests are anticipated tonight.
Kenya: advisory stating that it was closely monitoring the unrest, which it described as "primarily driven by far right and anti immigrant groups". The advisory warned: "The violence has flared up across various towns and cities in the United Kingdom. Kenyans residing in or travelling to the United Kingdom are urged to stay away from the protest areas and should remain vigilant."

.......................................................

In other matters, ishmaelians will be aware that I've not been too well this year. I put it down to long covid and the filthy, disease-ridden cities of the south. Feeling particularly rough this week, I broke the habit of the last 4 years and reported in to the duty GP, having overcome the resistance of the receptionist, who offered me either an appointment in 3 weeks time, or tell me why you need to see the doctor. Having listed all my symptoms, the receptionist slotted me in for an appointment that afternoon. The doc took an armful of blood, cos they don't do diagnosis until they have the bloods tests. She phoned me back the next day: the good news is that your liver, heart, lungs, thyroid and blood sugar are all fine. (amazing, after a lifetime of appreciating a glass or two of red, or white if I'm being self-indulgent, with my evening meal.) The bad news is that you have iron deficiency anaemia, with very low red blood cell counts. We need a poo test. I'll leave a self testing kit and an iron prescription on reception for you.

So now I'm on the iron and have a black tongue and black, black, darkest black poo.

If you want to know about the poo test, let me refer you to the Master:

stanislav: It all shit is.

stanislav get letter off nutter in Aberdeen, professor of bottoms is.

Dear Mr stanislav, is best not croak from bowel cancer and no need is, Jock Tribesman government of Alex Lard committed is to Immortality for all Jocks or people living in here, only not English oil-stealing bastard who can all fuck off and die, so here is simple little test kit, is fun for all the family but only you can play. Just to follow simple instruction:

Go in shithouse, put hand in rubber glove and poo into. Can also poo into jamjar or any other similar clean but disposable container and not for fucks sake re-use because rhubarb jam is not so good made in shitjar and maybe fucking poison Vicar when come is for afternoon tea and hypocrisy How you is Mr stanislav, eh, Jesus special place has in heart for plumber, D'ye ken, the noo, and Polack, too, Our Lord was very fond of Polack bastards, Matthew 3 verse 1, Take what ye have and give unto the Pole, is the Word of God, man, How can ye doubt it. I say, Mrs stan, this jam's jolly good, meaty sort of jam, is it a Polack recipe ? I will have a wee dram wi' ye, just the one. Ah'm away over to see Angus at the fairm and get blootered wi' him.
Can also fold thickly several sheet of bogroll, only not Izal, fuck me, no, place in toilet pan, do quick-fire, no-messing-about poo and hope it floats long enough on bogroll to be rescued from drowning, poo sample is fucked, you see, if go in bogwater and have to start all over again and maybe not ready is again for few hours or even tomorrow, all depends. And anyway not every bastard can just do one poo and stop in mid-dump, is it, and would probably just bombard floating Andrex platform with kilo or two of hot poo and sink to bottom of pan and whole shit sampling process is fucked. Is no fucking wonder, is it, that NHS is fucked, people sending out fucking rubbish advice like this and probably come from desk of shit-sampling-solyoushunsRus senior manager on hundred grand and free carpark space. Most people find is best to do poo straight in hand with glove on and not fuck about, if poor bastard is and no glove has can use crisp packet, or Dorittos; if was nurse, after all, no big deal would be. Nurse! Mr McFadden in bed two shit the bed again, the dirty old bastard, just pop down and clear it up,hen, there's a good girl, only I'm having a right good gossip here. And don't waste time washing hands after, patients need to be fed lunch, chop-chop.
Toilet paper method is crap, really, requiring jump-up from bog and turn around with trousers round ankle and arsehole not wipe or nothing because no time is and no place to put used bogroll would be apart from wastepaper bin filled with old Bic razors worn out and blunt as fuck because mean fucking bastard husband use twenty times rather than just scrap after one shave and only cost ten fucking pence to start with but is every morning Oh Fuck me, can get one more shave out of this bastard, waste not fucking want not eh, and maybe in rush to rescue turd on toilet paper and keep dirty bottom with cheeks apart can fall over and crack head and drown in fucking toilet, with lungs full-up of soggy Andrex fill-up with shit, maybe with cancer in, and no point was trying to avoid bowel cancer in first place, because has drown in shit, innit, instead, anyway. And all thanks to lunatic professor in Aberdeen.

For shit-sampling to be success must take in bog, also, ballpoint pen and cardboard stick and packet of testing envelope. When fresh poo has got in hand take cardboard stick, provided, and get little smear of poo on end, is not much, just a bit and squash onto testing area of little envelope, and then take different bit of poo, from different part of hand-held turd, only not with sweetcorn, and squash onto the other testing strip and stick down that section of envelope, only not for fucks sake by licking edge otherwise get hospital acquire infection without even going near hospital, then write date on with pen. Will be hard because right hand is full of turd and must very best do with left hand, if has shelf in shithouse/bathroom/ahn sweet is best put envelope on shelf and clutch with edge of left hand and write as best as can, taking great care to hold other hand, with poo on, some distance away but not up in air just in case can fall off on fucking head. Once date is on envelope can now dispose of turd from hand and best is to just shake off, over bowl and hope that turd fall off when hand is directly over bowl and not onto carpet, not that fucking carpet should have in shithouse but is ahn sweet so ok is, or worse fucking still into glass with teethbreeshes in which most people keep generally close to toilet on account of how everybody now all oral hygiene conscious is but moron just the same and clean teeth in nice warm germy ahn sweet bathroom full of shitbugs and airborne sanitary towel germ and blockage of warm spit and gumblood and scraps of food in fucking vanity unit sink Ubend which no bastard ever empty until bathroom flooded is and need fucking plumber and never even pour-down some Dettol or Tesco value equivalent product which can't tell the difference from and is only half of fucking price, not even that, is just decades of spat-out rubbish go down hole and fucking fester and monstrous, invisible little army of germs come storming up pipe and parachute in fucking mouth and down to Doctorbastard is with case of DirtyBastarditis Poisoning, Oh, fuck me, Doctorbastard, Irritable Bowel Syndrome has got and need three month off from work is, best make six until fullpay runs out and Doctorbastard should say Fuck off dirty bastard and clean fucking house up and never mind Glade Air Freshen Up, get Jeyes Fluid and pour all over filthy fucking gaff and try turning off heat and open fucking windows but of course is in meaningful relationship dialogue with patient and got no balls has and instead of do proper doctoring refer every bastard to nutter in Aberdeen and do shit test is having to, as above. But is not just one time, balance turd in hand and write left-handed on envelope on top of cistern or on comfortable design feature shelf in airless, windowless ahn fucking sweet germ factory but is three bastard times has this fucking nonsense to do, and would soon be expert and job could get in circus, juggling turds and writing left-handed, with trouser down round ankle and unwiped arse if was any fucking circus left apart from fucking government and house of fucking common and Royal fucking bastard Family of para-fucking-site like Charles, Prince of fucking Wales, and cardboard cut-out Duke and fucking Duchess of this that and fucking other with fucking hundredweight or Euro fucking equivalent of scrap iron costume medals and fucking sashes and fucking ribbons as though useless shower of fucking inbred German ruffians and ponce and pimp just stepped out has from Gilbert and fucking Sullivan Comic fucking Opera set in Ruri-fucking-tania and expect stanislav to bow and fucking scrape at useless fucking idle slags, good for fuck all and up against wall should go. Is fucking twenty fucking first fucking century, innit, can drop fragmentation bomb right on Paki school playground from Washington DC and yet still bowing and fucking scraping is like was New Mediaevalists and stanislav garden party should go to and stand like cunt and useless fairy bastard prince says Oh, and you are a plumber, how very thrilling that must be for you, but not for me, fuck no, carry on, there's a good chap. stanislav bet fortune that Prince of fucking Wales poo stuff procedure doesn't have to do, get royal footman, keeper of the royal shithouse and get him to do it all,

I SAY, WIPE ONE'S ARSE FOR ONE,
THERE'S A GOOD CHAP.

Yes, Your Royal Highness, just poo right here in my hand, if you will be so gracious, oh, Fuck me, Sir, isn't that a magnificent Royal turd, Your Highness is so clever and my goodness, Sire, such an aroma, I'm getting Saxe Coburg and I'm getting Battenberg and if I'm not mistaken I'm getting a hint of Coldstream Guard, Sire, but that'll be from last night, Your Worship.

Would rather fucking have cancer and die than do all this shit, catching poo in hand and jumping up and down in shithouse like demented person with anal fixation, or Herman the German. Herman has special little tray in his toilet so's can examine each and every turd, make sure it is fit for Thousand Year Reich, mad fucking bastard, no wonder all German bint is dyke. Every morning Herman says Ach du Lieber Gott, Mein Frau, look at the size of dis bastard, is like from dambusters, nein, big bastard is, nothing wrong is mit Gunter's bowel, Ja? Can have close examination, bitte, ov your movements' mein Liebschen, Oh, Ja, is pretty little ones, nein? Dirty, filthy bastard is Herman.

But have good idea, can just follow dog, Buster,

on evening dump walk, or morning, or afternoon dump walk and poke little stick in BusterPoo and send off to mad professor, all stuck down in triple envelope. Mind, is good job living in country now and not suburbia, Buster was sick one time, well not just one time but this time VetBastardUlike but not very much said Oi, stan, here is tinfoil tray and just follow Buster around street and when is in mid-stream and leg cocked just shove tray underneath and get sample for me and get sent in laboratory and that'll be twenty nine pounds, please and tray was just piece of junk like faggot and peas come in from Spar CheapShop4Uis but stan and Mrs try to be good citizen and do like told by professional thieving bastard and take dog, Buster, out round streets armed with tinfoil tray. Buster over shoulder was looking like his people has turned into deranged dog-murdering bastard perverts and sitting down and refuse to budge and po-faced Presbyterian bastard neighbours in Inverness

all peep from curtain and go Oh fucking dear, so it is, lookit what they're doin tae yon puir wee dawg, JesusMaryandJoseph, d'ye think we should call the Jock RSPCA or the polis, lookit, they're chasing him again and the bloke's trying to get underneath the wee man's howsyerfaithers, so he is, Oh my goodness, I heard about they Polish men but Ah didnae ken they was intae this shit, and in broad fucking daylight, when is the guvinment going tae do something aboot they damn foreign devils coming over here; d'ye ken ye cannae get a book in English doon the library, they're all fucking Polish, excuse my language, but how do they read all that shit all full up with zeds and vees and doubleyoous and queues and cees, fuck me, that's a desperate lingo, d'ye suppose it affects their teeth, or the way they breathe, no wonder they cry so much, but in the name a Gawd that's no reason for them sexually molesting the puir wee dawg, look he's doin' it again, the noo, out there in broad daylight, and the Inverness shops, they're all filled up with beetroot and cabbage in vinegar and vodka, and chocolate-covered rice crispies; Aw fer Gawd's sake, Angus, they've got the puir wee divil and they're squeezing him, so they are, intae a frozen food container and his puir wee bit a tinkle's coming oot and yon man, in the overalls, he's jumpin' up and doon in delight, so he is, and so stanislav not have very happy memories of chasing dog, Buster, for a urine sample and nearly get run out from town on tar and fucking feather off sour old Jock fishingwife, would no point have been saying Look, Mrs in dog own interest is and not for fucking fun am chasing bloke round street and try and catch piss in tub for analysing, like lunatic with head stuck up dog arse, what you think, stainslav crazy bastard is ? No fucking point, but now is in country living and no bastard neighbour has, because if neighbour saw stanislav poking about in dog shit and putting in envelope and drop in village postbox, shotguns would be out. Anyway will try to sort things out, compulsory not is to do poo nonsense, and just as fucking well. 

Maybe can email professor and say shit in the post is, honest.

.......................................................

• There's lots more original ishmael and stanislav, in the four-volume Call Me Ishmael oeuvre, collected and curated by editor mr verge, and  available on Lulu and Amazon.

  Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.

  IIshmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps 

  please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.

  Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr

  Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux

  https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

  
  

  At checkout, try WELCOME15 in the coupon box, which (for the moment) takes 15% off the price before postage. If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for "Lulu.com voucher code" and see what comes up.

  With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.