Ann preparing last night's Dinner. I'm still not sure about what I should call this meal. These days 'dinner' seems a bit pretentious, and 'supper' seems to do it less than justice. Probably 'evening meal' is about right.
Same meal at table - roast chicken with roast vegetables. Very good, too.
Been busy this last few days - hence lack of blog entries. Sorry. The next two photos are of a musket I've been cleaning up. It's about to be collected by its new owner. Not really a mystery item, but if I give you a couple of lines of a well known poem, I wonder if anyone can complete the couplet with the name of the arm? The poem ends -
"and if ever we English had reason to bless
any arm, save our mother's,
that arm is .................................."
I think Rog will know. And I'm sure Crowbard will be able to trace it.
If you enlarge this photo you should be able to see the crowned G.R. (for George III) on the middle of the lock plate, with 'Tower' across the tail of the lockplate, indicating the Tower of London. Bit more later, if I've time after dinner - sorry- the evening meal.
10 comments:
I can't get calling evening meal "supper" - when I was growing up supper was a mug of Horlicks and a digestive biscuit.
Is it Brown Bess? I thought it was going to be "today we have naming of parts".
Well done Rog. I thought you'd know. It's from a poem by Kipling. Now I'll have to look it up. Those were the only two lines I could remember. No, they're not! There's another two lines that have just come to mind - full of dreadful puns :-
Oh, powder and patches were always my dress,
And I think I am killing enough, said Brown Bess.
P.s. Ann agrees with you about supper, and thinks we should carry on calling it dinner.
Bless you Mike, even with the parlous state of my memory I didn't have to look that one up. Brown Bess (the Land Pattern Musket) is etched on my soul along with Martini-Henry, Lee-Enfild and Purdey...
not to mention Mr Andrew Cochrane of Wisbech.
I don't recall Kiplings work...
In the days of lace-ruffles, perukes, and brocade
Brown Bess was a partner whom none could despise -
An out-spoken, flinty-lipped, brazen-faced jade,
With a habit of looking men straight in the eyes -
At Blenheim and Ramillies, fops would confess
They were pierced to the heart by the charms of Brown Bess.
—Rudyard Kipling, "Brown Bess," 1911... had to look that one up
Hi Carl. Yes, I've just looked it up, too; and printed off a copy to go with the musket. Lovely stuff too, full of rather grim puns.
I know it's a bit infra dig to admit it these days - but I do like Kipling, he's readable.
Not sure if I like Kipling as I've never been kippled. I imagine it would be Rudyard. Apologies for an old pun, but I couldn't resist.
Hello Sir B. I think all the kipling puns and funnies were crowned by those deathless lines of J.K.Stephen, when he wrote :-
When there stands a muzzled stripling mute, beside a muzzled bore,
when the Rudyards cease from Kipling, and the Haggards Ride no more.
Which (in my book) caps all Victorian nonsense songs, save possibly 'the Walrus and the carpenter'.
P.s. And also possibly chunks from The Ingoldsby Legends (although that's rather earlier, and possibly just pre Victorian).
P.s. And also possibly chunks from The Ingoldsby Legends (although that's rather earlier, and possibly just pre Victorian).
Your kitchen looks nice and so does your dinner.I like grilled fowl very much.
Thank you for visiting my blog.
Thank you Haricot.
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