Chardonnay flavoured crisps?

First it was there and then it was gone. Today’s post was published, the link posted on Facebook and by the time I got home it had gone, disappeared as it had never been. WordPress users beware. So here is a rehash. I had been musing that it was important to support ones partner when she wanted to go to an old school reunion and was curious about it being a 40th anniversary as I am unreliably informed that the Nice Lady Decorator is still only 37, so something does not add up.

A number of interesting characters were encountered and I formed the impression that the school, Ackworth, in the wilds of Yorkshire, was quite Bohemian. My opinion was framed by the number og photographs taken of the alumni at the time, with not a scrap of school uniform in sight. A Quaker school, it also seemed to me, from listening to the reminiscences, that most of the students got their oats regularly. It seems that amongst the former students of Ackworth were people blamed for the collapse of a major Dutch bank, a chap who whilst running a charity forgot that it was not his own money, and James Fearnley, a member of the Pogues. I think you will agree that this is an unusual roll call of honour for a school.

Eventually escaping the strictures of school, we headed back to the Bingley Arms at Bardsey for a pint, and where I heard a very interesting story about an apparently gay kiss, unexpectedly received by one of my friends. I am sworn to secrecy about the details, but a promise is a promise as I was told in confidence, I must respect that. Only strong drink or the usual fiver will prise my lips apart.

Before escaping from Yorkshire we received two touching gifts; a typical Yorkshire cake called Parkin, which looks as if it must be about 10,000 calories, and is supposed to be eaten with Wensleydale cheese. Who remembers the Monty Python cheese shop sketch? It was the gift of the lovely Ann Thornley who had taken umbrage at earlier comments in this column about the lack of quality of Yorkshire food. It looks lovely but if we get stuck on a hill on the way back, I know what I can use for a chock.

The other gift left me quite incredulous. It was a packet of crisps as my picture today depicts. Not ordinary crisps, oh no, these were from Yorkshire and flavoured with Chardonnay wine. I do hope it was not some of Peachy Butterfield’s card Bordeaux. Cleethorpes Chardonnay perhaps?

These are real

The escape from the frozen north was not scheduled to be entirely complete until later in the day, as we are scheduled to have lunch with my brother and family near Milton Keynes. He tells me he has a holiday home in Poland, which, apart from setting himself up for the hard sell for the services of Currencies Direct, points to a slight unhinging somewhere. I am sure that Poland is a wonderful country, in fact I went there before the iron curtain fell, but a holiday home? It would be as bizarre as having one in, say, Pontefract

The full escape back to the sultry south should be complete by early evening when I feel a pint of Harvey’s coming on in the White Hart. Before that I shall be juggling with the traffic on the M1, which will doubtless be full to capacity with cars carrying people escaping the rigours of winter in snow fields of the north.

Chris France