Mehefin 27ain, Dydd Llun

Ar ben Bell Lane roedd car wedi parcio. Roedd dyn yn eistedd ar gadair blygu wrth ymyl stôf wersyll a bag dogfennau agored. Roedd o'n gwisgo het Banamâ a siwt ddu. Roedd golwg rhyfedd am 6.30 yn y bore. Yn fuan roedd yr haul yn danbaid. Ro'n i'n falch iawn o gyrraedd Whittaker Wood. Mi wnes i lithro drwy'r coed fel lyncs ifanc. Mi gyrhaeddais dôl yn llawn blodau a gloynod byw a phyfed llwyd ond doedd fy nghroen ddim yn ymateb i'r brathau.
Aderyn y dydd: Pioden y mor. Roedd sawl pioden yn swnllyd uwchben Llyn Hollingworth. Doedden nhw ddim yn edrych yn gartrefol yna.
Blodyn y dydd: Tagwygbysen.
Saig y dydd: Lumaconi â saws cig eidion, madarch, Marsala a thomatos.
Cwrw y dydd: Banks Bitter yn y Clwb ar ôl Pwyllgor Arolwg ac Archwiliad sydd dim yn gyffroes iawn.

Mehefin 26ain, Dydd Sul

Roedd hi'n gymylog a llwydaidd yn y bore ond roedd yr haul yn tywynnu wrth i mi dynesu at Gronfa Rooden. Roedd gylfinirod yn crio ar bob llaw. Roedd y llwybr yn llithrig a mi gwympais i er gwaethaf fy ffyn. Efallai bydda i'n gyfarwydd â disgyn efo ymarferiad. Neu fydda i'n ddu las. Roedd dynes glên efo ceffyl mewn fan geffylau a thri ci gwyllt neu gefeillgar yn fferm Edge Gate. Mi ddes i cytuno â Jon Comyn-Platt ger Cronfa Ogden. Roedd o'n mynd â chi mawr a gwlanog am dro, ci ei ferch o, ond roedd y ci yn rhy hen i ddringo'r bryniau. Fy frind o Blaid Llafur Milnrow and Newhey ydy Jon. Mi helpodd o i ddosbarthu taflenni a chanvasio yn yr etholiaeth lleol.
Aderyn y dydd: Cog yn crio ger Fferm Tunshill.
Blodyn y dydd: Gwyddfid llaeth yn Higher Ogden.
Saig y dydd: Frittata â ricotta, olifau a brenhinllys.
Cwrw y dydd: Timothy Taylor's Best Bitter yn The Old Bridge Inn, Ripponden, yn ôl pob tebyg tafarn y hynaf yn Swydd Efrog. Mae'r Best Bitter well gen i na Landlord.

Mehefin 24ain Dydd Gwener

Cynhelwyd noson cwis yng Nghlwb Llafur Rochdale.
Cwrw y dydd: Cumberland Ale yn y clwb a Bristol Beer Factory No 7, ar ôl i mi dychwelyd adre.
Saig y dydd: Siancen cig moch â phys slwtsh.

Mehefin 22ain Dydd Mercher

Roedd y taith cerdded yn byr heddiw. Roedd rhaid i mi mynd â Marion i'r clinig clyw, Tŷ Nye Bevan yn Rochdale am brawf ei chymorthion clywed hi. Felly mi es i i lawr Lôn Llydw (neu Onn) i'r Afon Beal. Roedd y llwybr yn orchuddiedig â thyfiant, yn cynnwys danadl poethion, ac yn wlyb a llithrig.

Aderyn y dydd: Nico. Mae llawer o Nicos ym mhobman.

Blodyn y dydd: Meillionen coch.

Saig y dydd: Chorizos â gwygbys â saws tomato.

Cwrw y dydd: Dim diferyn o gwrw o gwbl. Ro'n i'n teimlo'n sâl. Mi es i i'r wely am saith.

Cân y dydd: Allan o dy ben. Meinir Gwylim. Dw i ddim yn anghyson.

http://www.mapmywalk.com/routes/view/38415494

Mehefin 21ain Dydd Mawrth

Mi ges i fy neffro gan fy ngwraig am 5.30yb. "Mae Smotyn (y gath) ddim wedi bod adre y noson y gyd," meddai hi. Felly cerddais i'r strydoedd amgylchynol ond roedd o wedi dod adre ar ei ben ei hun. Wedyn es i am dro. Gwelais i bioden yn rhedeg ar ôl gwiwer ar wâl ar Kiln Lane. Mi es i drwy Peanock, lle oedd Edwin Waugh, bardd tafodiaeth Swydd Gaerhirfryn 1817-90, yn byw.

Aderyn y dydd: Gwyach fawr gopog. Ar Llyn Hollingworth. Dim Gwyach big-frith o gwbl yn anffodus.

Blodyn y dydd: Tresgl y moch.
Saig y dydd: Pwdin bara menyn efo ciabatta, cyrens, bricyll sychion a mwyar goji.
Cwrw y dydd: Dau beint o Thwaites Wainwright yn y Crocbren efo Geoff ac Ian.
Cân y dydd: Siwgwr i'r tân Meinir Gwilym

http://www.mapmywalk.com/routes/view/38287800

Mehefin 20ain Dydd Llun

Penderfynais i gwneud tro byr y bore 'ma oherwydd roedd fy nghroth coes dali i boeni. Pan o'n in gweithio roedd fy nhaith bore'n parhau am un awr. Heddiw roedd hi'n heulog. Gwelais i sawl aderyn bach brown ar wifrau telegraff. Codais fy spienddrych o'r sach teithio. Wrth gwrs roedden nhw'n mynd i gyd. Bydda i'n gwisgo fy spienddrych o gwmpas fy ngwddw yn y dyfodol. Dw ddim isio bod golwg ecsentrig arna i. Cynghorydd ydw i, wedi'r cwbl. Erbyn hyn mae gen i siorts (ond dw i ddim yn gwisgo fy hosan cywasgiadol am thrombosis gwythiennol dwfn efo siorts), trwyn coch, barf wen a fynn nordig. Pan o'n i'n gweithio roedd rhan o'r daith lleidiog iawn yn agos nant fach islaw coed helyg. Rŵan mae'r cyngor wedi gosod cerrig a rhybudd ynglŷn â beisiclau modur.

Aderyn y dydd: Yswidw benddu.

Blodyn y dydd: Briwydd wen. Ar ben cloddiau sychion, yn edrych yn syml a siriol.

Saig y dydd: Cyw iar a Brie. Yn y Swan Hotel, Whalley.

Cwrw y dydd: Hen Harrier, Bowland. Yn y Swan Hotel.

Mehefin 17eg Dydd Gwener y Sulgwyn

Roedd hi'n braidd yn oer am chwech o'r gloch yn y bore. Yn fuan ro'n i'n chwysu a chwythu, yn arbennig ar y lôn uwchben Higher Ogden. Ar y ffordd adre wnes i tynnu cyhyr croth coes felly ro'n i'n hercio adre.

Aderyn y dydd: Gwennol y bondo yn ymosod pioden yn eistedd ar bolyn telegraff, Kiln Lane.

Blodyn y dydd: Pabi Cymreig, Clwb Golff Tunshill.

Saig y dydd: Pysgod a dim sglodion o siop tsips yn Delph yn ystod cystadleuaeth band pres Dydd Gwener y Sulgwyn Saddleworth.

Cwrw y dydd: Icicle, Greenfield Real Beer Company o Clwb Band, Delph. Dw i wedi angofio faint o beint. Gormod, beth bynnag. Ro'n i'n hapus yng nghwmni llawer o gyfeillion.

Cân y dydd: Yma o hyd, Dafydd Iwan. Beth bynnag dw i'n meddwl fy mod i.
http://www.mapmywalk.com/routes/view/37842322

Mehefin 16eg Dydd Iau

Roedd dau gi hwyliog iawn yn agos Schofield Hall y bore cymylog 'na. Rhedon nhw ata i. Roedd eu perchennog ymddiheuriol. Roedd o'n gwisgo crys a thei. Efallai roedd o'n barod i fynd i'w swydd. Mi gerddais i o Orsaf Reilffordd Smithybridge trwy Clegg Hall adre er mwyn cael gwybod os dylwn i fynd y ffordd honno i Fancenion.

Aderyn y dydd: Ehedydd yn canu ger Syke.

Blodyn y dydd: Bysedd y cŵn, pinc a gwyn.

Saig y dydd: Cole slaw. Ffa llydain a bresychen goch.

Cân y dydd: Disgwyl rhywbeth gwell i ddod, Meic Stevens.

Cwrw y dydd: Exmoor Ale yn y Crocbren.

http://www.mapmywalk.com/routes/view/37730526

Mehefin 15fed Dydd Mercher

Mi penderfynais gwisgo fy siorts. Roedd hi'n bwrw glaw mân. Mi welais i hen ddyn blin yn rhedeg o gwmpas Llyn Hollingworth. Mi ganais i, "Good morning," ond roedd o'n dal yn flin. Dw i'n ceisio bod fel fy Aelod Seneddol, Simon Danczuk. Mae o'n cerdded o amgylch y bwrdeistref yn gwisgo ei siwt ddu, crys gwin a thei coch, yn codi llaw ar bawb ac yn gweiddi, hêlo cariad. Mi wnaeth o hynny yn y carnifal Milnrow. Mi wnes i gario'i ambarél o. Dw i ddim yn meddwl bod dw i'n wleidydd cynhenid. Dw i'n swnio fel Blodwen Jones bob dydd. Mae Blodwen yn hunanobsesiynol ac yn blagus iawn.

Aderyn y dydd: Crëyr glas yn ymosod gan brân rhwng Llyn Hollingworth a Rakewood.

Blodyn y dydd: Llygad llo mawr ger Llyn Hollingworth.

Saig y dydd: Uwd efo iogwrt groegaidd gartre ac afalau.

Cân y dydd: Geraint Griffiths, Jiwbili.

Does dim cwrw y dydd. Onest. Ond bydda i'n gwneud iawn am hynny Dydd Gwener.

http://www.mapmywalk.com/routes/view/37615580

Mehefin 14eg Dydd Mawrth

Roedd y bore heddiw yn heulog. Roedd y cerrig gwlyb ar y llwybr yn ddisglair. Mi edrychais i i fyny ar yr olion anwedd (contrails) yn yr wybren las. Dw i ddim yn genfigennus rŵan. Rhedodd heibio merch efo adargi cochlyd. Roedd hi'n denau iawn, bron yn esgyrnog. Mi wnes i'r un daith â ddoe. Pan dw i'n cerdded, dw i'n meddwl a dw i'n ceisio cyfieithu fy meddyliau yn Nghymraeg. Mae gen i iPhone efo app Mapmywalk. Mae o'n rhoi y map ar Facebook yn awtomadig efo pellter, cyflymder ayyb. Braidd yn glyfar.

Aderyn y dydd: Gylfinir ger Cronfa Norman Hill.

Blodyn y dydd: Blodeuyn ysgaw. Dw i isio gwneud jam eirinen Fair.

Saig y dydd: Samosas yn y cyfarfod heddiw.

Cân y dydd: Meinir Gwilym eto, Dim Byd a Nunlla.

Cwrw y dydd: Cumberland eto yn y clwb eto.
http://www.mapmywalk.com/routes/view/37483642

Mehefin 13eg Dydd Llun

Wrth fod mi wnes i ddeffro yn gynnar, penderfynnes i mynd am dro. Ro'n i'n cerdded llawer, gormod efallai, yn ystod ymgyrch yr etholiad lleol, yn dosbarthu taflenni a canvasio ond ers hynny dw i i fod i eistedd ar fy mhen ôl mewn cyfarfodydd pwyllgorau. Dw i'n gwybod bod ymarfer yn yr awyr iach yn dda at iechyd corfforol a meddyliol. Felly, penderfynes i cerdded bob bore am chwech o'r gloch am ddwy awr. Pan o'n i'n gweithio, ro'n i'n cerdded a rhedeg bob bore. Hefyd, roedd rhaid i mi colli helfa drysor Caerwys dydd Sadwrn a ro'n i'n teimlo'n ddigalon arna i. Mi gerddes i efo fy ffyn Nordig a fy esgidiau cerdded. Ro'n i'n hapus iawn er gwaethaf y glaw gyrru yn golchi'r chwys o fy nhalcen yn gwneud llosgi fy llygaid.

Dw i wedi cyhoeddi fy mwriadau da ar fy mlog i, felly mae'r holl fyd yn gwybod, felly rhaid i mi parhau.

Sgrech y coed ydy aderyn y dydd, ger Cronfa Piethorne.

Gellesgen felen ydy blodyn y dydd, ar y ffordd ger Clwb Golff Tunshill.

Potel Jennings Cumberland Ale ydy cwrw y dydd, yn Clwb Llafur Rochdale ar ôl cyfarfod hyfforddiant aelodau.

Saig y dydd: Mangos Pacistanaid. Cawson nhw eu brynu yn marchnad Rochdale heddiw.

Cân y dydd: Gorffen gan Meinir Gwilym.

The Phenomenon of Welshness or "How many aircraft carriers would an independent Wales have?"

I'm glad to have read this very interesting, stimulating, provocative and infuriating book, much of it in medical waiting rooms. I would like to comment on it later when I have gathered my thoughts properly but for now I feel that the answer is one (and not 42). I am a bit of a non-dogmatic pacifist after all. I would have it sail around the coast with helicopters to rescue people off cliffs and a really big and noisy fighter, spitting fire, like a harrier jump jet, with a red dragon on its side, to entertain the crowds and make them really proud to be Welsh. As Mr Jobbins says "the Welsh state needs to offer its people pageant, glamour, uniforms, symbols, medals, authority and status." But I hope to come back to my plan to bring back jousting and proper damsels in distress in a later comment. Meanwhile I think I'll go and lie down while the medication wears off.

My Ultimate Chile (so far)

I have saved this recipe. This is the last one I cooked, in the fresh local chilli season, but I think I will not be changing it again.  

45ml groundnut oil (or lard for authenticity)

700g beef skirt, cut into large cubes

One large red onion diced

3 sticks of celery diced

One large carrot diced

Several cloves of garlic chopped

2 Dorset Naga chillies deseeded and chopped. From Peppers by Post www.peppersbypost.biz  . These are supposed to be the worlds hottest so use a strict no-touch technique, wear your marigolds, use a knife and fork, scrub your hands afterwards and still feel how it smarts when you scratch a sensitive area.

2 teaspoons of cumin seeds, roasted in a dry pan until aromatic then ground.

One small tin of tomato purée

Half a bottle of beer, preferably a palish ale. I used Wye Valley Brewery’s HPA

2 sprigs of thyme

200g black beans (turtle beans), soaked overnight and cooked in boiling water until softish. (I cook them separately as I always burn the pan anyway. It may be something to do with the beer.)

Get the fat hot in a pan and fry the cubed skirt until browned. Best to do part at a time to avoid stewing them. Set aside. Sweat the onions in the fat followed by the other vegetables and the cumin. Add the tomato purée, a little water, the thyme and the beer. Start to drink the rest of the bottle as you sweat over the hot stove. Stir in the beans. Add pepper and salt to taste. As you taste marvel at the incredible heat generated by the chillies and give you brow a good mopping. Open another bottle of beer.

Put pan in a coolish oven and leave for an hour or so. Garnish with coriander leave and serve with rice.

Beside the Ocean of Time

I bought this for £2 from George Kelsall's bookshop in Littleborough. It is a fine example of the best things in life being (nearly) free. The luminously poetic prose generates a warm, satisfied feeling and a desire to savour each word. I had a similar feeling reading Cormac McCarthy's The Road but eventually that book's bleakness made me frightened to turn the page and I had to put it down, hopefully not for ever. Beside the Ocean of Time recounts the history of an Orkney Island told through the dreams of a crofter's son growing up before the Second World War. He is described as "idle and useless" by his school teacher. The small community has accumulated oral history and fable related in pub, smithy and schoolroom. This is suddenly lost when the island is turned into an airstrip to protect Scapa Flow. The poet-narrator leaves for the war and a Bavarian prison camp but returns to the deserted island to live in the beachcomer's hut and to repair an old abandoned fishing boat and toil at his unattainable poem. A ray of hope shines through the haar described in the final pages. The island is not completely deserted.

The Cloudspotter's Guide by Gavin Pretor-Pinney

Suffering from a severe (is there any other?) form of Man Flu, I picked this up and devoured it in two days. If I had wanted to write such a book I would have constructed it in the same way as Mr Pretor-Pinney using a mixture of science, religion, history, philosophy and art, well-written in a lively fashion and glued together with liberal dashes of humour. Starting with Chapter One, cumulus, my febrile brain was buffeted from children's drawings to John Constable to René Descartes to Hindu and Buddhist beliefs about elephants, learning in the process that a cumulus cloud weighs the same as eighty elephants, to lava lamps and then on and on. I felt rather like what poor Lt.-Col. William Rankin must have felt, that is the exhilaration and not the pain, when he was obliged to bail out at 47,000 ft above a cumulonimbus in Chapter Two. Even the ostensibly boring stratus and the often frankly depressing nimbostratus managed to shine in these pages before I surged to the upper troposphere, with a detour to Billingsgate Market for the mackerel sky version of cirrocumulus, and beyond. A veritable tour de force.

Wheatsheaf Inn, Raby

We went to the Wirrall to find another pub which we had visited several years ago. We only remembered that it was on the Dee Estuary. This proved elusive. But we had a short walk along the shore where the in-house editor recited the poem about Mary who had to go to call the cattle home across the sands of Dee in bad weather and came to a soggy, sticky end. There were no sands on view today however. Perhaps further out across the bog. Best not to risk it.

Then following the recommendation of my Welsh class the previous evening, we went inland to Raby to this picturesque thatched pub which was surprisingly busy with diners for a Tuesday lunchtime. There are whitewashed walls, black beams, flagged floors, eight draught ales and open fires inside. According to the Good Beer Guide it is celebrating 400 years since being rebuilt following a fire. (It reminded me of my first house in Devon, which we had to leave following a fire in its thatched roof when I was two.) I had a good braised veal shin washed down with Brimstage Trappers Hat and the IHE her usual paté and glass of pink.

Cawl

This obsession has caused me to continually struggle to improve my cawl. I started with Bobby Freeman’s Fishguard Cawl from First Catch your Peacock but hers uses beef and I prefer lamb. Presumably cawl can be soup with any ingredient. I determined that mine should contain lamb, leeks and potatoes. I used a home cured bacon chop made according to the recipe in River Cottage Everyday by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall (aka my friend Shuggie in our house since he sends me nettle beer and decent cider every so often) which had been soaked in water to remove the excess salt. I browned this and the outside of half a shoulder of lamb in a hot pan with a little fat and deglazed the pan with half a bottle of beer. Unfortunately I had no Brains, and still haven’t so it is said, and I had drunk all the nettle beer so I used Ascot Alligator Ale. I softened and mildly caramelised coarsely-chopped onions, swede, carrots and parsnips in rapeseed oil in a casserole then added some shredded cabbage, the meats and beer to the pot with some water and cooked this in a very low oven for several hours with black pepper but no salt at this stage because of the bacon. The meats were then removed and cut into strips. The vegetables were removed (and liquidised to make a soup with some dried cannellini beans). The bones and most of the fat were put back into the stock and boiled to extract every last bit of flavour and then discarded, some to the dish of the sous chef cat who was rubbing herself against my legs. The stock was then refrigerated to remove most of the fat. Not all, as cawl needs stars on its face according to Bobby. For the potatoes I cooked Teisen Nionod which is a gratin made with finely sliced potatoes, chopped onions and butter lumps layered with salt and pepper and baked in a hot oven for about an hour. The dish was finished with some leeks fried in butter. The stock was really tasty and didn’t need salt or reducing. The in-house editor was fairly impressed and the sous chef cat asked for seconds. Anyway I liked it and may stop obsessing but I must get some Brains laid in for next time. Perhaps I will try a seasonal version with spring lamb, nettle leaves and wild garlic.

Cwmardy and We Live by Lewis Jones

I bought the combined volume of these two books solely because of the brief mention it got in that excellent drama series Pen Talar on S4C. I read fiction in bed and I did not sleep so much in the few days it took to finish it. I was rather apprehensive at first not knowing whether to expect Socialist Realism (or Communist Party propaganda). The first page made me doubt further. The language seemed a little flowery and stilted. But of course language is the product of its era, in this case the 1930s, and reading Dickens is a little strange for the first page until you get into the flow of it. Then the key characters developed especially Len, Mary and Ezra and came across as complicated individuals facing real dilemmas. Even Lord Cwmardy, the coal owner, was not a cardboard cut out. They were real characters in that everything was not neatly tied up. To me Lewis Jones was describing people he knew, warts, ambiguities and all. The setting is Cwmardy, the pit with its horrors and inhumanity alleviated by the camaraderie of the miners, Cwmardy the pit village with its bustling, tumultuous life and the terrible but inspiring political and social events of those times. Lewis Jones was not a Stalinist apparatchik as the introduction makes clear. These books reveal his deep humanity which is truly inspiring.

Burns Night (also Dydd Santes Dwynwen)

This is the cranachan. Not all the Glenkinchie went into it. Rest of menu:
Haggis from Ramsay of Carluke. This year I made neeps and tatties by boiling and mashing the swede with about half its weight of potato. Blanched some cabbage in the microwave and mixed with the mash. Then fried in goose fat like a bubble and squeak. Cheeses, Gruth Dhu and Caboc. Shortbread with assortment of malts. Attempt to recite Tam o'Shanter.
Never mind, I'm in good books as I had made the in-house editor a Santes Dwynwen card.

Carrot and Coriander Soup Recipe

I made this up not knowing what I was really doing and it turned out not bad. Nice and sweet. May be improved with some beer as most things are.
1kg carrots peeled and chopped to chunks
1 tbspn coriander seeds.
2 tspn black cumin seeds.
1 tbspn light olive oil.
Heat olive oil in pan. Put in carrots and cook until a bit caramelised. Heat a dry frying pan and toast seeds until aromatic. Grind in mortar. Put in pot and add some water to make a fairly thick soup. Boil until carrots are soft. Blend in Magimix and add some salt to taste.

First Post

I thought I would start off by posting a letter I sent to the Rochdale Observer on Tuesday:


As an ex-GP and a satisfied Rochdale Infirmary surgical patient, I have been moved to comment on the coalition government's "reforms" to the NHS after meeting a Pennine NHS Trust patient who has been refused a knee operation. This is because the operation is considered not to be essential although he is considerably disabled and has a sick wife to care for. I notice that in our area attempts are being made to save money by not providing many types of operation that would alleviate considerable suffering such as joint replacements, cataracts and hernias. This is at a time when a reorganisation of the NHS costing £1.7 billion is being undertaken which was not in any manifesto. Power and cash is to be diverted to consortia of GPs who will commission treatment for their patients.  GPs, as I well know, are not trained for this and are not particularly skilled at it either. As is widely acknowledged, this will inevitably lead to private firms increasingly taking over the treatment of NHS patients and profit being put before patients. Let us save our hospital and our NHS.