Things Bert And I Have Argued About

Crabbit - Ireland and Scotland, from 'crabbed' meaning bad-tempered.

Some time ago there was a regular column in The Guardian called Things My Girlfriend And I Have Argued About. The writer was Mil Millington, (I just googled that) and it was always an enjoyable read. Of course, Bert and I never argue but we used to - quite a bit. Actually, that's a lie. We still do argue but it's different now. Different because I don't take myself as seriously as I used to.

Yesterday's argument arose because he stood too close to me while I was making dinner. This is what happened.

I was making risotto from one of my new Jamie books. It was the 30-minute meal book. I might not know much about risotto but I know it's not a dish to hurry. Jamie was pretty optimistic with his 30-minute timing especially as I was expected to do a salad and a dessert in the allotted time frame. Ridic! I just did risotto and it took forty minutes.

The risotto was supposed to be mushroom but I didn't have mushrooms so I was planning to use smoked mackerel and bits of things from the garden, mostly peas and fresh herbs, flat leaf parsley, rosemary, marjoram, some lemony thing that I couldn't identify and my own garlic. The base was onion and celery both shop-bought. I also used a big glass of my own white currant wine to start it off and all was going well. Especially as I was drinking a big glass of my own white currant wine as I chopped and stirred. Bet you Jamie doesn't do that. Too many kids around for him to be drunk in charge of a high sided frying pan. When it comes to cooking and drinking I tend to favour the Keith Floyd way of doing things.

Then Bert came in from outside. He wandered over to the cooker to see how things were going which was OK with me. But then he didn't go away! Instead, he starts struggling out of his boiler suit and removing his heavy boots whilst standing six inches from me. He always tries to take his boiler suit off first and he's half caught up in it, standing on one leg, trying to unlace his boots and tottering! Tottering six inches from me and my high sided frying pan and my gas cooker! I was raging and I'm afraid I shouted at him. Something along the lines of,

Size of this kitchen, size of this house! Why stand on TOP of me whilst I'm COOKING! Wriggling out of that STUPID boiler suit *unmentionable adjective*, *unspeakable noun*.

Then he retorts, something along the lines of,

Crabbit *unutterable noun*!

Then he cleared off out of my way and said that thing again. Under his breath but I heard. And did not care because my personal space was not being intruded upon. I also did not care because I am a crabbit *unutterable noun*.

The risotto turned out very well. Delicious, in fact. I can hardly believe I've never made one before. Did I mention the Roquefort cheese I added before serving? The argument was over, finito. Mostly that's the way it is these days. Bit of a reaction to an annoyance, some might even say over-reaction, then let it go. It's almost always me who starts it.

A photograph taken a long time ago. That corner is now part of a fifteen-acre wood and that was our very first dog, Danny. We argued a lot more then than we do now.

Argument

I had an argument with Clint this afternoon and I didn't even know it was an argument until he stormed off in a state of high dudgeon. My conclusion was that this meant the argument had been won by me.

The conversation started, as it so often does, on farming.

Bert drew my attention to a compliment that Clint had received from another farmer on his success with calf-rearing. I too, was complimentary.

We then went on to discuss Bert's imminent retirement from the cattle trade. Clint posited that Bert's experience in livestock was 'a disaster'. I took exception to that as he had managed to keep all cattle alive that were meant to be kept alive so it was hardly disastrous. Clint countered with Bert's failure to get cows in calf. I suggested that this was a disappointment rather than a disaster. Anyway, there was a little more in this vein and then the talk turned to the weather.

Everyone was in agreement that the weather was a real disaster. Clint said that the last good day we had was the Twelfth of July and I said that there had been the odd good day here and there but he insisted that Orangeman's Day was the last decent day we'd had. I expect he hoped that this might enrage me as I am a Shinner but I let it go. Instead I mentioned that I'd read a report in the Guardian that studies indicated that the Gulf Stream is now at its weakest since around 400AD. "And how would they know that," says Clint. I said, "Science."

Bert interjected by saying it hardly mattered what the weather was going to be like as Trump and Putin are going to blow the world apart. I think I have mentioned before that Bert leans toward a very simplistic and pessimistic world view. That led to a discussion about Trump which is a subject Clint and I usually avoid, him being an admirer as well as a card-carrying Brexiteer.  I said that if Trump's blustery tweets did turn out to be more effective than old-fashioned diplomacy then I for one would not be unhappy. Clint took this as a capitulation, that I had changed my tune on Trump. I took an opportunity never before open to me to ask him why he had supported Trump even before he'd taken office. He trotted out the usual. Breath of fresh air. Successful businessman. I took him to task on that one. He countered with one of the richest men in America, funded his own campaign... I picked him up on this,  for Trump only self-funded to a point... and the next thing Clint's storming off - which is where we came in.

And I've been feeling edgy ever since.