#white margate

[ghschwering]

A great dive in Cozumel. It started with a beautiful sunrise before we headed out across the water.

[happywebdesign]

FT Scenik

[aneledenovodental]

Dentists in Margate

Anele De Novo is one of the highest-rated Dentists in Margate and Herne Bay, Kent. At Anele de Novo dental practice, we welcome NHS and private patients for routine and emergency dental care. For more detail contact us online at https://www.aneledenovo.com

[runningforwaves]

"Let the waves carry you where the light can not."

- Alain Gerbeault

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

GLOBSTER OF MARGATE

On November 1, 1922, in the seaside town of Margate, South Africa, a local farmer, Hugh Balance, had his binoculars trained on an enthralling sea battle. The assault lasted several hours and was also observed by a growing crowd on the beach. Two huge whales appeared to be in combat with a sea monster that resembled an enormous polar bear. Balance's statement appeared in the local newspaper: "This creature I observed to rear out of the water fully 20 feet and to strike repeatedly with what I took to be its tail at the two whales, but with seemingly no effect.” The tail was described as lobsterlike. Eventually the whales swam away, leaving a humongous carcass floating on the water.

Overnight the creature washed ashore. There were no signs of wounds or blood. It was measured at forty-seven feet long, ten feet wide, and five feet high. The tail was ten feet long, and there was no head except for a trunk-like appendage, five feet long, fourteen inches in diameter, and ending in a snout. The creature was nicknamed Trunko. The most extraordinary thing was its fur, described as "eight inches long and snow white, exactly like a polar bear's."

For ten days the body lay on the beach, enticing tourists and gathering flies. Finally, the foul odor became overwhelming. An attempt to return it to the sea with a team of thirty-two oxen got it as far as the water's edge. That night, the tide came in and took it.

In 1944, in the Mull of Kintyre, a similar, though smaller creature was washed ashore. Bulky as an elephant, it was twenty feet long and had long white fur and no head.

These and similar sea creatures were christened globsters by cryptozoologist Ivan T. Sanderson, who was fascinated by the amorphous blobs.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violini, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[scorpiussage]

The Ghost of Margate Manor

(Alfie Solomons x Reader) - Oneshot 

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Y/N

Summary: Everyone in Margate knows the mansion on top of the hill is haunted. Y/N finds this out first hand. 

Warnings: none, swearing 

Everyone who lives in Margate knows that the mansion on top of the hill is haunted. They say some gruesomely ugly ghost haunts the corridors and eats those who trespass. Really, it’s all rubbish, but when you’re five drinks deep like Y/N is, the idea doesn’t seem so far fetched. Her friends are no help, either, as they are also horrendously drunk and daring her to break into the manor if she’s so sure there’s no ghost. 

That was thirty minutes ago and now that Y/N is standing at the top of the hill next to the mansion, she’s suddenly worried that those tall tales might be true. Her friends are all waiting at the bottom of the hill, though, and she absolutely cannot go back without following through; she’d never live it down. So here she is, rock in hand, breaking into a side patio door into what used to have been a ballroom of some kind. The few pieces of furniture (and the chandelier) are all covered in eerie white sheets that billow in the breeze from the open doorway. 

Tamping down on her fear, Y/N continues forward, exiting the ballroom into the main corridor. That’s all the further she gets before she encounters him. 

…

Alfie is just trying to enjoy his first night on his own. Since getting shot in the face by that Peaky cunt, he’s been laid up in bed being tended to by nurses and maids. But now, now, he’s finally healed enough to be alone for extended periods of time and he’s been looking forward to it for months. 

He’s got a nice pot of tea, hot and ready, his newspaper in his hand and a big fire in the hearth. With an excited giggle he moves to sit down in his favorite chair when he hears the sound of glass breaking. He looks at the pot of tea and newspaper forlornly, already knowing that the relaxation of this night is gone. Throwing down his newspaper, he surges out into the hallway while readying his pistol, ready to kill the fucker who thought it was a good idea to break into Alfie Solomon’s house. 

Something rams into his chest and lets out an ‘oof’. Raising his brow in surprise, he looks down at who broke into his house. 

It’s a woman, a tiny one at that, and she reeks of bourbon like there’s no tomorrow. She looks up at him, the color draining from that pretty face of hers. 

Before Alfie can say something, she shrieks, “Ah! A ghost!” 

And then she punches him in the face. 

Alfie lets out a loud curse and clutches his sore cheek. Little bit got him right on his wounded side too, “What the bloody fuck was that for?!”

They stare at each other for a long moment before the woman drunkenly asks, “Wait, you’re not a ghost?”

“I’m fuckin’ what?” he demands, reaching out and grabbing her by her arm. 

She gapes up at him stupidly, and says, “Everyone in Margate knows that this mansion is haunted.” 

What sort of looney bin did he move to? 

“Well as you can clearly see, I am not a ghost, love. Now, why the fuck are you in me house?”

The woman doesn’t get a chance to answer because in the next moment she’s bending over and vomiting all over Alfie’s slippers. Yeah, the peace that he’d been promised tonight is long gone. 

…

Y/N wakes up with a pounding headache and a terrible taste in her mouth. She looks around herself in confusion. She’s in some plushly decorated bedroom with extravagant curtains and warm hand carved furniture. This doesn’t look like her room or the room of anyone she knows. 

Looking to her left, she sees a man slouched down in an armchair, his loud snores telling her he’s asleep. 

That’s when she remembers what happened and feels a wash of horror and embarrassment overcome her. God, she was such an idiot and to top it all off she assaulted this poor man. Reaching over, she gently shakes the man’s shoulder to wake him. He does so with a snort and he squints over at her with a contemplative gaze. 

“I just want to say that I am so terribly sorry,” Y/N says while wringing the edge of the blanket on her lap, “I can’t believe I broke into your house! I will pay for whatever repairs that are needed, I swear.” 

The man smacks his lips as he takes in what she’s just said before he reaches his hand out, “‘It’s alright, love. No harm done. I’m Alfie.” 

He’s an oddly handsome man under his unkempt beard and the large scar on his face. And his hands are large and warm as they engulf hers in a handshake. Y/N introduces herself in return. 

“Surely there’s something I can do to make it up to you? I did break your window after all,” she tells him fretfully while climbing out of the bed.

 He watches her while rubbing his chin and says, “Yeah, ‘suppose there’s one thing you could do.” 

That’s how Y/N finds herself returning to the not-so-haunted manor later that night and having dinner with a one Alfie Solomons. 

[call-sign-shark]

Girls Night and Broken Glass

Summary: Girls night goes wrong when Rose Solomons decides to bring Heaven to a feminist meeting.

Words: 1k

Author's notes: A little something written for @raincoffeeandfandoms's birthday event Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. I hope you'll enjoy this little addition as much as I enjoyed writing it. Now I want to read about drunk Rose coming back to Alfie after this animated night out teehee! Rose Solomons belongs to @raincoffeeandfandoms

✞ This work is a part of Heaven in Your Eyes' universe, but you can obviously read it as a stand-alone.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“And I think it is, darling.” Rose replied with an amused smirk on her charming lips.

“But Arthur said – “

“To Hell with Arthur. To Hell with Al. To Hell with men! Tonight is our night.”

The politician lady wrapped her arm around Heaven’s shoulders and they both stepped into the building to meet with the rest of the women's committee. It has been a little while now since Rose Solomons started campaigning, her decision to engage in politics resulted in making a few dubious male politicians shake with fear. The reign of terror of men was slowly coming to an end now that Rose Solomons was showing her fangs and claws. From the very beginning of her campaign, Heaven had supported her the best she could. Admittedly, the young French girl wasn’t really interested in politics but her enthralling discussions with Rose about feminism had convinced her. That was how she started proudly displaying Rose’s party pin on her dress or fur coat.

The first time Tommy saw the pin it was during a family dinner, and he almost choked with his whiskey. In reply, Heaven simply brushed one of her white strands of hair behind her hair and batted her Bambi lashes with a fake innocent pout. If there was something Thomas Shelby particularly hated, it was people standing up to him – which was exactly what his sister-in-law and Rose Solomons were doing. The heated debate had closed with Tommy pinching the bridge of his nose, deeply bothered, and looking dagger at Arthur for having married the most annoying and bratty creature ever.

Earlier that day, Heaven had decided to visit Rose at Margate and spend the day with her to keep her company as well as to allow Cyril, Kaiser, and Beast to play together. It was during tea time that the wonderful Mrs. Solomons offered her to attend a reunion with the women's committee. At first, it seemed like a good idea, but now that the angel was standing in front of the door she was almost petrified – After all, she had never been particularly comfortable with public gatherings.

“Ladies, let me introduce you to Mrs. Heaven Shelby, who is going to participate in today’s meeting,” Rose said, opening the meeting. In truth, Heaven was expecting the women here to wince at her family name, or to look at her from head to toe, disturbed by her unusual appearance and the confusing aura that emanated from her. But instead of judgment, she found acceptance. Every one of them had been so nice with her, that the young French girl felt welcomed and even actively gave her opinion and ideas under Rose’s proud gaze.

How did the polite meeting ended up in a riot made of unhinged and drunk women yelling was a mystery. The fact remain that police was now chasing down Rose, Heaven and a few other girls in the streets.

“RUN ROSIE RUN!” Heaven screamed, the alcohol she had consumed strengthening her French accent to the point it was almost difficult to understand what she was saying. Rose Solomons, with her bare feet hammering the concrete and her heels in one hand, speeded up, laughing as she ran away from the police. But they were quicker, and it was only a matter of time before they manage to catch them. “Listen! You keep running, I’ll hold ‘em back, right?” Heaven said.

“What? No, I ain’t leaving you behind. They’re going to throw you in jail for the rest of the night!”

“I know, but at least they won’t catch you.” The white-haired angel replied with the more solemn tone her intoxicated mind could make.

“If you go to prison I’ll go too, sister!” At this point, they had both stopped running and Rose had put her soft hands on Heaven’s shoulders.

“You’re a politician now. You cannot be caught doing something illegal alright? Run and don’t worry for me!” With that being said, Heaven gently pushed her partner in crimes away, and waited for the police to capture her as Rose disappeared in the thick fog of the night.

“You are under arrest for –”

“Hey, don’t fookin’ touch me eh!” She roared, completely drunk and definitely sounding a bit too much like Arthur.

When Kat Wilson and Moss informed Arthur Shelby that his wife had spent the other half of her night locked up in a cell, he could not believe it at first. It was only the moment he realized it was true that he caught the giggles.

“Me angel did what?” He said, tears of hilarity dawning in his steel-blue eyes as the two police officers were explaining what happened to him.

“She and a bunch of women destroyed Mr. Greyson’s windows. Then she wrote the word “pig” and “coward” with paint on the walls of Mr. Jones’ store…” The list was long and undeniably ended up with “disturbance of the peace”.

Arthur cracked up even more, slapping his thigh as his loud and hoarse laughter filled the Garrison, attracting a few curious eyes, “Alright, alright.” He finally said, grabbing his car key and heading right to the prison in which his wife had been locked up. He laughed the whole way, unable to recover.

“Didn’t think I’d have to bail ye out of jail, eh.” That was the first thing he said when his eyes met hers, “Seems like I married a lil’ ball of chaos.”

“Eh, I’m sorry…” She retorted with a wince before massaging her forehead for her throbbing headache worsened every damn minutes.

“Sorry? Damn, don’t be sorry, angel.” Arthur had to bite his lower lip not to burst into laughter again at the sight of his wife’s face, whose angelic features were contrasting with her messy and entangled white mane, as well as her runny makeup. His mustache twitched but overall he managed to choke his amusement before he got the giggles a second time, “Let’s get you out of there.”

“Yeah but please, love… Stop talking so loud!” She whined.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

[fatally-alive]

"Congrats on staying alive, Hope they don't catch you tonight" Part 4

‘Merry Old England’ is quite beautiful in the way it discusses the refugee crisis. What are you trying to invoke with that song? Video here

D: “I love that song so much. I think it’s unfathomably beautiful. You can’t hold me back, I’m going to climb your cliff, scale your fence, and take over your country. I don’t think there’s any question marks at all. One man’s end-time capitalism London is another man’s playground of dreams where anything is possible – the mythical city that you finally reach after trying to break out of your miserable town and fulfil your dreams.

“For all the cynicism and talk of being pushed out of town, there’s another generation that will come and find a way to bring it alive again or find a way to make it their own; despite the weight of the fucking world.”

B: “The song is more of a montage than banging a drum, particularly.”

D: “It’s weird. I’ve tried playing it acoustically to people and some of the lyrics are strangely provocative. Even to say, ‘Syrians, Iraqis, Ukrainians, welcome to Merry Old England – how are you finding it?’ To start singing about visas, dinghies, the cliffs once white now grey; you can see people from both sides get excited. It’s just asking this kid on the corner of Margate who has landed there, kicking his heels and not really knowing what to do, how he’s finding it.”

Article Part I

[identifying-fish-in-photos]

Hey, identified everything in a video for fun, but im real stumped to what this could be, mind fact checking me and helping me out?

https://youtu.be/YWuPp1v-sI8?si=H6sicNXRc7ENyQC5

In rough order of appeaeance:

Bar jack

Barracuda

Idk

Queen triggerfish

Lemon shark my beloved

The one im specifically stuck identifying is this:

White Margate I think?

Your other identifications seem correct, I hope you had fun!

[saintshelby]

Brother I only just discovered that you also WRITE. You are very talented and I'd like to ask if you'd please be considering to do some more

Thanks so much for the kind words! I actually did have plans for the next chapter of Afterlife but I sort of lost the plot and haven't been able to pick it back up.

Just for you, here's a piece of a prequel chapter I never posted. Hope you enjoy it. 💛

It haunted him in the late hours of the night, when he closed his eyes for a moment's rest. If he was idle for just a fraction of a moment too long, it all came flooding back. It tormented him, the image of Alfie's body laying lifeless on that fucking beach. The blood soaking into his hair, staining the beautiful white sands. And the pain of being shot in turn did nothing to stifle the despair Tommy had taken with him long after he'd returned to his manor full of ghosts. Because, at that moment, he genuinely thought he could walk away from all of it.

But he couldn't. And he still fucking can't.

Tommy returns to the scene of his crime at regular intervals under the express and explicit understanding that they would be continuing their previous business arrangement. It would have been a waste to let things come to an end, after all. It was Tommy's suggestion. Alfie agreed. Bygones being bygones, he had said. Considering their past, Alfie’s particular standing, Tommy's wild ambition, for all intents and purposes and absolutely nothing more. But it was, of course, a complete fucking lie. That's the lie he tells himself. The lie Alfie goes along with. The lie Tommy wants desperately to be true.

And though he tried to stop, tried to give up the pretense, it was that same powerful longing that he hadn't the strength to deny which drove Tommy to make a desperate pilgrimage back to that place over, and over, and over again. And each and every time Tommy darkened his doorstep, Alfie greeted him with the same kind of warmth he always had. Though his face was badly scarred and he was now half blind, it was always the same fucking expression. One of delight, unabashed, loudly affectionate. And Tommy could never understand why.

Predictably, they hardly talked business during Tommy's visits. There wasn't much to talk about anymore. Tommy would settle himself in that same armchair and Alfie would sit across from him, hum and haw about rum barrels and warehouses as he always had. As if nothing had ever happened, nothing had changed. Humoring him. It was all just one long fucking con. A tired play at normalcy. A selfish attempt to ease his battered conscience. But it never fucking worked. The only thing Tommy had ever managed to accomplish was feed his growing demons. He would leave the same way he'd come. Full of darkness and unease. A growing guilt that was becoming much too difficult to contain. A renewed fear that he couldn't continue this. But he couldn't stop coming. And he found, if he thought about it for more than a passing moment, that he didn't want to stop.

Tommy finds himself in the car again one Saturday afternoon. By now he's traveled to Margate with such frequency he's sure he could make the drive with his eyes closed. And as he goes, he quietly ruminates on the imminent end that's surely coming. Because it has to be. Even now, Tommy can't help but wonder why Alfie enables this lie. What the purpose of all of this must be. For what reason would Alfie keep opening his home to the man who left him for dead on the very beach he now lives?

He thinks of this as he drives, as he always does, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He tries to rationalize that same question, over and over again, endlessly searching for an answer that simply isn't there. Tommy knows deep in his bones that he doesn't deserve this. Doesn't have any right at all to be in this car again, to be going where he's going. And yet he can't turn back. A purgatory of his own making. And he hates himself for it. For this. For everything. Why is he so fucking selfish?

By the time Tommy pulls up to Alfie's house it's dark. His fingers ache from their grip on the wheel. He sits there for several long minutes, staring out through the windshield. It's late, but the lights are on. The lights always seem to be on when Tommy arrives. Finally he gets out of the car and as he does he realizes abruptly that he's left his gun behind. He'll long for it later, after he's left, on the lonely drive home. He always does.

This time, Alfie's already standing in the doorway when Tommy finally finds the courage to climb the walkway. "Evening, Thomas," he calls out, voice boisterous and inviting. He's wearing a wrinkled shirt rolled up to his elbows and his suspenders are hanging off his trousers. It's a relief to see Alfie looking so warm and lively. Tommy regrets the feeling almost immediately, because he knows it's not a comfort he's deserving of. Alfie's expression is unchanged, open and honest as it always is. Tonight Tommy finds he can't bear to look at it.

"Hello, Alfie," he says quietly, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice as he quickly sidles past. There's a fire burning in the hearth when he enters the sitting room. Tommy gravitates toward it, craving the warmth. He hears Alfie pull the door shut and putter around behind him, talking about something or other that he can't rightly focus on before disappearing into the kitchen. The atmosphere feels relaxed in a way that he wasn't prepared for. He feels shame for finding comfort in it. It's getting harder and harder to live this lie.

Tommy's stomach twists. He’s just turning towards the armchair when he sees it. The glass of whisky, freshly poured, sitting on the table next to the spot he usually occupies. He stares at it. Startled. There had never been any alcohol present on any of his previous visits. Alfie doesn't drink. He can't even begin to understand the implications of it. Can't understand why Alfie would possibly want to put forth any effort to make him feel welcome here. The weight in the pit of his stomach grows heavier when Alfie returns with a tray of what is most assuredly bread freshly baked by his own hand accompanied by butter and jam.

"You're looking quite bird-boned these days, Tom. You can pick at that whilst we conduct our business." Alfie sets down the tray and gestures for Tommy to sit, but he can't move. Rooted to the spot by this apparent tenderness he can't fathom. His hands are shaking. He shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be doing this. The guilt is a weight bowing his spine and he's going to drop it if he doesn't—

"Why?" Tommy hears himself say. Almost unsure it was his voice at all. He doesn't sound like himself. He sounds small and weak, like a child.

"Why?" Alfie parrots, looking at Tommy with a gaze far too heavy to hold. He laughs, but it doesn't sound right. It's hollow, humorless. "Why are we sat here in the middle of the night week after week drumming up whatever piss poor excuse for business we can manage, you mean? Honestly, Thomas, I was quite hoping you'd tell me that."

But he can't possibly. Doesn't have enough air in his lungs, enough strength to vocalize what he's supposed to say. What he needs to say. He's not ready for that, never will be, so he reaches for that blessed glass of whisky as his throat is closing up, can't even bear to fucking look at Alfie as he drinks just to fill his mouth with something other than words. He can't do this. Can't keep fucking doing this. Tommy grips the back of the chair so hard his knuckles turn white as the realization makes his blood cold.

It's already happened. His time has finally run out.

[thecreaturecodex]

Trunko

“New Trunko Design” © deviantArt user Kryptid, accessed at his gallery here

[The appearance of a sea monster on the shore of Margate, South Africa, attracted some press attention at the time. The Daily Mail covered it, and from there the story appeared in Charles Fort’s Lo! , where he dismissed it as a hoax. When Charles Fort thinks your paranormal phenomenon is a hoax, you know it’s built on flimsy evidence. The Margate Monster gained popularity, and its current name, in the writings of Karl Shuker, who resurfaced the story and put it into several popular books (like 1996′s The UneXplained, which is where I first heard of it). To his credit, Shuker continued to do research and follow up on the story, and when photographs appeared (as opposed to just reprints of the article), he was savvy enough to recognize the actual Trunko as a globster, the catchall category of mutilated carcasses interpreted as sea monsters.

Pathfinder already has globsters, but I wanted to make a Trunko that represented the fantastical creature alive, if it were actually some sort of hairy white sea elephant. My concept draws on Opabinia (my favorite Cambrian weirdo) and the orangutan crab]

Trunko CR 5 N Vermin This creature looks something like a furry whale, except that it has rippling fins running along its sides instead of separate limbs. It has a paddle-like tail at one end, and at the other, a short but very flexible trunk ending in a clasper.

A trunko is a large aquatic invertebrate found in cold seas. They are related to anomalocarids and opabinias, with a trunk like structure used to pull food into an underslung mouth. They eat primarily zooplankton, which they gather by literally swimming through their masses. The hairs covering a trunko’s body are sticky, and the trunko can groom itself at its leisure to remove and consume the various marine invertebrates glued to it. These hairs also act as a defensive mechanism, gumming the jaws of sharks and orcas.

Trunkos are social creatures who live in mixed-sex pods. They are ovoviparous, carrying eggs internally that hatch to release free-living young. The young are born sticky, and can feed themselves almost immediately, but remain in their own pods until full grown. The undulating fins of a trunko allow it remarkable dexterity in the water, and they often live in areas with strong winds and currents, too choppy for ships to sail through easily. As such, they are rarely seen by landlubbers and have something of a mythical air.

Trunko CR 5 XP 1,600 N Huge vermin (aquatic) Init +4; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +6 Defense AC 18, touch 12, flat-footed 14 (-2 size, +4 Dex, +6 natural) hp 67 (9d8+27) Fort +9, Ref +7, Will +5 Immune vermin traits Defensive Abilities sticky Offense Speed swim 60 ft. Melee slam +10 (1d8+9) Space 15 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Statistics Str 23, Dex 19, Con 16, Int -, Wis 15, Cha 6 Base Atk +6; CMB +14; CMD 28 Skills Perception +6, Swim +18; Racial Modifiers +4 Perception, +4 Swim Ecology Environment cold aquatic Organization solitary, pair or shoal (3-12) Treasure none Special Abilities Sticky (Ex) A trunko’s body is covered in thousands of sticky hairs. Any creature coming into contact with a trunko must succeed a DC 17 Reflex save or be smeared with glue, being entangled for 1d4+1 rounds. This glue is sticky in air, salt and fresh water, but a pint of strong alcohol dissolves it. The save DC is Constitution based.

[aneledenovodental]

Dental Treatment In Margate

Anele De Novo Dental Practice is Dentist in Margate offer a wide range of dental services to help patients maintain good oral health. These services include regular cleanings and check-ups, fillings and extractions, root canals, crowns and bridges, denture treatment and cosmetic procedures such as teeth whitening and veneers.

[theanarchictastes]

🎶✨️when u get this u have to put 5 songs u actually listen to, publish. Then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool)🎶✨️

@punk-faerie thank you ❤️🤙🏻

[mariacallous]

My great-aunt Victoria (Toya) Levy was an incredible woman. Born in Baghdad in 1922, she moved to Israel with her husband in 1950 to start a new life. They lived in a tiny house surrounded by fruit trees that they planted in the small town of Yavneh, where Toya dedicated her life to helping children from broken families.

She was an amazing cook — and a generous one, too. Shortly after we got married, my husband and I spent a day with her to learn the secrets of Iraqi Jewish cooking from the best.

That day, Toya taught us how to make t’beet, a Shabbat dish of stuffed chicken with rice cooked overnight, and kubbeh batata: potato fritters stuffed with ground beef. In her tiny kitchen, she also taught us to make meatballs in a dried apricot and tomato sauce. Of all the dishes, this was the only one that my grandmother never made and so I was not familiar with it. Yet its flavors stuck with me. The simple ingredients — sour dried apricots, tomato, lemon juice, raisins and just a few spices — somehow made a dish much greater than the sum of its parts. The meatballs were so tender and rich, and the sauce was sweet and sour, a combination that Iraqi Jews love.

My great-aunt Toya passed away years ago. I had somehow forgotten this wonderful recipe and when I tried to research the dish, I found different versions of it in almost every Iraqi and Iraqi Jewish cookbook I searched in. The dish was called mishmishiya or kofta mishmishiya (“mishmish” means apricot in both Arabic and Hebrew), ingryieh (a name that I saw only in a Jewish cookbook) or margat hamidh-Hilu. Interestingly, all the Jewish versions included meatballs, while Islamic recipes used stew meat. I assume this had to do with the cost of ingredients and the fact that most Jewish recipes were written by Iraqi Jews who moved to Israel, where stew meat was much more expensive than ground beef. 

According to Nawal Nasrallah’s “Delights From the Garden of Eden,” which researches the ancient cuisine of Iraq, the roots of this stew can be traced back to the Babylonian and Assyrian days (19th-6th centuries B.C.). A similar recipe, called mishmishiya, is also documented in Al-Baghdadi’s book “Kitab al Tabikh” from Medieval Baghdad. It calls for fresh apricots of a sour variety. Back then, of course, tomatoes from the New World were not available and, in fact, the original mishmishiya was also known as the “white stew.” Since Jews were living in Iraq from the destruction of the First Temple in 586 B.C., I feel a real connection to this humble stew’s long history.

Of all the recipes I found, my great-aunt Toya’s version is the best. Her apricot meatballs have become a family favorite; the 2,000-year-old dish from worlds away lives on, now with our kids. 

Dried apricots are available all year long, but I still think this dish is most suitable for a summer dinner. The apricots, with their bright color and flavor, mirror sunny summer days, not to mention the fact that this easy and fast recipe is perfect for those of us who want to spend as little time as possible over the stove when temperatures outside are soaring.

Notes: 

The recipe calls for dried apricots with no added sugar. They are available at specialty supermarkets such as Whole Foods and Trader Joe’s. If you’re using sweetened dried apricots, reduce the sugar in the sauce to 2 teaspoons.

The original recipe included raisins in the sauce, which I chose to omit, but you can add those for extra sweetness.

Store the cooked meatballs in a sealed container in the fridge for up to four days.

[bikepackinguk]

Day One Hundred and Eight

Up this morning to a lovely view above Folkstone after lying down to a beautiful sunset. There's not too much further to go on my journey, so it's time to get at it!

Back up the last of the cliffside and it's a roll across to Capel-le-Ferne, where the streets are nice and quiet in the still air of the morning.

I head down past the Battle of Britain memorial and down the road to cross over the A20 as I say farewell to the faithful NCN Route 2. I've been following it on-off since the other side of Exeter, but with it terminating shortly ahead I take to the road for a long zoom down into the centre of Dover.

Around the streets and taking a stopoff for supplies, I carry on to the east of town to connect with the start of NCN Route 1 and begin a slog up around the castle overlooking the Channel.

Around the castle, it's time for a push uphill as I climb up atoo Dover's iconic White Cliffs, overlooking the busy ferry port and with France visible across the water.

Off around the clifftops, it's a long gradual descent through St Margaret's Bay and down some leafy lanes for an enjoyable easy ride to the waterside at Kingsdown.

It's a lovely long stretch of dedicated cycle pathing here, with the path lined with honeysuckle and it's wonderful aroma filling the air as I follow the trail all the way through Deal.

The route hits the roads once more to head around the expansive estate lands around the coast before heading through to the ancient town of Sandwich, where I cross the old toll bridge to head onto Route 15 as it loops around the north east edge of Kent.

I have an run alongaide the A256 awhile as it heada northwards, before turning off at Ebbsfleet to ride through the pretty surroundings of Pegwell Bay Country Park, with a view of the cliffs around Ramsgate ahead.

Entering Ramsgate, it's back to the roads again for a trek through the streets over the clifftops, before dropping back to sea level again past the busy harbour and sunny beach.

It's another climb back up the cliffs on the other side of the harbour, but then on to a nice wide area atop the cliffs out of traffic, with a lovely run of riding to be had as I head further around the coastline.

On around the top of the cliffs I carry on, past the busy streets of Broadstairs and down to an extensive promenade section after Botany Bay Beach.

The promenade runs for miles past Margate, offering a great coastal ride out of traffic. Unfortunately several sections are closed off to cycling by local council by-laws despite being a part of a National Cycle Route, and I take to the road above the beaches once again.

After Minnis Bay there's some great going along the top of the coastal defense walls, with a long ride westward to the old Roman fort at Reculver.

NCN 15 heads up over the hills on some grassy trails from here, which isn't ideal whilst I'm nursing a buckled wheel, but with the miles ticking down I'm in a bullish mood and set the legs spinning to charge my way up and over.

Back onto the paved roads on the other side, the route heads in through Herne Bay, with a view of the Isle of Sheppey ahead.

I carey on my way around the roads to head through to Margate, where I stop off for a needed refuel and resupply. An idea is forming in my head, which those who remember my LEJOG ride may guess at, and top up on a few additional provisions.

Route 15 reconnects with Route 1 here, which I jump back onto as it heads through Seasalter and around the wayerside before heading through the farmlands to roll into Faversham.

I'm not in much mood for stopping and keep the legs pumping as the route heads back out around the nuce surroundings of Oare Gunpowder Works Country Park.

The meandering route is starting to add a lot of unnecessary mileage at this point in the day, so I drop onto the London Road as it charts a straighter course along through some quiet villages and into the town of Sittingbourne.

With evening approaching, I'd usually be hunting for a spot to rest up for the night at this point. However, It's not a terrible distance further to the crossing at Dartford, and after that is the final home stretch to go past Southend-on-Sea. I've no need to pace myself if the journey's end is in sight. So, it's time for some charging onward through the night.

Riding through the roads feels like it'd be very unsafe but the long A2 is well furnished with pavement through these dense urban and suburban areas, meaning I can happily plod along out of traffic and slowly make my way.

As I write this, the sun has gone down and I'm giving the legs a break beside the road at Rainham. It's around 20 miles to Dartford, then 40 more to the finish line.

Let's do this!

[youcant-bemygirl]

Had a really lovelt lunch date with dan today, we went for pizza which was so good! I got a white pizza woth muchrooms basil and garlic oil! And a tiramisu for pudding! And dan got a Crodino, which is basicly an alcohol free apreol spritz (which i dont really like the bitter taste of but really liked this?!), so we are thinking of walking to sainsburys tomorrow to get some to celebreate new year with!

We are also celebrating with a big chinese takeaway, which i am v. excited about!

Ive also been able to do some crafting! Ive made myself a bag for my national trust patches to go on, as well as 3 little gift bags for my girls trip to margate! Im going with the reception lasses as its where E lives and im so excited! So im making mini goodie bags (sort of like we're on a real housewives trip but not as highend and brand endorsed!)