Some Consideration For The Lobster

From Gourmet.com an amazing piece about David Foster Wallace's visit to the Maine Lobster Festival, where he chews over PETA's role in publicising the festival, the misconceptions about a lobsters experience of pain, the rules concerning feeding lobster to inmates, and the ethics of that pot of boiling water. Consider the Lobster
Well worth a read
More soon
SBW

Unboxing: Byrd Wings Slipit Knife Review

Serrated or not s'rated?

I got this one in a trade a while back and I really like it, not too expensive, bastard-sharp out of the box, and  a handy EDC size. Not the premium knife of the enthusiast, but for the money great value. If you need your EDC to cut a lot of man-made materials i.e nautical or climbing rope, the serrated blade comes into it's own, saving the straight edge for finer work.

More soon
SBW

You know that 'next blog' button?

You know that 'next blog' button? Well for the first time ever it just pointed me to a blog that was both of interest to me, and in a language I can read. I have read both the blog and the post before, but it's a start.

Four Seasons Of Bird Hunting is good too, this post Uncle Larry's Model 99 features a Firearm of Interest - that I'm guessing is pretty rare as it's the work of one 'smith. A Model 99 that's been re-barrelled to fire a.270 sitting in a .300 Savage case AKA the '.270 Titus'.

Putting riflery to one side - it's a great short-story featuring: the rifle, a mule deer, the author's dad, an uncle Larry and some very unobservant passers-by.

Coming to think about it all short-stories should have an Uncle Larry. Well worth a read.

More soon
SBW

Libyan Storytelling

“Uncle Curly’s Junk: All For Sale.”

A bit off the beaten track of bushcraft, kit tart-ness, hunting, fishing and stuffing my face but I've just found an amazing voice, the blog Revolutionology: observations by a sociologist in Libya.

Have a read, great storytelling.

“California is exactly like Libya”: A day trip to Ajdabiyah

The littlest rebel

In eastern Libya, avoid the nightclub fist-pump

More soon

Your pal

SBW

Bark River Knife and Tool Customer Service Review

From the first time I visited the Bark River Knife and Tool website I've wanted one of their knives. They do a massive range of styles, handled in a whole host of different materials, gorgeous woods and Micarta/G10's all beautifully photographed.

When The American Bushman first had his gear sale I bought a Micro Canadian II, a small fixed blade knife with a blade in the style of a 17th century surgeon's scalpel.
The blade dinged the first time I used it to sharpen a piece of Lailandaii, [I have heard other reports of the blade temper not being all it might be, but it may have been a batch  defect as there are a lot of very happy owners], the mosaic pins had been installed out of alignment, and the fit of the handle scales was less than perfect. Nice knife, but it looked as if it had been made on P.O.E.T.S day [Piss Off Early Tomorrow's Saturday].

The website offers this reassurance to perspective customers.

Lifetime Warranty All Bark River knives and axes are guaranteed against manufacturing defects for life. If you have any problem with our product, just return it to us and we will repair or replace it. If you would like us to refurbish or re-sharpen the product please enclose shipping and handling fees — $12 Lower 48 States, $25 Alaska, Hawaii and Canada, $30 All other Countries. Mutliple knives may add to charges.

Conspicuously it doesn't say anything about the time-frame over which this will take place.

I sent them my knife (from the USA) and the tracking note showed that they received it on the 9th of November 2010, having heard the sum total of NOTHING from them I called in the first week of January of this year and was told they'd be getting to it later that week and they would email or call me to discuss remedial works. No communication ever came.

Finally in the first week of MARCH my knife dropped on to the door mat, and yes they've made a great job of refurbishing it, it is really nicely done. I appreciate that no purist could countenance anything less than quarrying the metals for the pins with stone-age tools, it's just that I question the business case for growing each piece of hardwood to order.

My advice: if you see one of their knives you like, and it's finished to a standard your happy with, yeah buy it, they are very nice especially for the price, however I would strongly recommend not buying one online. You need to make sight of it before you buy it.

Sorry guys but the way I've been treated just isn't commensurate with the spirit of the offering to perspective customers.

Your pal

SBW

Crap Outdoors Pt2

This is one of those ideas that seems to come around every few years;

'twas crap, 'tis crap, ever will it be crap.

Most disturbing is that this kind of product offers a false sense of preparedness to people who perhaps would be better advised not to stray too far from the car. If you bought it to keep dry sitting in the bleachers watching sports, yeah great idea, but then why the 'tent' bit? It doesn't look like a viable alternative to a proper jacket, a sleeping bag or a tent - which you could buy (not the best but you could) and have change from the $250. Crap.

This crap is everywhere, more soon
SBW
PS It seems I've been a little remiss: a measly thanks to Goofy Girl for sending me this video knowing I'd love it

MacGyver's EDC Multi-Tool

NUFF SED

Just busy, that's all.

SBW

Crap Outdoors Pt1

File under: 'there's one born every minute, and two to sell him 'must have' accessories.

I saw these in a shop once, only when you've held these hiking-boot-shaped-slippers in your own hands can you know just how crap they are. REALLY! And the money! Shheeesh you could buy a really really good pair of boots that would last 20+ years for the cash they want for them!

The sales copy is stunningly bad too
Hiking is a popular activities among young adults who have enough energy to sports activities. At this time, you need a better pair of hiking shoes, mbt hiking boots can be this one......All these benefits for the people in the sale of MBT shoes far outweigh the higher interest rates Crap.

There's a lot of crap out there - fortunately you have me to scoop it up for you.

SBW

Field Trial: Muck Boots Review

Stalk 
verb:  pursue or approach stealthily : a cat stalking a bird.
• chiefly poetic/literary move silently or threateningly through (a place) : the tiger stalks the jungle | figurative fear stalked the camp.
noun: a stealthy pursuit of someone or something.
ORIGIN late Old English -stealcian (in bistealcian [walk cautiously or stealthily] ), of Germanic origin; related to steal .

Warm
adjective: of or at a fairly or comfortably high temperature : a warm September evening. 

• (of clothes or coverings) made of a material that helps the body to retain heat; suitable for cold weather : a warm pair of boots.
• Hunting (of a scent or trail) fresh; strong.

Dry
adjective: drier , driest
• Free from moisture or liquid; not wet or moist : the boots kept me warm and dry.

Lot's of people like to stalk in clomp-clomp walking boots, personally I'd prefer a pair of trainers [sneakers] if it wasn't for the annoying way twigs work themselves into your shoes and even the smallest encounter with a puddle leaves you with wet feet for the rest of the day.  The other option seemed to be wellies. I've long hated wellington boots, most of my experiences of having severely cold feet featured the ill-advised choice of wellies. 

Then I noticed a that Ghost Rifle was using a pair of these, and a little searching online suggested that a lot of people who are outdoors all day, every day are wearing them. The Muck Boot has the water repelling property of a wellie, the warmth of a hiking boot, and only the weight of a trainer/sneaker.  Hmmm? So when I got the chance to buy a lightly-worn pair for testing I clicked straight away. Glad I did.

Testing took place over two days stalking Fallow deer in East Sussex. Although we didn't walk far, just over four and a half miles (TBB was wearing a pedometer), we did wade through some very thick mud, and most tellingly, we sat still for long periods of time. My feet remained toasty. They were much easier to sneak around in than walking boots. There are several different sole patterns available - if I'd bought them from new I would instinctively have gone for a chunkier pattern, but no problems at all.

More Soon
SBW

The Two Loudest Sounds A Rifle Can Make?

CLICK when you were expecting BANG

and

BANG when you were expecting CLICK

From: The wit and wisdom of The Bambi Basher

More soon
SBW

Confit de Lapin AKA Knifeless Rabbit

Little Rabbit Foo Foo

Hoppin' through the forest

Scooping up the new shoots and
stuffin' 'em in his gob

Along came the Bambi Basher, who said:

'SBW, with the Rigby, could ya bop him in the head?'

I work the bolt and send Little Rabbit Foo Foo a dinner invitation

Little Rabbit Foo Foo
Hoppin' through the forest

Scooping up the vegi's and turning them into protein

Little Rabbit Foo Foo

I've cooked a fair few of your friends

I've got something very special planned for you too

The Confit [con-fee] has always had a special place in my larder and my heart. Meat boiled in fat, pretty much defines YUMMY. The traditional preservation method of south-western France where geese and ducks are cooked in their own fat and can be stored for months or bottled/canned for even longer. My Confit on the other hand has never lasted longer than a meal and a sandwich the next day. This one is seriously easy and delicious, it just takes a long time to cook

 Slice shallots and crush garlic

 Bone out the cuts of rabbit and save the carcass for the stock

Use the cuts to cover the bottom of a solid pan with a tight-fitting (and preferably heavy) lid

Lay the meat on top of the  shallots and garlic (for a little extra umami I added the rabbit's heart)
Pour in olive oil (or goose/duck fat if you have it) until the meat is almost covered

Add some springs of Rosemary. Get the pan hot and then turn down the heat to the lowest possible setting, put the lid on.

I added a glass of this really rank Zinfandel - A reminder that Ex Mrs SBW is not to be trusted in the wine section of a supermarket - to the stock pot with a couple of carrots and a stock cube. In it's defense the Zinfandel did sit well with the shallots adding a pleasing sweetness. 

Once I'd reduced the stock to half a glass I added it to the pan, and that's it. Come back in three hours and test the meat with a fork. 

This is the knife-less bit: if it's not falling off the bone, give it another hour, before testing again.  
You could use the results as the basis for a cassoulet, or serve them with pasta, polenta or mashed potato.


Enjoy
Your pal
SBW

Venison Carpaccio

First shoot your deer. 

This is the loin or backstrap, the muscle that runs down the animals spine. 

Not having sufficient larder space, instead of hanging the meat I let it stand in the fridge for a week, before marinading it in maple syrup for 36 hours then coating it in ground pepper.

I seared it all the way round in a very hot pan with a little sunflower oil (too hot to use Olive oil) and left it to stand until stone cold.

 Served sliced thinly with a 'drizzle' of Olive oil added just before serving.

Your pal
SBW

Blood Thirsty Killer On The Bus

True Story: The rucksack is both big and full, it's Saturday evening and the bus is full too.
On a London bus there's a luggage space as you get on, I've wrestled the pack up on to it but there's no way I'm leaving it perched there to fall over so I'm standing next to it. Pretty Girl is standing next to me. The bus breaks and the pack lurches. I catch it before it crushes Pretty Girl. She smiles in thanks and says "that looks pretty serious"
SBW 'Probably weighs more than you, it's got half a deer in it'
Pretty Girl 'Road kill deer?'
SBW 'Nah I shot it this morning"

You should have seen the look on her face!

Gotta love the public
SBW

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt5

Continued from Part 3 and Part 4

Meanwhile back where we started: High Seat - Day Two:

My reverie is broken by TBB's 'pssst' and I go through the High Seat Drill - open the bolt, push the top round (bullet) back down into the magazine, close the bolt over the now empty chamber, apply safety so the bolt is locked shut and now it's safe to climb down the ladder.

We cross the bridle path and are consumed by the darkness of the woods, for about five or six minutes we pick our way up the slight hill. Just as we're reaching the end of the block we're in, part of the herd has decided to go for breakfast and they suddenly start to run past us at only 30 yards. Their way is restricted by a fence which they must duck under, one doe stands still and looks at me. Time slows. The does in front have bottlenecked where they will cross the bridle path so now I'm face to face with an eminently shootable Doe. I shoulder the Rigby, swing the rifle's wing safety down into the ready position and start the flinching - my eyes close as my finger presses against the machined surface of the trigger, I wrench them open, the Doe is still looking at me, I'm 30 yards away and miraculously the point of aim is still on the magic circle behind her shoulder, she tips her weight onto her back legs and presses forward, I squeeze, my eyes stay open. A clean miss.

The Bambi Basher doesn't need to say anything [and being the gent he is, doesn't] the bullet must have passed over her back, at that range the scope's cross hairs aren't a representation of where the bullet will go - I'd have been better off looking down the side of the barrel.

Now in the aftermath, we know only where the deer that remain on our side of the bridle path aren't, we are at a fenced corner ourselves. I sigh. That's why its called hunting.  I hand TBB the Rigby and take a few steps in the direction of the departed Doe herd. I'm about to duck under the fence myself but just obscured from our view is my Doe, lying perfectly dead on the ground.

My shot had been six inches further back than my intended point of aim and six inches high.

I gralloch the deer, [I'm still not sure why we use the Gallic word for gutted] the round had clipped her spine on the way in and exited bellow the point of impact. Dead is still dead and the hunting gods must have been on my side, only one of the deer's stomachs had taken a passing clip leaving a hole less than an inch long, using her blood to rinse out the small amount of snot, bile and part digested grass, I'm delighted to see that apart from the back straps having had a bite out of them, the rest of the meat was good. Together we heaved her into a tree, the foxes would go for the ease of the gut pile [AKA the gralloch] and leave the carcass, with the first Doe cooling in the tree we set off in search of the next one. Which eludes us.

Coming soon
Deer: Nose-to-Tail eating

Your pal
SBW

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt4

Armed rambling: in Jinx Wood 

Day One: After our trip to the range we head to Chez Bambi Basher. The Tea Lady AKA Mrs Bambi Basher is just giving me a guided tour of forthcoming plumbing works when TBB interrupts "you'll have plenty of time for that later - we're going stalking"

SBW: "275 Rigby - In the footsteps of WDM Bell!"
Mc Shug: "Bell-end more like"

We creep into the woods as quietly as the ankle deep mud will allow, once we're off the bridle way and into the timber things quieten down and start to scout the different blocks of timber. Until I win the prize for biggest stick [trodden on].

There was sign everywhere - McShug points out some Polecat tracks crossing the deer trail

It's a delightful evenings walk, apart from the rifles and camo outfits, there is nothing to distinguish it from a bushcrafters 'bimble'. We meet a herd of 30-ish Fallow does, but once again the only backstop is a farm house so no shots are taken. The Bambi Basher has catered the outing and we sit watching the biggest wild rabbit any of us has ever seen while drinking coffee and feasting on Yorkshire tea cake.

Most non-hunters I speak to seem to imagine hunting as being a very high intensity, all action, kind of activity - I found it very relaxing.

There's more...
SBW

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt1

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt2

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt3

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt3

Day Two: I'm sitting in a high seat, it's dawn and cool, but above freezing. I'm waiting for a deer, not just any deer but a Fallow; Briton's only deer with palmated antlers. But that's not where the story begins...

I know a couple of other outdoor bloggers, not very well because we don't spend a great deal of time together, but when we do it's always fun. The last time I was at chez Bambi Basher - I did a few little jobs for him, making his drains flow a little smoother (perils of dog breeding init) and getting a sink or two to drain a little faster. Mrs Bambi Basher AKA The Tea Lady said 'you'll be back' but you know how things are, one thing led to another and, before you know it months of passed and I'd forgotten all about the mixer tap in the kitchen and the dogs outside tap leaking.

Then I received an email the gist of which was - 'Have things that go bang, a new hunting ground and leaking taps, when are you coming down?' Being gainlessly underemployed that week I dressed for deer huntin', packed for leak stoppin' and headed for the milds of East Sussex.

If you don't know what East Sussex looks like think Virginia with smaller mountains (in fact no mountains just hills) it's farmland, and ancient woodland and very pretty. Very mild.

Where there is woodland there are deer, where there are grain farms and orchards there are deer.
Fallow a herding deer who are considered both a native and introduced species. Hunted to extinction in pre-history and then re introduced twice, by the Romans and the Normans. Due to reduced hunting pressure and changes to framing practice there are now more deer in England (particularly the south) than at any time since the Norman invasion of 1066. Some fawns are killed by Foxes in the spring but apart from that the most common cause of death for deer is the Road Traffic Accident. Farming and orchards both offer the kind of smash-and-grab feeding opportunity that the Fallow prefers, breaking from the cover of the forest to graze the pasture at dawn and dusk. With so much ground turned over to food production the land can support quite a lot of deer, although it can't support the numbers the herd has grown to. As deer in the UK don't belong to anyone they're considered wild animals, deer management falls to the landowners and farmers whose crops they're eating. The cull period for Fallow Bucks is Aug 1st - April 30th and Fallow Does Nov 1st - March 31st.

Fallow stand in height between the big red deer and the little roe deer, with the bucks measuring just over 3 feet at the shoulder and weighing a little over 200 lbs. The doe is only a bit shorter, but is more lightly built.

Meanwhile: on the edge of the woods:
Still. It's as thought the wind only works weekends and didn't know it was coming in that morning. What sounds like four different woodpeckers sound as though they're winning a head-butting competition with the local hardwoods. Owl's announce the end if their shift. I keep glassing (not attacking people with a pint glass - in the country it means using binoculars) at the tree line nothing sizeable moves, I say nothing moves but as I've now been so still for so long the mumbling creaking organism that is the forest has swallowed me whole. The bobbing of the tree next to my high seat announces the day shift has begun for the Blue Tits. Dawn breaking casts deer-like shadows.

My ears ache for the crack or scuff of a Fallow's approaching footsteps. The rifle sits cold but not inert in my hands. I know there's 'one in the pipe' I put it there myself. When a Fallow comes, if a Fallow comes, it is my intention to kill it. Firing once. The bullet will clip the top of its heart and puncture both lungs deflating them, the loss of pressure rapidly draining the blood from the Fallow's brain. The bullet will have killed the deer before the sound of the bullet arrives at the deer. No sort-of, no it'll-be-ok, no Hail-Mary shots. Just a bullet placed within a 4 inch circle centred behind the deer's front legs, or no shot at all.  This is not the frenetic action of the Battue, there will be no pressured 'snap shots' at a deer on the run. I must sit still until I can hear my own heart beat, ignoring any thoughts of bragging rites and racks on walls.

I once read a hunting story about a trip to Canada in one of the outdoor magazines where the writer breaks from his trophy quest to interview 'old Ben' (or whatever he was called) the outfits talismanic 'old bloke' who would take to the woods with an old service rifle and a bucket to sit on. Old bloke was famous for his day-long still hunts. Not for him the hour-either-side-of-dawn-and-dusk and back to the fireside, needless to say he'd acquired his talismanic status by being a very successful meat hunter. The incredulous journalist asked 'but what do you do all day? "I sit and think, but mostly I just sit".

I envy him: My thoughts run wild. I develop weird email withdrawal symptoms, I have sudden insights into the whereabouts of lost things, my body seethes with itches, aches and pains. Then the thoughts pass, my eyes defocus, my peripheral vision expands, and I'm seeing without looking.

I keep my thoughts corralled in a sombre place. Waiting. If it's possible waiting without anticipation. Just when I think I may be developing mammalian dive response, (the blood has retreated from my extremities, my heart has slowed), and I'm almost tempted to test if I can actually move my limbs for when the time comes, but don't want to break the spell, the radio beeps and I look down to see The Bambi Basher waving to me. Time for a change of tactics.

Day One - It's about velocity:
As previously reported I have a lot of trouble leaving town, getting to the station is like wading though porridge towing a dead donkey. Clients email, buses break down, trains are re-routed via Hades and I make it to our meeting place two hours after my intended arrival time.  TBB meets me at the station eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. "Feeling accurate?"

Bambi Bashers Paradise: his rifle range.
We bounce the little 4WD down the lane and into the coppice, where we set up the shooting bench and TBB breaks out the rifles.

.275 Rigby Mauser and a Full-stocked 6.5 X 55 Swede

As we're setting up Mc Shug joins us - you'll meet him later.

Shoulders looking a little tense Bushwacker?

The flinch: Veritably it doth suck
I thought I'd gotten on top of it, but after cracking my skull last summer I've developed a flinch, my eye closes and my head jerks away from the cheek-piece. I can get 3 inch groups together, but it's proper stressful and very frustrating. No more 'where two holes meet' action for the foreseeable. Bah!

More in Pt4

Your Pal
SBW

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt1

Deer Hunting In The UK Pt2

Range Time In East Sussex

I'm on safari in East Sussex with The Bambi Basher.
First we got a bit of practice in, unfortunately due to the 'play date' Goofy Girl set up I seem to have developed a bit of a flinch. Opps! Where's a Jedi when you need one?

There's more to tell
your pal
SBW

Pig Hunting In The UK - East Sussex

I found this tale by John Carver at the most entertaining www.sabotagetimes.com

...The reason we were meeting was to shoot some wild boar.

There are more wild boar where I live (in East Sussex) than anywhere else in England. Thousands of the buggers and they’re all at it like rabbits. As a result there’ll be thousands more before you can say “Pint of Harvey’s”. I squeezed into the double cab, having spotted a space that wasn’t occupied by a chainsaw or a roll of barbed wire and we drove across the field to the edge of the woods. We parked and I walked behind as Al carried a motherfucker of a something bore rifle and I carried a torch. He told me I was gonna be his “light-man”.

As we made our way along a track the evening was drawing in. It was getting darker by the minute. Up another track, down a further track. Across deep undergrowth. After a few moments me and Al found ourselves at the base of a dark green, metal ladder permanently attached the side of a tall tree. You’ll be forgiven for asking yourself what a ladder was doing in the middle of a forest. Don’t worry. The same thought ran through my mind.

Here’s the clever bit. Boar are bloody good at sniffing. Go after them and the last thing you can wear is Brut or Old Spice. They’ll smell fear or fags a mile off. However if you position yourself high up in a tree any aroma you might emit will waft its way high over the heads of your quarry. These country folk are a canny bunch.

Twenty feet up the tree was a “seat”. This is what they call it out here. A metal platform with a metal bench built into it. Not comfortable. Just practical. Al and I climbed up the ladder to the seat. I had his torch. He had his gun. We sat down and settled in behind a wall of camouflage netting.

Al told me not to talk. Not to move. Just to sit. And wait. There’s a lot of waiting in the country.

Al lifted his shooter and looked through the site at an open area. A clearing about 80 yards from our hideout. This is where Al reckoned the Wild Boar might roam as night drew in

Al lifted his shooter and looked through the site at an open area. A clearing about 80 yards from our hideout. This is where Al reckoned the Wild Boar might roam as night drew in. By now it was about 6.10pm. In the last 15 minutes we’d walked and climbed and sat. Now we were ready for action. Quite often people sit and wait and wait and wait. Then go home empty handed. There’s no guarantees. It could all be a waste of everyone’s time. Failing is all part of the fun. Tonight we were in luck. MORE HERE

Off to East Sussex myself - a full report on my return

SBW
Picture credit goes to Beastwatch

Conventional Ammunition Seems Mild

Yes it's one of those 'filler posts' where I repost something amusing or interesting while I'm away from the laptop.

Back soon
SBW

PEAK COFFEE!!!

The sweet black taste of morning AKA: Americano. Battery Acid. Bean Juice. Beans. Black Gold. Black Ichor Of Life. Brain Juice. Brew. Brewtus. C8H10N4O2: (The molecular formula for caffeine). Café. Caffe. Caffeine Fix. Cup of Brew. Cup of Joe. Cup of Jolt. Cupped Lightning. Daily Grind. Day-Starter. Demitasse. Dishwater. Drip. Embalming Fluid. Express Train. Go Juice. High Octane. High Test (after the high-octane gas). Hojo. Hot Stuff. Ink. Jamoke: (Java + Mocha). Java. Jet Fuel. Jitter Juice. Jo. Joe. Kaffe: (Swedish).Kape: (Manila). Leaded. LAS-Legal Addictive Stimulant. Lifeblood. Lifer's Juice. Liquid Energy. Liquid Lightning. Misto. Mocha. Mojo. Morning Mud. Morning Thunder. Mother’s Little Helper. Mud. Muddy Water. Murk. Norwegian plasma. Oil. One's Daily Infusion. Pentecostal Whiskey. Perk or Perky. Plasma. Roast. Rocket Fuel. Swedish gasoline. Tar. The Fix. The Regular. Turpentine. Unleaded. Vitamin C. Wake Up Call. Wakey Juice. Warmer Upper. Zip or whatever you want to call it...

The shortage of high-end Arabica coffee beans is also being felt in New York supermarkets and Paris cafes, as customers blink at escalating prices. Purveyors fear that the Arabica coffee supply from Colombia may never rebound — that the world might, in effect, hit “peak coffee.”


In 2006, Colombia produced more than 12 million 132-pound bags of coffee, and set a goal of 17 million for 2014. Last year the yield was nine million bags.


The Specialty Coffee Association of America warned this year, “It is not too far-fetched to begin questioning the very existence of specialty coffee.”

Wherever you stand on Peak Oil [realists in one pile, la-la-la-I'm-not-listening-'s in the other] here's some very bad news. PEAK COFFEE. Seriously. Yield of the good stuff is down as much as 70%. Imagine life with 70% less coffee! I'm honestly too flustered to know what to do? It doesn't even keep that long in the freezer! What are we going to do?

Your worried pal
SBW

PS The first person to suggest that most fraudulent of products "instant' coffee is banned.

Pic is Cafuerteras by Javier Jaén