The Last Post of 2008

Hello All.

As I have a few mins to myself I thought I'd post a couple of photos taken on Christmas day itself!
In the first picture I'm sliding down the settee whilst grasping onto a rather decent glass of wine, this decent wine being a gift from my employer. Thanks Ray. As you can see I'm very relaxed and at peace with the world but I was not drunk, oh no, because if I was drunk my glasses would be hanging on the tree and my rather racey blouse would be hanging loosely outside my skirt, but as it happens I'm as perfectly prim as Mary Poppins Ok?

Our day was a corker, we had a good beef roast and Yorkshire pudding, zingified carrots and parsnips, a mound of steamed cabbage, a couple of roasted potatoes and a spoonful of English mustard. Simple fare but done with aplomb. For pud we had a er...pud. St Stephen's pud to be precise, took three hours to steam and five five minutes to eat! Didn't bedeck the beautiful pud with ghastly Brandy butter but drenched it instead with a jug of proper yellow custard. See second pic.

I ripped open my presents fairly earlyish, so poor Monty was covered in shredded paper by eight, but he was fine. My presents included some Jasper Conran intimate apparrel, four bottles of perfume and loads of chocolates and booze! These items DID NOT constitute a boxed set and were entirely innocent in their complicitousness but oh deary me, they do so thoroughly belong together! It was all purely coincidental. I think I know what I mean, I hope you do!.
Anyway let me tell you about later in the day.

Later in the day, after eating out the nuts from the Tesco Cranberry and Nuts tub, I started reminiscing about all that's happened this year (not much more left) and I came to the conclusion that taken everything into account it hasn't been such a bad old year after all. I'd done things and attempted things which in previous years I'd always balk at doing. Things like attending a poetry group, ok so it was no good, but at least I bothered to go, and I tried for a couple of jobs, didn't get either but the experience made me realize I can be a non-lazy person if I really try!. I did manage to bag my cleaning job though and to Raymondo I'll always be grateful. And I don't think it's beneath me to swing a mop around.
Now people.

I've met some new ones this year, and each one of these disparate folk have left there mark, some marks being sweet, kindly and wise others more flamboyant and exhausting in an excited child kind of way. But they are all invigorating nonetheless. And although getting to know strangers can be fun I still crave my old American buddy, the Duchess. Her slicing humour and warm-as-pie friendship hasn't diminished over the years despite the big ocean and time thingy that's in the way. Yep, friends are good whenever they come and wherever they sit.

So...
Happy New Year to my special friends.
The Duchess, Minxy and the Dreamboat, The True Blue Sex Maniac and the master writer t'up North, Digger a.k.a Thrustbucket.
I hope you all be happy in 2009, I don't know what you really need or want but I hope you know what to do when you get it!

As for me I know what I want. I want a job.
A job where I can use my brain and not just my hands. A job where my undoubted creative skills can be of some use and a job which gives me not only cash but a bit of real joy every day..
That's not much is it?
Is it?

On the emotional front, otherwise known as the womanly front. I want to be able to say No and not feel the need to qualify it. I want to say 'Yes' and not spend the next three hours wondering if I was right to say Yes. In other words I'm going to be typical bird. All over again...

Things I'll definitely be doing in 2009:

Putting five pound notes away
Tending the garden properly
Decorating
Spending less time surfing and more time...
Swimming, yep pool trips are on the agenda, my waist has rocketed to 25 inches and as I'm so vain it's in at the deeeep end for the mopping midget
Writing creepy stuff, because I'm an angel who can be horrible
Talking to God more, the older I've got the more grown up and independent I've got and so therefore I thought didn't need any help any more. My language and loyalties may have changed but underneath the lipstick I'm still a girl. And to talk to God you need to talk as a child.
Wearing longer skirts
Eating more Spaghetti
Drinking Gallo white wine
Walking slower
Dancing shoeless like last Saturday
Exploring my softer side

See you next year!

Sweet Jolly Christmas

Fruit Cake. Sausages. Sticky Toffee Puddings. Crackers. Beef. Wensleydale cheese with Cranberries. Orangina. Bombay Mix. Tea. Sprouts. Thorntons chocolates. Parsnips and Port. Telly. Pyjamas. Perfume. Clogged drains. Tears. Late nights probably staying up till 11. Late breakfasts.

Eeeking out bread. Too many Poppodoms. Silent Nights. Chicken Tikka Masala. Phone calls but no emails. Monty bashing the 9p tree. Accumulating dust and dodgy socks.
Christmas in The Horsehound household.

I want to wish all my readers a jolly Christmas.
Cry if you have to and over eat if you want to but above all be nice to one another.

After ten poetry

A busy old December day when the childless afternoon streets
leave me itching for the cackle of a steaming fire
the peeling edges of a good man's finger
and the tenderness of a true big smile
peering with quiet acceptance I look in the sterile mirror and bite my crippled tongue some more
the lacklustre glass stares with arrogance and returns my face to me
I cry.

**************************************************************

The overweight raven cat was bold like a monster from the deep.
it's sage green eyes big and bulbous
like perfect breasts in aspic
but a plate of coddled fish and the monster was no more.

***********************************************************************

If I crept into your room tonight and every night
would you hide me under tattered spreads of purple
or
could I lay on top and crease your snowy perfection
both I hope.

*************************************************************************

The poet ran amok with words
yelling her grievances without mercy
riding the whirlwind with bare legs akimbo
she altercated with the invisible
and then
the poet sat
adorning her lover with heavenly words
addressing the gods with her unbelievable love
and then
the poet sat
sat like a little girl
singing her verses out.

**************************************************************

Copyright Angela Norris

Korma Queenie

My London day yesterday was smashing.
The old people were on top form and seeing dad attempting a soft shoe shuffle was mind blowing. Mum sat stoney faced as usual before throwing my Chicken korma in the microwave. As you all know mum doesn't cook for me or anyone else but yesterday she surpassed even her own dire housekeeping skills by....leaving it up to me to remove the plastic film on the Korma....Mrs Beeton she ain't.

After we all swallowed our munchies Dad sat down to watch the Snooker and I dragged mum to the shops. "I'm not buying anything today, just looking" we said righteously. Three hours and twenty quid later we dropped our bags on the old carpet and demanded dad get off his bum to make us exhausted old girls a cuppa. He took ages but it was nice when it slopped it down on the coffee table. Tea without cake is unthinkable so they broke into the Mincemeat cake I'd taken up there and jolly good it was too, "Nice and moist" dad said "Has it got cinnamon in, you know I don't like cinnamon?" mum said poking an escaping sultana between her lips.

The snooker was great, I so don't like Stephen Maguire and I so like John Higgins, he reminds me of a young Patrick McGoohan. Tea and cake gone and it was getting near supper time for the old dears so I picked up my bags, told them I'd phone the second I got home and left for my two and a half hour journey home.

Home.
Monty was climbing the walls because I'd been gone for so long, he doesn't love me or anything sickly like that, he just wanted fish. So I fished him up, kissed him because I love him to bits and removed my thermal vest. Supper was a smoked sausage ring and french stick.
Sleep came really quick.

Today I'll fuss over Monty, watch snooker and write.
The picture of me in my best party frock was taken last week.
I'll be wearing it to a Christmas Eve disco, I just hope it doesn't clash with the disco ball!

Bags, Balls, Hairs and Cakes

I had my hair cut last night on account of it being Christmas.
My hairdresser, the lovely droning Lisa told me all about her dad in Spain, her lodger, Max, her desire for a large Christmas lunch and what to do if I decide to dye my greying hair blonde! Bless her bleached locks! I told her I'm happy to be grey and anyway there's something rather charming about silver haired elfs in stilettos.
She was not amused so I decided to give up trying to make her laugh and sat quietly on my wonky bedroom chair.
After she snipped my hair off to within an inch of its life I handed her some cash and wished her a merry Christmas, before ever so gently shoving her out into the cold. It looks great by the way.

Today I went to Sainsburys and the woman on the till asked if I'd brought any of my own bags. "Yes" I smiled "Twenty" "Oh" she said glumly "I can't do all of them, I'll just do ten".....What IS the point of asking customers to re-use carrier bags if the shop isn't prepared to give me a Nectar point for each re-used bag?

As I write this the aroma of a baking Fruit cake is making me dribble. SPLAT! The aforementioned cake is for Mum and Dad who I'll be seeing tomorrow. Their simple presents are done up like mummies, and their silly-sized, garish, childish card is staring at me from the corner of the room. I love being stupid.

The Snooker is on in the kitchen. Welshman Mark Williams is playing Essex boy Ali Carter. I want Ali to win, not because he's an Essex boy but because I don't like Mark Williams, he always looks dirty!

On the Horsehound menu for tonight Nasi Goreng. I had a Risotto last night and so therefore am rapidly running out of rice. But if I could eat anything right now it'd be a large Custard Tart....
Thank you God for giving me an almost indestructible sense of humour for without it I would surely die.

Poetry

I've been struggling to write anything of worth lately, so these poems have come as a beautiful surprise.

When moonlight is the only light please don't turn off my night light
for that's when the dust settles
and its slow descent into my upset room
mirrors my own life
and being a creature of mild and delicate intelligence
I prefer not to be reminded.

****************************************************


I held your baby
like he held me
with tender strength and necessity

I kissed his head
like he sucked on me
with improper manners and joy

I love your baby
like I love you
with all of a plain woman's heart.

******************************************************


The Autumn leaves are still splendid
even when cold in the ignored gutter
even their bronzed veins look magical wedged in the humdrum drain

The girls Garden is still pretty
even when covered with an iced Winter cloth
its virginal blanket laying quietly and asleep waiting for the fresh boy called Spring

The bruised singing woman is still feminine
even with puffed up eyes and cracks
her weak beau failing to dismember the chords of her sweet-scented soul.

The Man lost in the cold of her arms still feels like a man on fire
even when his gentle man ness is shoved away
his good big head and screaming yearning chest
boom noisily
in mighty defiance.



Copyright Angela Norris

Haven't got time to arse about.
Got shopping list to do.
Got shirts to iron.
Got zips to fix.
Got Chicken to de-skin.
Got Snooker to watch.
Thank you.
Goodbye.

Toes, TMJ and Beef Pie

Went for a brisk walk this morning. Wanted to feel my heart pounding just to remind myself I'm still alive. I walked all along the Ashingdon Road up to the Post Office, where I spoke to two elderly ladies about multi-tasking and Christmas. Then into the Pet shop next door, where a disabled Lassie dog was having his back wheels seen to.
Then after gazing across a field I limped down to the charity shop in Manstead Gardens. I say limped because my toes and jaw are hurting. Anyway in there I bough a pale blue and white spotted butter dish, petrol blue salt and pepper pots. I won't use them, they're just for decoration. I will use the butter dish though because it's a stunner.
Came out and stood on the corner thinking whether or not to go into the bleakest shop in Essex, Somerfield. I decided against it. Too depressing.

I think I know why my joints are aching it's because on Saturday I went to an X Factor party in Southend. I didn't dance but I did talk a lot and wore toe pinching shoes. I have had jaw trouble for a few years, Temporo Mandibular Joint Dysfunction it's called, and it plays up when I've yakked excessively. My toes are just plain annoying, they're arthritic and made worse by idiotic shoes. Anyway, after eating my way through lots of good food, (the lemony olives being a particular favourite) I sat in the car at 2 in the morning vowing to myself, my husband and God that I'll never have another Port. Until Christmas day.

On the menu today: Beef and Beer Pie, a newly discovered recipe. I'll have it with a couple of potatoes and the rest of Sundays cabbage. For pud, something very simple, a Queen of Puddings I expect. Very light and so ideal after a pie.
Now I have to get going on account of not having made the pastry for the pie yet, and I do like it to rest before I roll it.

Pre-Christmas Waffling

Things which are essential for a good Christmas in Glo's gaff.

1. Unignited Puddings because blazing puddings set the alarm off and taste horrible
2. Alcohol free fruit cakes because Monty might grab a crumb and end up blotto
3. BBC News 24 to see happy newsreaders and giant trees
4. Port but only in the evening on the settee with a feather in my hair
5. Baggy socks because stockings are for New Years Eve
6. Sterile instruments for touching meat
7. Mint Aero when watching a horror film. Probably.
8. Washing Line rope in case I get drunk and dangerous
9. Hankies for tears of joy, terrible sadness and dribbles
10. Sending happy emails to chums

Things I Won't Ever Do at Christmas

1. Wash sheets or towels
2. Walk down the road for anything or anyone
3. Get dressed, preferring to remain in slumber wear
4. Look at recipe books, do that all year thank you very much
5. Clean windows
6. Engage in any form of plumbing, the taps can drip to death
7. Post erotica, either on Glo or in the post to strangers
8. Do anything with cheap meat
9. Read
10. Start fights

Presents I Want In My Stocking

1. Money, preferably clean
2. Teddy Bears, the bigger the better, but a small one will do
3. A Sat Nav, because I go out more now
4. Chocolate, but not from Poundland
5. Opium by Yves St Laurent, it is my most favourite
6. A real ink pen with a nib and everything, on account of me playing at being a writer
7. Erotic underwear from Cathouseclothing.com Thanking you in advance
8. Talcum powder
9. A new New Testament, because my old New Testament is well used
10. A large God-like man, who can supply all of the above

The Night Timerman. Poem

The Night Timerman invades my room
his strength mangling my heart
so kicking and crying
but with spillings seeping down
I collapse at his feet
and give in

The knuckled hands of the Night Timerman
reach down for the old girls head
so breathing like the dying
but punch-drunk with lust
I suckle his boots
and give in

The arching back of the Night Timerman
says he likes how she shines his boots
so biting with vigour
and swallowing his lace
I take on the Night Timerman
and win.


Copyright Angela Norris

What Glo Did, What Glo Will Do...

Went out this morning looking like a bag-lady.

I bought a blonde fairy for the tree 20p
Two lengths of plastic bell festooned rope in red and silver 40p
A 'Tiffany' style candle holder in shades of blue and green £1:50

Put Christmas cards through the letterboxes of four neighbours.
Looked at row upon row of chocolate bars in the sweet shop as I queued to pay for a padded envelope. 39p
Might make a Minestrone soup for tomorrow because I bought some bacon and a reduced-in-price cabbage today. Although I'm toying with the idea of making Stuffed Cabbage leaves in a sexy Tomato sauce.
Spoke to the postman who happens to look like a Viking.

Now I must create but not with a keyboard or paints but with a mixing bowl and chopper.

Sweet

I'm in the mood for a pudding.
Any pudding.
Sweet or savoury I don't mind. I just need to see a fat wobbling thing on my plate.

Talking of fat wobbling things. Monty isn't behaving in a cat-like fashion because the tree is STILL erect. Not a bauble or shattered light is on the floor. No sir, he's being very very good...
Talking of being very very good, I've done my Mrs Mop act for the day and am well pleased to be back amongst my own mess and dust as opposed to suffocating in my employer's mess and dust. Although it's hardish work it does have its benefits, one such benefit being that it gives my cardio-vascular system a good old work out. Positively glowing I am, with ruddy cheeks and a damp back, why I almost feel fit!
Although I do have an annoying ache about six inches under my right shoulder blade...That's that flipping Henry again!

Anyway I'm home now and in a tick I'll be in the bosom of my home, the kitchen, making yet another cake, no, I tell a lie, I'll be making two cakes. One for my husband's lunch boxes, the other for me to gnaw on during my long winter afternoons. If that wasn't enough to be getting on with, I've got to start thinking about Mincemeat cakes. And Mincemeat cakes are just a simpler version of the traditional Christmas cake, they don't need 'feeding' with brandy and all that sort of nonsense, they taste delicious eaten totally alcohol free and straight away, which is always nice. They contain not only a jar of best Mincemeat but other goodies as well, goodies like extra raisins and a few chopped dried apricots. So I'm not a complete Scroogey AND I lay whole almonds on top, so that's another excellent addition. All in all my Mincemeat cakes are jolly good. I have about three to make, no four, one for us, another for mum and dad and the other two for a couple of chums. I only wish I could send one to the States, but it'd be off and a bit green by the time it arrived. Never mind.

I am determined not to get in a flap this year, because I always do you know. Always. The tree is up, the cards are bought (not sent) the menus for Christmas Eve, Day and Boxing day are in my mind (just) and the Christmas Day message to my readers is in WordPad. So everything is tickety boo.
Now into the kitchen to make an Apple cake, a Raisin Tea Bread and.....A SYRUP PUDDING!!!
The picture is of an old Raisin Tea Bread. Made in the summer probably.

Halt!

The tree is still standing!
Monty eyed it up last night as I was manhandling a sackful of Father Christmases. These jolly yet slightly frightening fellows are now keeping guard on the Queen's windowsill, and although their main job is as security guards, I'm secretly hoping they raise a laugh from passers-by.

Freddie Norris

Isn't he beautiful?
I've been looking at photos and came across this one of my dearly missed and loved Freddie. What is it about Christmas that makes me long for lost loves? If a human being could be 'in love' with a creature then this creature was loved by me.
He was a fabulous cat who never had a chance to show us all his talents, I think of him often along with his more gentler brother, Louis. I went a little mad when they died within months of each other but they're in the garden now nourishing the weeds.
Bless there little tickers.

I found the tree feet by the way. So it's up, all 5ft of it, and bedecked with all kinds of glittery and plain things.
Now let's hope Monty pulls it down...

Urgent

On my to-do list:

Find Tree Feet
Radio 4
Sausage and onion sandwich
General mismanagement of house
Tree Feet Finding
Tinned Tomato Soup with cooked potatoes dropped in whilst watching The Weakest Link
Making a large sweet thing for Saturday
More bad housekeeping but done with tinsel in my heart
Tree Feet...?

I discovered that the 9p tree is missing two of its feet, so I spent the afternoon getting dusty in the loft looking for the blighters, but to no avail. So being a resourceful sort I dragged a large soil filled ex-tomato pot inside and tried to ram the tree inside. Nope. So out went the pot. But in stayed the tree.
I'll sort it out tomorrow I expect.
Now I must write in my diary about love.

My Morning

After I've written this I'll be attempting to erect our 5ft (I think) Christmas tree. Notice I say 'attempt', for it's an oldish tree and one with a 'history'. Don't get excited it's not a sexual tree, by history I simply mean I bought it ten years ago in Wilko's for.....9p. Yep, 9p. Wilko's were having their 1998 January sale and a rather blustery manager was yelling his bald head off telling all and sundry that his Christmas trees were going for the ridiculous price of....9p. So idiot face here, thought it'd be a good idea to lug one home. So I did. And I've loved that tree ever since.:)

Anyway, the infamous 9p tree now awaits to be thoroughly dressed by me. I told you in a previous post that I bought some straw decorations in a charity shop, well they'll be the first things I hang on it's plastic branches. I also bought some more tree lights dead cheap from Poundland. Oh dear how I love Poundland. I really am quite a shrewd shopper, never in the history of women shoppers can one old girl bag so much for so little and get so much joy. Talking of joy I went to my fav charity shop this morning and this is what I bought:

Cream coloured ceramic photo frame £1.50
Salmon pink embroidered tablecloth 30p
6 round 'Poppy' coasters 30p
White cotton cushion cover with sprigs of flowers 50p
Red glass bottle with cork 50p

Then I went to Somerfield and paid a diabolical 80p for a cucumber.

Poem: My Darling

As I try to put into words the break down of my heart, I see snowflakes falling.
Their fragility matching my own.
To feel adrift in the season of joy must surely make one's heart bleed.
What save love, can stop this torrent?
And who save myself, can ease this pain?
And yet as I am engulfed by this fever, my body and soul cry out to only you.
My darling my darling my darling



copyright Angela Norris

I Knew I'd Do It...

In November I said to anyone who'd listen that I intended having a stress free Yuletide which meant having very few decorations, not getting in a flap over food and not buying any presesnts or cards. I can't do it. So.
Things I'll be doing over the next couple of weeks. In no particular order. And marks out of ten for how much I love doing it!

Decorating tree 10 I truly get excited as I painstakingly arrange wooden soldiers, trains, rocking horse and straw stars (new this year) glittery balls all shapes and sizes (quite old)

Making Christmas cakes 9. Always worry about cracking tops.

Wrapping presents 4 No good at corners.

Writing cards 10 I can't just say 'Merry Christmas' I go on a bit..

Candlelerizing the mantelpiece 10 Got a big six inch orange and brown cinnamon one this year and a few more ordinary ones.

Compiling Menus 9 Always want to try new things but always stick to Beef, Lamb, Salmon Puffs and Sticky Toffee Pudding

Buying festive food 9 Always buy too many tangerines, Mint Aeros, Long Life Milk, Popcorn and Parsnips

De-Dusting Fancy Clothes 10 I'll be going out maybe once or twice and I'll want to dazzle all as I sip my Port and eat Nobby's Nuts.

Remembering why Christmas comes. 10 So will be generous to the carol singers, because they're working hard to promote the birth of Christ. Will hand them a pound and some chocolate. And then pray they don't pull me lights down.

Went to Sainsburys today for the usual things. But. I also bought two jars of Mincemeat. I keep looking at them. Now I must re-arrange cupboards on account of these two jars of Mincemeat. Will have BBC News 24 on while I do this because there's going to be an almighty unchristiany hooha in Westminster today and I can't miss it.

Just had a plate of spaghetti bolognaise.
Didn't have garlic bread with it because I've run out of butter and making garlic butter with margarine is an awful thing to do. So no garlic bread. But I did have a naughty treat afterwards, had a pain au chocolate with a cup of tea. Oh yes...

Went to my favourite charity shop today in Manstead Gardens, bought a few good bits and pieces:
2 tall glass storage jars with red flowers imprinted on them. Very Christmassy I felt.
A box of 18 gold straw Christmas tree decorations. More Christmassey even.
A fake diamond brooch with two stones missing, it's a bit battered, Mum will like that.
A faded black t shirt with some fancy embroidery round the neck, could look ok tarted up with glitzy jewellery.
A box of stationery called 'I Love You'. 10 envelopes but only 8 sheets of paper. Obviously someone has told of their love so now doesn't need any more paper.
2 silver coloured candlesticks with a mosaic effect all over. They are now on my mantelpiece with a tall white candles stuck in the spikey thing. Hope Monty doesn't take a liking to them.

Came home via Brays Lane because I wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet. Home to the compiling of a shopping list, the making of a cake, the cleaning of kitchen window. Then it rained.
Tonight I'm expecting company so I'd better clean me teeth and get the cake on a doiley.

It's Always Cold For Kenneth

Watched a good programme Sunday evening (I think it was Sunday) it was called 'Wallander' and starred Kenneth Branagh. In it he played a Swedish policeman on the trail of a serial killer. When I saw it was set in Sweden I hoped we wouldn't be subjected to British actors attempting Swedish accents. We were not. What we were subjected to was a good, is slightly predictable story, which had I'm sorry to say, very few surprises, but did nonetheless entertain with it's stunning photography and first rate supporting cast.
Branagh was of course faultless.

But I would say that wouldn't I?
Having watched his excellent to the point of scary, portrayal of Ernest Shackleton in guess what? "Shackleton" I can hardly do anything but praise him to the rafters. I have watched that film on DVD so many times I've lost count. Watched it in the sitting room with chocolate, in the kitchen peeling spuds, and in my hot bedroom of sex with Horlicks, face cream and Monty. I never tire of it or Branagh's performance.
So when I saw that he was in a new three part series about a Swedish cop I could hardly say no, could I?
The second film is next week. Can hardly wait.

It's a wee bit chilly willy out there today so when I do eventually stick my head outside it'll be clad in a big hat pulled well down over my brows and ears. Bit like my dear Ernest....

Old Fashioned In Every Way

The good thing about the year drawing to an end is the food I cook to ward off the blues of the golden season!
I've been on one of my favourite sites 'Retro Food Recipes' (see my list of favourite sites below somewhere) and it's made me want to do all things creatively culinary!
I know Chicken Kiev is naff, likewise Beef Strogonoff and Lancashire Hot Pot but these dishes are so perfect in every way that I must make them immediately. I've made Chicken Kiev many times of course and it never fails to please, especially when the first puddle of hot garlic butter oozes out. I'm getting quite excited.

Reading 'Retro Food Recipes' has certainly got my juices flowing but it's not only the grub, it's finding out that my beloved Mary Berry wrote a book in 1977 called 'Day by Day Cooking'. I'm in a flap over this because I thought I knew all the books Mrs Berry had written. I've got some of them but this one is new to me. Gotta get it.

Some time soon I'll post a list of my favourite recipe books, it'll be a hotch potch list because I'm a hotch potch kind of cook.

Got womanly things to do today.
These womanly things consisting of:
Deciding which skirt to wear. Running the car engine for five minutes because I don't want to stall at the mini-roundabout again. Talking to pigeons. Packing a banana in my handbag in case I go a bit funny on the train.

Yellow Rose Poem

I haven't written much poetry lately so this next offering came as a surprise to me. It's a little sad because I feel a little sad and I promised myself I wouldn't post anything maudlin, but emotions dictate otherwise. And there is indeed a flower in my front garden, not a pink rose like before, but a yellow one. It's scrawny and looks young and disappointed. Disappointed because it's missed the summer and now has to rest its delicate head on a brick wall.


Crouched, the single flower hovers,
between rampant old foliage
and
a freezing death

This beautiful flower
hangs its head
waiting like a frightened child
for the punch from Winters fist

My heart is out there with it
but can offer nothing but
warm tears
We suffer together.

Christmas Food and The Perfect Toad

Seeing as Christmas isn't too far away I thought I'd better make a start on the menus. Er...what? I say. Because as much as I like to think I'm adventurous I always end up making the same things.
And here they are:

Salmon Puffs. A recipe I cut out from 'Family Circle' magazine twenty years ago. They go well with a nice pint of Port. And are especially good when watching late night violent Christmas films.

Mincemeat Cake. A fabulous homely Krimble cake from my favourite cook, Mary Berry. As it's baking it fills the house with warm spicy aromas. It really does.

St.Stephens Pudding. A Delia Smith recipe and a pudding even my Christmas pudding hating Dad likes. He asks me every year to make one and lug it up to London, so they can re-heat it in the microwave. I do and they do. It's less heavy than the traditional Christmas pud and I serve it with custard. Never cream. Please don't fight me on this. OK?

Minestrone Soup. Yep. Soup. I make this on one of the days when I'm so zonked from shopping and erecting baubles that four pints of soup is all I can muster. Keeps us going for a couple of days. Serve it with a giant cheese scone. Well, six inches in diameter actually.

Sticky Toffee Cakes. These are fabulous. Similar to Sticky Toffee Puddings but these can be served cold as well as hot. They possess all my favourite things...Dates, coffee, brown sugar and cream. Eating this and I'm in puddingy cakey heaven.

Yule Log. Oh dear do I love that log. Made with chestnut puree and covered in whipped cream. I will not stick an inch of plastic holly in it like I did last year. No. I won't.

Mince Pies. Stupid. Always made in fluted bun tins. Always stick. Made with butter pastry instead of margarine pastry, it is Christmas after all.

Latimer Beef. Mary Berry recipe. Always have this Christmas Eve. Have braised red cabbage with it and jacket potatoes. I make this dish all year but it tastes nicer somehow with bits of tinsel floating on the top.

Cooked Breakfasts. Fried bread, black pudding, eggs, tomatoes and bacon. Maybe a giant flat mushroom too.

Trifle. Simple strawberry, but I do overdo it on the flaked almonds.


Glo cooks a lot and today is no exception.
Toad-in-The-Hole, made with decent bangers and quite a lot of onions. The one thing that drives me bonkers with Toads is the Battle with the Batter. Toad batter is notoriously difficult because it sometimes doesn't rise as much as Toadie lovers demand. It can be a bit flat in the centre and rise like almighty pillars at the sides. I used to stare at those pillars in disbelief. But then I found what I consider to be the perfect batter recipe. It's from a skinny flicked-to-bits paperback book called "Goode For One" by another fav cook of mine, Shirley Goode. The recipe serves One, funnily enough, but the batter rises magnificently if put in a smallish roasting tin. Thanks Shirl.

I always like to personalise recipes, put a little bit of me in it if you will. So when I make today's Toad, a spoonful of dried sage will go in the batter along with a chopped onion. But the most important part of the Toad is his sausage so I use the best I can get my hands on.
That's enough culinary for now.
Thank you.

Just What The Doc Ordered.

Just having a quick five minute sit down before I make a Tea-Bread.
Went to charity shop and was grabbed by the vases by a jolly talkative volunteer. When he saw what was in my arms; small rose embossed glass bowl, a grubby old 8 inch plastic Santa and a thick 10 inch Frankincense candle he made a merry quip about getting it all in for Christmas. I smiled weakly and sneezed over him. That shut him up.
Popped into Somerfields. Got bottle of seasonal bleach, whatever that is, and a piece of rump steak with a reduced sticker stuck on it. I'm happy:)
Now Tea Bread, curtains and glass of Port. Medicinal.

Birds and Bowls

What with all the hullabaloo over 'The X Factor', (apparently it's fixed), the government's I.D. Card scheme (it's unwelcome) and the sudden snap of cold weather (it's winter, nearly) I feel like going back to bed and never getting up again. But I won't. Because even with all these awful things happening I still need to change the curtains, moisturize my legs and look for big bowls. Life goes on.

So after I've clambered on the sink bypassing Monty, I'll attempt and I do say attempt, attempt to re-introduce a cottagey feel to the kitchen with the re-introduction of a nice bit of net curtain and brightly coloured bowls set upon the windowsill. Then tea.
I'm not sure if I should go out today on account of me still bearing bravely a truly awful cold, had it for nearly two weeks and the blighter shows no signs of abating. Maybe I should pop to the shops and spread it around a bit!

What to cook tonight, now there's a question, probably plump for Chicken risotto followed by a good helping of steamed syrup pudding. I need to gain some weight you see, because yesterday I went into the garden and the sparrows laughed.

So on Glo's to do list:
Cooking a bird.
Stirring fattening mixtures.
Heading down with head down to the local shop.
Turning into a frilly housewife with big bowls and lacey curtains.
Scouring Monty's tum with a Brillo pad.
Tea.
Feeding Birds.

Desperate Housewife

Here I am goofing in the office nearly two years ago. I've put it on here because I need to see something funny on this bleak and dismal day.
I'm stopping now because this is supposed to be breezy blog, not a whining old blog. Er...I've got a cold and a backache. My left eye looks a bit odd. I'm fed up with Sainsbury's sending me money-off vouchers, just lower your prices you tight-fisted old crows. Monty is being an almighty pain in the neck today, he ran into the garden after seeing a pair if pigeons on the fence, he then got all wet and tangled in my Maple tree/shrub/bush. Silly puss.
I had four sausages in the fridge so I put them and two carrots and half a pint of apple juice in a big green dish, will casserole them for tonight. But I don't want them I want another curry.
I've cancelled an appointment with my hairdresser on account of two facts. 1. I'm in a right bad mood and 2. She talks too much.
Things I Love: Curry and Lipsticks.
Thank You Goodbye.

Silly Saturday

Just popped in to say I bought two hats today.
One is a very proper grey beret with a little winkle on the top and the other is a very naughty black trilby with no winkle anywhere.
I made a curry tonight and drank Port with it then I had chocolate now I feel glurky.
I need to get my hair cut.
Monty is asleep on a selection of box files.
"Take That" are guesting on The X Factor. I fancy Gary Barlow. I do not fancy the other one.
I saw the most fantastic Jasper Conran handbag today in Debenhams. It was so gorgeous and perfect I modelled it in front of a big long mirror but I had to put it back because it cost £75. And I only had £10.
The skin on my knees is very soft.

After wasting more money in Sainsbury's I came home to a mental Monty. The first class clown had some sort of fluff upon his person, all over his hairy chops it was, I later discovered he'd managed to open a grubby cupboard and therein lie!.
What a love he is...

So after wiping away the aforementioned fluff, much to the chagrin of the Mont meister I have to say, I had a cucumber sandwich.
Then after all that I marinated some small chicken thighs for tomorrow, gelled up my hair and then wrote a fine piece of erotica.
The two aren't linked.

The night is so young and I'm listening to Soul tunes in my much loved much neglected office. Isn't it odd how the things we love the most are the things we feel we can dis the most? Just a thought.

So now with a longish evening ahead of me I'll spruce myself up with more creams, I do love creaming myself, especially on a Thursday.

I hope I sleep better tonight because the past two nights have been awful and I look terrible.
Or is it the other way around?

I had another restless night.
And in the middle of this restless night poor Monty was mistaken for clothing as I patted around the bottom of the bed in darkness in search of my red dressing gown. He miaowed as I tried to wear him!

So up I got, and me and Monty went to the kitchen. Again. What I need to know is why, when I'm up before the birdies, do I walk slower?
Alright that's enough of that nonsense.

England beat the Germans last night, which is always nice. But because of what is going on at home I actually forgot they were playing. My mind is very elsewhere. I've no idea how I'm going to get through the next few days, I only hope that the job folk put me out of this misery sooner rather than later.
So to take my mind off of this torture I'll endure another slightly sweeter torture, Sainsbury's. I'll wrap myself up in jeans and thick woolly and head down Victoria Avenue to the big orange and white shop.

On the menu today: Lasagne.
On the agenda today: Shopping, re-arranging dust, putting more elderly tomato plants in re-cycle bin, having mobile phone tied round my neck with something quite long and safe, pacing Glo's bungalow knowing I've blown it, incessant downing of tea, talking to Monty like he understands.

Engerland, Engerland

I forgot that England were playing Germany tonight. Ooops!
Monty is wearing his red and white helmet and guzzling Port.
I am wearing my England T-shirt and sipping Tea.

Well...
After a horrendous night (awake at 3 a.m. making cocoa and watching the news) I finally managed to get myself into gear and toddle off to my job interview at ten. I'll not go into laborious detail but suffice to say I want this job. I want it desperately. In fact I don't think I've ever wanted anything so much. If and it's an almighty if, if I manage to land the position I'll bore you to death with the minutiae over the next few weeks. Bet you can't wait:(
Anyway, I did my best and that's all I could do.
Now I wait...
I'm not in the mood for cooking, eating, playing, writing, telly, radio or shopping so I'm going to rest. I feel I need to and I'm a great believer in listening to one's body and mine is saying "Oy you, take a break". So I will.
Just before I hibernate I must just tell you about my sniffles, they're petering out...My God this is a good blog;)

I've lavished cream upon my body, fed Monty chicken biscuits and now I'm going to bed to watch a programme on Channel 4 about the Prince who was hidden away from the public...Prince Johnnie. Tomorrow is coming quick...

Something is happening to my brain and I'm not sure if I like it.
Things on the domestic front are a-changing and I don't like change, even when it may be for the best. So with several bits of scary home stuff occurring I'm getting in a state and I'm unsure how to deal with it. And then on top of that I'm finding it difficult, if not impossible, to write. Apart from last nights abysmal poetic effort, not much creative outpourings of any worth have been written. Although having said that I am still penning secret womanly love words in my secret womanly red love book and very pleased with them I am too. But to blog about love and sex is so last summer so I won't be filling these white innocent pages with erotica, after all it's autumn now and life is slowing down and so along with the drying up of leaves, my Muse has withered up, signed orf and all but left me for dead. What am I going to do without her? Probably be alright...

Ideas written on a piece of paper and magnetted to the fridge are....
Chicken Goulash/Chicken Strogonoff/Trifle/Steak Pie with Puff Pastry/Cherry Cheesecake made with tinned cherries/Fruity Indian Chicken/Something with Pork chops ketchup, brown sugar and worcestireshire sauce?/Vanilla Ice Cream with Butterscotch sauce/Poor Knights of Windsor/Lemon Puddle Pudding/Chocolate Puddle Pudding/Ginger and Garlic Crusted Potatoes/Monty's biscuits/

Other things magnetted to fridge...Money off coupons/local newspaper article about the portable make believe plastic ice rink that's coming to Rochford Square a few days before Christmas/recipe for Strawberry and Mascarpone Puffs/What-Not-To-Do list for tomorrow/A scrap of paper with the Serenity Prayer writ large.

Now I must iron a skirt, blouse and industrial vest on account of my job interview tomorrow...Oh God I can't do this.

My Muse is disappearing into the wall and that is good because now I can concentrate on real life. And real life is always better than fantasy. Isn't it?

"Forcing myself out from under your cloak
I grasp the hands of the sun
allowing the pain
to scar me
it makes me
And I'm not afraid"

(My Muse doesn't leave without a fight...Bless Her)

It's been a queer day.
Decent humdrum mixed with a surprising phone call which could, could change my life a little. (I'm such a drama queen!)
So now with this stinking cold for company and a funny old day behind me, I go to bed to wonder.

Monty Eyes Up A Warm Lunch

I'd heard the familiar sound of Monty landing amongst the pepper mill, salt cellar and kitchen scales and thought nothing of it, after all he's always clambering up on places where he has no right to be but then when I went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea this is what greeted me. So I fumbled in my pinny pocket for my mobile phone and very very quickly pushed the camera button and hey presto I captured this fab pic.I've always thought pigeons were a bit daft, but to sit on a windowsill peering in at a killer is just plain stupid. Good job Monty doesn't have an iron fist and an empty tummy otherwise that pigeon would just be a pile of feathers!

Anyway, back to today, I've got a cold and a sore throat and am in no mood for anything really except maybe a cup of hot chocolate and a cuddle. I've got the chocolate right by me, now where's Monty?

When I'm under the weather all I want to do is hide away in the kitchen with dear old familiar things...So after I've finished this post I'll re-arrange my storage jars and recipe books whilst at the same time watching as Columbo solves yet another heinous crime on Channel 5 just after three. Achoooo!

My Muse, Monty and Dad's Meatballs

My Muse has gone away, and I miss her.
I've been struggling to write something, something beautiful or even mediocre but each time my fingers hovered over the keyboard they looked like a ten legged spider with nowhere to go.
With no poetry flowing I've had to read again past efforts, I've even toyed with the idea of editing some, which is anathema to me. Where's my Muse? I thought she liked me.
With very little literary creativity going on today I'll consign myself to the kitchen and make beautiful things in there.
So, with a visit to the old London people tomorrow, I'll be making up a food parcel which will not only contain the ubiquitous cake but half a dozen Meatballs! Dad's decided to get dangerous and risk some queer gear.

On my agenda today:
Quick dash to the shops for Passata, naans and toothpaste.
Make Meatballs in an anglicized Italian tomato sauce.
Make Latimer Beef for tomorrow night and fridge it.
Make an old people's cake. Madeira probably.
Watch Monty watching pigeons. Got a great pic of that...
Re-arrange dust in all rooms.
Tuna sandwich and crisps for lunch about one.
Try to snatch forty winks sometime after two.
Post-lunch but pre-winks, fantasize about The X Factor's Daniel coming round to clean my fantasy swimming pool.

Thank you.

On Monday it teemed with rain, yesterday I was blown along the road and today I'll be bathed in watery sunshine. British autumnal weather, dontcha just love it?

After a night of deep sleep I woke at dawn to the feel of Monty stalking the bed. His padded feet did a complete circuit (is that the right word?) of the bed and then stopped at my neck. I'm gonna get my ears nipped I thought, but no, he behaved impeccably and instead of sucking out his mums earplugs he merely whimpered sweet purrings. Of course having a mighty beastly babe like Monty dribbling on your duvet means you're not going to go back to sleep, so up I got. It was eaaaarrrrlllly! But the best thing to do when you're lying awake is to er...get up because if you're anything like me, laying in bed doing nothing brings on the sadness. And I've had enough of the blues to last a lifetime thank you very much.

So I sprung out, well, got out a bit quick to be more precise, and made a pot of tea. There were pigeons on the fence already and as I looked at them I thought "How come they always look tidy?". Monty pondered the remnants of his supper and said "You can shove that". So I did, because he's the boss.

I didn't read my emails instead I looked at:
my teeth, a spot on my left shoulder, the heavenly blue sky, my tummy, a pair of red and black suede shoes and chocolate cake crumbs on the kitchen floor. After doing all that I fed the birds and then burnt my knees on the heater.

Then I had two slices of toast and Marmite which I thought might bolt me into some kind of consciousness. Rubbish. What I needed was some more fresh cold air so I took Monty into the garden in a dressing gown and ridiculous slippers, that's me by the way not Monty. He stalked those decaying flower beds like an evil predator then someone's car started up and the silly old sausage scarpered back indoors.

Got things to do today things like making Toad-in-the-Hole, wishing Mum and Dad a happy 53rd Wedding anniversary and sellotaping excess skin behind ears.

The photo is of mum, dad and me outside our home in Southam Street, London W.10.

A soldier was killed in Afghanistan recently and one of his relatives was asked how she felt.
She said that she had talked about the war with him and he had said "Oh I don't mind fighting for Aunty Betty".

I don't know why but those poignant and terribly British words have stayed with me.

Er....Title or No Title

Lasagne or Chicken Pie
White shirt or red sweater
Grey socks or black stockings?
Blue Jeans or purple skirt
Marmite or marmalade?
Radio 4 or Jeremy Kyle?
Big brown plastic bag or small blue leather bag?
Pink lipstick or red?
Cleaning my gentleman's house or phoning in sick?
Blogging or doing something with rotting tomato plants?
Smacking Monty's arse for licking out mummy's porridge bowl or hugging him?

I'm taking far too long to decide so it's time for tea...or coffee :(

What's Cooking Today

Roast Chicken (medium sized unstuffed and on its own in the tin)
Sage and onion stuffing (home made because I like tons of sage)
Glazed parsnips and carrots (smothered in pepper, butter, lemon juice, brown sugar and honey)
Roast Pots (big crunchy ones)
Steamed cabbage (buttered, peppered and sea salted)
* * * * * * * * * * *
Apple Crumble and custard (a real proper pudding for a chilly Autumn day)
* * * * * * *

For tea

Chicken sandwiches (with the crusts cut orf)
Last of Friday's Bakewell Tart (which was baked in a roasting tin on account of me feeling all rustic and homely.

Pablo

This charming fellow was bought last week.
He was showing-off on a shelf alongside a large white mixing bowl, a wicker basket and a cracked vase, all these things are usually fair game for me but with them being on sale in a charity shop in London's posh Queensway they naturally bore London prices, so I could only buy one.
I chose 'Pablo'. He now poses on top of a bookcase (the one I've been shoving around a lot) I just hope he settles in nicely.

I've been collecting this sort of paraphernalia since I was 17 or so, started when me and mum found a 'Shelter' charity shop in the aforementioned Queensway in 1973. I was an innocent poor pale faced teenager (I know it's hard to believe I was pale faced) anyway I needed to be dressed correctly for lounging about in the college canteen so when I came across this shop I thought I'd hit the jackpot.

The very first thing I bought were a pair of banana yellow clogs for 20p. And that's when 20p meant something. Other stuff acquired were a pair of purple starry trousers, a glittery halter-neck top and a small mans sheepskin jacket (£1). By the way whoever decided to throw that jacket out must have been bonkers because I wore it for about five years, it went a bit smooth round the cuffs but it was still lovely.

A lot of water has passed under the proverbial since then but I still can't think of a better way to spend both my time and money. Love it, love it, love it.
Something else I love is today's Art Quote.

On my to-do list is...
Visit the charity shop down the road then go to Somerfield because I forgot to buy Stewing Beef yesterday in dopey Sainsburys. Daft me
Make a dozen Rock Cakes
Sit up straight on account of my aching back. On the left side.
Wash my dirty brown feet. You should see the mud on the sheets. Disgraceful.

Stay Poem

I've just walked around the garden in my bare feet
the rained grass feeling like iced hands on my skin
and with each sopping step I felt the creamy earth cling to my toes like it had nowhere else to go
and on sticking my face skywards I wished today would stay.

A Good Day

This is turning out to be an awesome day for me on two counts.
The first being I'm in a great mood, the second being I'm still sizzling because of Barack's win. My trip around Sainsburys was not the humdrum affair it normally is, instead I almost did a waltz with the trolley, that's how good I felt. The traffic jams on the Ashingdon Road didn't faze me neither did the dug out pits beneath my eyes. Instead I dressed head to toe in my Boho gear and waved at bus drivers. Their smiles and thumbs up warranted further flirtatiousness, so I blew kisses at big strange men from Cuckoo Corner all the way down to Victoria Avenue. I wish every day was so good but I'm not going to worry or think about tomorrow or the days after because I feel good today, now, and that's all that matters.

The 44th President

Congratulations to President-Elect Obama.
I can't say anything else right now.

I'm So Excited!

I can't eat anything.
I can't do anything.
And all because of what's happening across the Pond!
Being a bit of a delicate flower I'll need to crease the sheets earlyish on account of having to get up earlyish but you can rest assured my raspberry jelly will be on as soon as my eyes flick open.
I can't wait.....!!!

Hope

Prettily written on a scrap of paper and held onto the fridge by insect magnets is my to-do list...

Check out BBC News 24 and Sky News on account of it being a huge day in America
Make a Lemon and Poppy Seed Traybake, hope it doesn't sink
Make a Cottage Pie, hope I make enough
Re-arrange a chicken and frog on doorstep, hope they sit well together
Look in loft for box of Christmas baubles, hope they're not crushed
Pop in a new 'Plug-In' Air Freshener, hope it doesn't cost much
Drink breakfast tea hoping Barack wins

I wonder what Barack and John are doing now, probably imagining life in the White House.
I know John is a proud American who fought for his country but I hope it's Barack who gets to save it. Tomorrow could be one of the most memorable days in America's history.
And I'm going to witness it.
On that wonderfully exciting note I'll wrap myself not in any flags, but in my red dressing gown and head to bed thinking about tomorrow...

Barry's Big Day Beckons

The election for the most powerful man on the planet takes place tomorrow.
And I can't wait to jump between Sky News and BBC News24 catching all the latest info on what's occurring over the Pond.

Mr Obama is maintaining a steady lead over Mr McCain but will the results match what the pollsters are being told or will it be a case of the 'Bradley' effect. Whereby voters said they would be voting for Tom Bradley, an African American who was running for Governor of California in 1982 but when voters entered the polling booths they changed their minds.

Like I've said on numerous occasions, I'm no expert on American politics but I hope the American people give Barack (Barry) Obama a chance, a chance to smooth over the frenzied brows of worried Americans. And also it'd be nice to see a younger woman in the shape of Michelle Obama rustling the feathers of the pristine White House brigade, I can imagine her re-arranging the furniture in the Oval Office making it feel like a home from home for her husband.
The Obama's remind me of John and Jackie Kennedy, not that I'm quite old enough to remember them that well, but I love the idea of fresh faced Barack and his pretty wife whipping up a storm in the corridors of Washington.
Their kids Malia and Natasha might brighten up the joint as well.
Well we don't have long to wait now...

I've been totally engrossed in the whole thing, and was often caught watching both the Vice Presidential and Presidential debates wearing my pyjamas like a kid watching The Simpsons only I didn't as laugh much, I just drank in the electrifying atmosphere and wished we here in Britain could put on such a superb piece of political theatre like our Cousins. But we're just an island jam packed with bitchy old queens who love slapping posh and pleb wrists and then sneering as yet another plumped up politician falls on his arse.
The American conventions are pure Broadway, we however do The Kings Theatre, Worthing!

Anyway, not long for your Queen to wait and as she does so she's wiping away tears, tears of disbelief as one of my favs in The X Factor got clobbered on Saturday. Austin was in a sing off with my other fav Rachel and the judges decided in their weird wisdom that the Essex boy should go. I was mortified, but I expect it won't be the last we see of him.

On the Horsehound agenda today:
Starting a shopping list. I'm getting older and things are taking longer to achieve so...
Looking for cake recipes (again) My cake recipes are poetry to me.
Doing something with a stiff brush after four.

Sweet and Savoury

The X Factor is on tonight and I've got a big bag of Butterkist Popcorn so...after talking the hind legs of a donkey with Mum and Dad I'll check the news on that bad BBC, and then I'll flick through recipe books in search of cake recipes, and then I'll go all savoury and make a large bowl of Indonesian (via Essex) Nasi Goreng.
After I've finished I'll pick up grains of wayward rice from the floor and run into the front room, remove my socks, and watch the next round of The X Factor.

Hallowe'en

Your Queen of Vampires is off to darkest London and in that great place I'll stalk the bitter streets imagining I'm sucking on throats back home in Transylvania.
And then, when it's dark, I'll fly back to the unsullied countryside to stab a bloodied Steak...

Words Are Good

I love words, they are my best friends so...
Get yourself a giant mug of drink because here's a very long list of words which make me laugh:

Bucket
Extension Lead
Implements
Ball
Dripping
Dumplings
Trumpet
Lounge
Creases
Pickle
Bounder
Exhaust
Pole
Guzzle
Chicken legs
Panda
Jelly
Batteries
Side Entrance
Back Entrance
Hose Pipe
Corker
Plank
Monkey
Jug
Chipolata
Embrocation Oil

And here's a very long list of words I just like:

Wonderful
Balloon
Cherry
Furry
Soppy
Kisses
Wisdom
Joy
Chums
Jokeypoos
Kerfuffle
Darling
Sunshine
Handbags
Pickle
Friendship
Love
Snowflake
Pants
Moonlight
Song
Big Cakes
Winkles
Home
Pigeon
Bundle
Blancmange
Excited
Pussy
Sausage

Ok that's enough, because I've emptied my brain of words now and there aren't none left at all!

Creative Queen

Here I am, all creased, pale, baggy eyed and sipping sweet tea like a plumber.

On Gloria's To Do list today is:

1.Interior Re-Designing:
A thorough going over of the front room. It's not looking as jolly as I want, so it's up into the loft to rummage through large boxes in the vain hope of finding an ornament which isn't chipped in a major way.

2.Cooking:
Curried Beef with Basmati Rice and Naans. Easy and super. Pud is no prob either, Vanilla Ice Cream with the easiest Butterscotch Sauce ever.

3.Mental Needs and Stimulation:
I'll plump for yet another Radio 4 fest.

Monty is making a strange cracking squawking sound on account of two pigeons who are sitting on the fence right by my window. Lovely clever Monty, lovely innocent pigeons...
Got to dash now because before I do all of the above I have to nibble on a chocolate biscuit and guzzle more tea.

It's after 3 a.m. and here I am in my one lamped office and just what's woken me I have no idea, but I thought, rather than watch News 24, I'll sit here with hot coffee and cat because that makes far better sense.
I've already drifted around the house like a ghost in search of a home so there's only one left to do, and that is to write. And I hope I can and I think I will.
Because I think she's in the room, yes, here she is right by me. My God she's tall and lengthy like a great brown tree, her brushed black dress, plain and cavernous, draws me in like an snug warm tent in a wood and as she sets herself down beside me I hide under her folds waiting...

Gloria

My trip to the charity shop was fruitful.
Bought a dark multi-stoned ring for 20p, a small beige and tan lidded pot with 'Pixie Cottage' written on it, a large lidded vegetable dish with a holly design and the piece-de-resistance, a green white and gold 'Burslem' jug, have checked it's value online of course but so far no luck. I love collecting china and so this jug will hang or sit alongside all the others. It's a strange shape, reminds me of a gravy boat that suddenly wanted to be a milk jug.
I'll post a pic as soon as I can. Now here's the funny and heartwarming bit I bought it not only because I'm an avid collector of bric-a-brac but because of the name stamped on its bottom...'Gloria'. I had to have it didn't I?

On the menu tonight Cumberland Sausage Risotto with green beans and hot herb bread. Slowly followed by Chocolate Puddle pudding and cream.

The Queen Eats Porridge

It feels cold this morning so when I pop out a bit later I'll be wearing thermal tights and gloves. I think the balmy spring-like days we enjoyed in early October have gone, and that's ok because it means Christmas is on the way and that's the one holiday I absolutely love. I'm going to resist the urge to waffle on about Christmas because it's way too early for a bauble and tinsel laden post! After all we haven't even had Halloween yet, don't like Halloween night and if I see another plastic skeleton I'll go beserk. Last night as I was laying on the settee looking at my feet I heard my first firework. It roused me from my toe induced stupor and as I tutted I thought Guy Fawkes has lot to answer for. Silly old git.

On Gloria's To-Do list today:
Trekking down to the charity shop for books, subtle clothing and bowls of various sizes
Slapping on some extra wallpaper by the window and over the radiator on account of some peeling
Washing clothes in a bucket listening to Radio 4
Silently opening a tin of tuna in the bathroom

Now thick white porridge and thick brown tights.
Cheerio!

Here quick listen to this...
I re-arranged my employers peach angel, instead of having her lounging behind some Walt Disney DVD's I recklessly sat her between two candles on the master's mantelpiece. Then I made a a cup of tea. No wait it gets better, after plumping up his gigantic cushions I turned them over too so that their patterned bottoms sat side by side on his enormous chocolate coloured settee, he won't notice on account of him being a man. And wait listen to this, although there wasn't a decapitated mouse on the mat like last time, there were some strange items in his upstairs wastepapaper basket, I didn't look too closely you understand, but I think he and his girlfriend did a bit of dressing up the weekend. There was a large cardboard tube, one snagged black stocking, a handful of black hair and two batteries. Horrible.
Now after I did upstairs I did downstairs and that was almost as shocking, not only was there a partly unpacked suitcase in the downstairs bedroom but he'd left a good length of red rubber hospital tubing by the spices in the kitchen, he's had his arm in a sling for a couple of weeks and I suppose that accounts for the rubber. But I have to say I was shocked, it nearly put me off me next cup of tea.
I really can't natter any more because I have my own home to clean and my own baskets to empty.
Cheerio:)

It's Monday and it's early and it's very dark outside.
Monty is grizzling in the towel basket, my nails are painted in ten different colours and there's a pair of wicked shoes on a tea tray. And all because the Queen had a weekend of violent fun, well not really violent, not in the physical sense at least, it's just that I drove along the Eastern Esplanade in order to have a curry and a couple of little drinks. But that was Saturday, Sunday was much more dangerous because on that day we had an early lunch of three pork chops, two carrots and a square of home made bread Pudding. And then I went out again, this time I was out for more than three hours, the venue being a homely pub decked out in Halloween stuff, and in the pub I supped on a glass of J2Lo Orange/Passion Fruit drink and very nice it was too. And so after being deafened by some awful music we skipped to the car which was right by a giant puddle. I leapt across the small lake like a ballerina on Red Bull.
And not a dirty splash was to be found.

On Gloria's To Do list is...
Polishing teddy bears/ dusting peach coloured angels/buffing up a big kettle/climbing into two showers shoeless/re-arranging kiddies cars and lugging Henry up the stairs by his hose/Wondering why I'm doing this. Other peoples housework is such a chore.
Trying to have a nap.
Making a Beef Cobbler/Lemon and Poppy Seed Slab Cake/Mess
Radio Four
Wearing jeans and a creased blouse because I can't find the iron.

Watched The X Factor Sunday lunch time.
My three favs got through to the next round.
Laura was super sweet and as I listened to her I wondered where on earth all that voice came from, from deep down in her soul I expect. She's a good looking girl, not in the pinky giggly girly sense but in a good looking woman way who has eager blood in her veins instead of here-today-gone-tomorrow-syrup.

Austin was shockingly good because I think he's a bit damaged, he wants to win, not only because he loves singing but because there's a mad little man inside who's driving him insane. And like all artists he can't and won't ignore his creative angels.

Rachel was sublime, so sublime that I sweated profusely. She is such an exciting performer that it's a bit disconcerting watching her, there's a joy and untamed wildness about her I absolutely adore and so she's the one singer I'd pay twenty quid to see.

Monday is tapping me on the shoulders so I'd better go.

I still don't know what day it is, I still don't know what time it is, AND now I've found an onion bhaji in my girdle.

What time is it? What day is it? And what's that Prawn doing in my hair?

After Nine Poem. Sexed Up Room

In the stifling air of a sexed up room
the lovers examine each other
he looking at her teethed red throat
she stringing out spunk
they are quite at one

On the cracked up walls in the afternoon room
the bedstead bangs out of key
its thunderous sound a thud thud thud
chucks family frames way off the wall
he the master then delivers with baton erect
swearing words like fuck ride and mother
it's the performance of his career
she the ladylover singing with operatic notes
yells till the fat lady comes

Silent with relief
they smooth out brows
each hair so fantastic, precise
going over their terrains with contented hands
they trace imaginary countries
this is where my froggy lives
and this is how I eat her
and this is where my horsey stands
and this is how I ride him

they laugh very loud so the neighbours can hear
then whack and smack like bongo drums
ample wet bellies and cheeks
but fear not
little bits of remnant sex dry quick in the sexed up room
and looking up at the cobwebbed corner
they examine each other no more.