In today's earlier post I said I was going to the best place on earth...my imagination. And I did go there and it was fantastic.
Toying with words is heaven.

For me...That was....Too Karaoke! It's A No Darling!

Yikesy crikesy!

Poetry is running my life at present, been so engrossed in verse that I even forgot to hoover my employers upstairs rugs! He was not impressed. But I managed to keep my job by making him laugh. Phew!
Anyway back to today, haven't seen any of the Tory party's conference, which for me, is a first, something to do with that ex-public schoolboy Cameron. Can't stand the blighter, too smooth, too perfect and too TORY!

Now onto common stuff.
Love The 'X' Factor so much, I phoned the programme sponsors, the Carphone Warehouse and sung bloody Jingle Bells, they loved it of course and if there's any justice my singing effort will be on screen during the commercial breaks some time near Christmas. It must be my age!

Now listen here, today I'm going to be awfully busy, got to get the cat hairs orf the antimacassars and make some beef thing for tomorrow. No time for me of course, oh no, I'll have to continue deteriorating at an alarming rate, which, for a bighead like me, is so distressing. After all I only have my good looks to fall back on, because me brain is taking longer to start in the morning. And that's a worry.

On the menu today is: Something with bacon or something and a blackcurrant jelly with tinned cream. Oh dear!
Now I must dash to the best place on earth, my imagination.
Cheerio girls and boys...

Yipeeeeeee! It's a Sunny Saturday And I'm Staying In!

It doesn't look too bad out there so methinks I'll STAY INDOORS!
As much as I love the currant bun these brilliantly bright Autumnal days are sending me a bit bonkers in the nut. I mean what is a girl TO WEAR?
Do I go floaty skirted to the butchers or do the man thing and stride down to sweet shop in violent jeans? I just don't know.

What I do know however is that it's the WEEKEND and that means one thing, well two things actually, The 'X' Factor and a roast dinner! But not on the same day.
On the ultimate reality tv show the lads and lasses go to boot camp this week and that's where the real 'work' begins and the mighty waterfalls of tears from wannabees dampen stocky Mr Cowell's too tight t-shirt. This is not telly at it's best BUT it is telly at it's campest and I love camp!.

So....after my burgers'n'chips I'll sit excitedly on the very edge of the settee crying, laughing and shouting sweetly at the screen. And as much as I need the thrill and furore of a tea time telly show I also know that it's dangerous, because I'm too old to be aflamed and in a flurry. A woman like me should be coddled in a blanket weeping delicately into my Jane Austen.
Now roasts.

Leg of Pork with a jug apple sauce, zesty carrots and sweet potatoes is on the menu for tomorrow, followed by a 'D' cup syrup pudding falling out off the dish. For afters. (see pic top right)
For supper? What do you think? Porky walky sandwiches of course swallowed slowly down with a glass of chocolate milk. Yep, I'm that good...

Now I really must leave the sunny office and head into the sunless kitchen, where I belong!

Mr Obama takes on Mr McCain tonight in a head-to-head chat.
This fascinating piece of political theatre is being shown live on Sky News at 2 a.m. and if I had the strength I'd stay up to watch it. But I don't so I can't.
Whilst waiting for a Madeira cake to rise this afternoon I wondered things.
I wondered how long hair takes to grow because earlier I fiddled with my fringe with a pair of nail scissors...
Will David Cameron would go 'noteless' at the Conservative Party conference next week. I think not, I think he'll use a lectern and funny little screens.
Will Monty ever drink water.
Would a poem about life as a cleaner/fantasist/quiet wife go down well with the judges of the National Poetry competition.
What would Charles Bukowski say if I asked his ghost something via a website.
Would you give me the time of day?
Would you give me a lesson in how to write
not proper sentences like in novels
but
improper sentences like on how it feels to be on the outside and not wanting to go in
on wanting people I can't get
and some advice on
whether it's better to starve and call myself poet
or continue polishing and call myself honourable
Would you sit with me and give to me all the rules on how not to write
I know you've heard this all before
but not from me you haven't.

If I get an answer I'll keel over!
Goodnight All...

A Is For Artistic, Arthritis and Ang!

Oooh I've got to have a sit down...
I'm in a silly mood today.
So silly infact that I'm clad in white vest and combats and running in and out of rooms in a searching-for-aliens-type-of-way I'm only doing a bit of housework but to me, Ripley lives again!

There was a strange looking chocolate and orange striped cat in my back garden very early this morning. He, and it had to be a boy because of the swagger, well anyway, he stopped abruptly when he came face to face with the charming dew laden Buddha. He, that's the cat, didn't turn a hair. Buddha just continued contemplating.
Dontcha just love those five a.m. moments :(

Might, if I can rouse myself into any sort of action, other than cleaning, sort out a poem/s to send to a competition. The mere thought of sifting through dozens and dozens of poems gives me the willies. But I might do it, just for a laugh:( I could of course write a new one...

Oh no the grass needs cutting again.
Monty's hair is tangled at his back end.

There's a mark on my left knee which wasn't there an hour ago. It's oval in shape and a bit like a spaceship. Is it a message?
Never offer a woman a boiled egg when she's doing the washing up.

Had horrible lentils for lunch.
Wanted steak.

Took the rubbish out at eight and had a turn, had to lean against the re-cycle bin.
Heard him next door banging his broom up against my partition.

The index finger on my right hand looks like a Twiglet. See picture above. That is not my hand it is a representation of the letter 'A' in Twiglet form.
But it's sunny again so all is well.

I think I need a gentleman, a lie down, a cup of sweet tea and a Bourbon biscuit.
In any order.

Thank you.

Brown Bear

The sun is out and brilliant and Monty is eating Duck biscuits, not a bad start to Thursday.
The Labour conference has finished and the Conservatives have their say next week in beautiful Bournemouth.
The sun is making the paintwork outside look grim and need of some refreshment, but that'll have to wait until Spring.
Because I only have eyes for Autumn, which is like a lumbering brown bear thudding determinedly all over the green.
Poetry before nine? That's a first.

It's A Sausage and Cucumber Kind Of Day

Yikesy crikesy is it that time again?
Seems only a few days ago (well it was actually) that I was dancing around Sainsbury's with my trolley, and here I am again, primed and cocked, ready to do it all over again.
Where does time go and why?
And how can I slow it down a little? I mean, time is the very stuff life is made of and my stuffing is seeping away:(

On the agenda today:
Combing bird nest-like Monty
Slapping Cucumber under suitcase eyes
Nap at two on account of me being awake at five:(
Staring at computer
Laying on floor with feet hooked under table on because of blancmange belly

Foodwise:
Cumberland Sausage in Apple Juice
Strawberry Swiss Roll with Ice Cream

I had a funny dream last night, I was laying on a park bench with a melon and a torch but it was sunny.

Gordon Brown was good.
He not only warmed us with his passion he showed his teeth too, and that was very wise, especially when people think you're a pushover.
So well done Prime Minister.
Now I make a Swiss Roll.

I Wish I Was In Manchester

Today Gordon Brown will be addressing the assembled head nodders in the newly named 'Manchester Central', this fantastically handsome building is on a site which, in the 19th century, was called St Peter's Field, and in that space at that time people would meet to debate. And so me wonders what on earth the Labour Party is doing there?
They don't do much debating any more, well not on the telly at least. I've been watching the goings on and a duller more morose conference I have never seen, and I've watched loads.

But a few sparks might fly today because the Prime Minister is making his big speech and I can't wait to hear what the once bulky but now rapidly shrinking Scot has to say...in his defence.

Some commentators are saying it's make or break for him, I think they might be right. He has had and is indeed having a stinker of a time what with all the economic hullabaloo currently deafening us.
I wish I could leap onto a train and dash up to Manchester and then grabbing him by his tailored suit, pull the great man into a side room and then oh so tenderly impart unto him some hard won Londonite wisdom and also a fair old whack of sound economic advice, but I can't. I mean, I can't even even sort out my own fiscal affairs or get to the bottom of what makes people tick so what the country would be like in my hands is anyone's guess.
So I'm afraid Gordon will have to do without me.

However there is one thing he absolutely must do, with or without me, and that is to try and re-kindle the dying flames of the Labour party which is I'm afraid to say, currently and finally gasping its last breath, it's a bit like a once grand candle which is now fagged out and dripping its last pathetic drops onto the stately sideboards in Westminster.
In other words he's got to deliver a corker of a speech in fact it has to be finest speech of his political life, if he wants to keep his job that is.
And you know what?
I'm not sure he can do it, he speaks nicely of course but he doesn't have the table thumping qualities of a Blair or Thatcher, because time and time again he fails to woo the crowd. He can't do a Neil Kinnock and rouse his supporters with his creative uplifting rhetoric. Gordon addresses shareholder meetings and that's all.

Methinks they won't be screaming for an encore after the last words fall from his lips because he isn't a star.
No, Gordon Brown is not a star in the shimmering political firmament, he is, I'm sad to say, an insipid forty watt bulb. In the basement.

The multitude of moaning minnows on the backbenches will be hanging on every word of course, listening out and hoping for the resounding clang of a determined, triumphant and fist-punching-the-air oration from their leader.
They won't get it.
What they'll get are a few hundred well chosen words delivered in the now famous Brown drone.
What Gordon needs to do to really rally the jittery waverers is to blow their socks off with a Obamaesque speech. But Gordon isn't Barack. Gordon is er...Gordon. He doesn't do barnstorming speeches, he just talks in that heavy-thick-with-whisky type voice and shuffles around sheets of paper.
But...and there's always a but, the man is very handsome in a Heathcliffe/Rhett Butler sort of way so on that count and on account of me being a woman with a classy taste in men, I wish him well.

When Gordon preaches to the wavering multitude I'll be sat, (as they say up north) watching and listening to his homily and as I drink my tea I'll be secretly wishing that he 'does a blinder' (as we say down south).

Underneath the shy private Prime Minister I think there's an even shyer more private man.
And I love that.
Gertcha Gordon me old mate!
So from the old chair of an old romantic this is Glo Horsehound signing off.

Sshhh It's Stopped Raining

The rain it drenched my everything
my Buddha, my Jessamy, my all
my swinging plum tomatoes turned into glittering Christmas balls
with splashes of sparkling precipitation

My green plastic bird bath is a bath no more
Lido is its name and
grey plastic feeders soggy with this mornings seed
hang waiting to be cleaned
and a proud plate-sized puddle looks up at me
from the floor of a crumbling old shed

But suddenly in the distance,
in a garden two gardens down.
I heard young Ray's children laughing
and suddenly nothing mattered at all.

First Day of Autumn

And so all gone are the flimsy frocks of summer and in come the sensible woollies and sturdy boots for the gold and brown months.
I've always loved Autumn and Winter, because being a serious woman and bit of a hermit I tend to feel more at one with the darker days and take, in a curious and strange way, little bits of comfort from bouts of bad weather.
Some may say grotty weather enables me to hide away in layer upon layer of wool and leather and they may well be right, I suppose it's my reclusive nature.
I always wear a big coat and small hat when it gets a bit chilly and there's nothing nicer or more feminine than a short lady well buttoned up and wearing a silly hat in a jaunty manner.
I have to admit though I can look a bit of a plank.

Food.
I love cooking casserole after casserole, often dropping in various root veg which have no right to be there, but in my mind will add to the umptuousness of the rich sticky beefy/ lamby/chickeny thing I'm making.
And as for puddings, oh Perleeezzzze!......My life is defined by them.
I am a Pudding Queen.
Autumn and winter wouldn't be autumn and winter without a thick girthed lot of chocolate, syrup, lemon or jammy puds all lining up waiting and aching to be covered by pints of dripping steaming tongue bursting custard.
I worship Puddings.
In fact I'd get on my knees to a Spotted Dick.

Imaging if you will, 5 foot me, blade in hand, digging around and down the sides of a hot basin, and then ever so gently easing a big plump brown baby pud onto an eager plate, it is, quite simply, the most perfect sensation. I feel quite aroused just thinking about it. Of course one doesn't have to cover it with custard, one could drop a mound of whipped cream on top and then gaze open-mouthed as the slippery thick white stuff rolls down the sides and into the creases and cracks of the beauty which is begging to be eaten.
Er...where was I? Oh yes something about Autumn and how much I love it....
I do, very much.

So here I sit in my red polo neck woolly and white jeans looking out into the garden at summer's remnants, patches of brown and green grass, the lilac flowers of the Rosemary bush have come and gone leaving masses of spiky green leaves waiting to be stuck into a nice leg of lamb.
And the yellow roses, oh yes the yellow roses, they made me feel lots of things, mostly love, but they've disappeared now, and that is how it should be. But I'm going to miss their scent as I drive in and out and I'll miss their shudder as my lawnmower brushes up against them making a petal or two fall.
Sorry rose.

But mostly I'm going to miss them as I look up from my computer screen day after day because as I look out into my little garden, they won't be there any more.
The garden is going to sleep, and I won't disturb it by pottering about, I'll let it rest.
Because today is the first day of Autumn.

Happy List

London come rain or shine
Chocolate
Buying secret gifts and hiding them in the cupboard in the sitting room
Having a very secret ten pound note in the tin by the fruit bowl
Having a five pound note in a blue pot next to my perfume
Toast and strawberry jam
Receiving good emails/parcels/kisses
Making humans feel better with my wisdom/humour/winks
Making Monty get on my shoulders
Naughtiness but only on Friday and that solely dependent on knees and Radio 4 output
Feeding pigeons in Do Not Feed Pigeons zone
Basques for dressing up only
Beer coated sausages when watching a horror film with mash
Having my photograph taken on a Monday
Christmas
Writing a good line of poetry
Chinese food in my pyjamas
Chicken curry in my socks
Feeling confident for longer than 24 hours
Hand feeding tuna to Monty on my knees
Having something to look forward to however simple
Making videos of me prancing about making a plank of myself
Steak, chips, tomato ketchup and bread and butter
Being saucy
Four Ports

Googles Gone Bonkers!

There's still something wrong at Google. But fear not I've sent them a message informing them of my unhappiness, er...along with millions of other distraught bloggers. And there's me thinking they were massive or something. Lets see if this post comes up with the correct date.

Jotting Heaven

Been jotting down a few Auto writings, just to keep the juice flowing, why is writing so damn hard yet at the same time sort of rewarding.

Just need to twiddle with you said the eagle to the lamb
and twiddle he did
his twisted talons
knitting up a real treat for the lamb
******************************************************************

(Inspired by Charles Dickens's character 'Joe Gargery' in Great Expectations, but I can't think why)

.........Belly up and aching
Mr Cockle rubbed his feet
and sillier uglier nowhere-to-go feet could never be found
But
Mr Cockle rubbed those feet like his very life was gambled upon it
and then he tipped over full of exhaustion, beer and holiness
Poor Mr Cockle the very spirit of life and all its glory positively vaulting over life's upsets like a man intent
but all he had was his feet to care for.
********************************************************************

Bloated Christopher came out and went back in again quick
his foray into healthy woods disappointing to say the least
he much preferred surfing
*****************************************************************************

Dip
Dip
Dip
Are you there yet asked the rich old man
as his contorted fingers flicked at the beauty under him
The destitute beauty took herself out of the arena
and lied
***************************************************************************

Silently, behind books and plants
the higher animal works up a bigger more ferocious appetite
as his prey flits like a paper fly around the cooler
making like she doesn't even notice
the cleverness of his jokes
his mouthwatering influence
or
the size of his desk
****************************************************************************

That's enough for now, I'm exhausted.

I Must Go On

Cocoa and dreams all gone. Today is Thursday despite what Blogger says down below!

My morning tea is a tad too milky but I've got a couple of ideas for a story so that makes up for the ghostly cuppa.
All I have to do now is work at it and what an awful thought that is.
By nature I'm a lazy slobbett, who if she can, will avoid all hard work especially work where I have to engage my brain. Of course writing a few words for a blog post is easy, however, to write a competent short story is much more difficult, if not impossible.
It's not too bad if you're getting something down for your own pleasure but if your aim is to please an editor or two, then it's hell.
In the past whenever I've started to write something for 'publication' I've dried up and that means I'm left parched, angry and miserable. So why I'm pushing myself like this I don't know, or do I?
Methinks I do.
I'm banging my head on the keyboard, feeling my own heart beat and licking my lips in excitement because I have to, I must, I can't help it.
Because to deny what little talent I have is to deny who I am and that is shameful, so I'll carry on.

It's time to relinquish the keyboard and pen and pick up a mug of hot chocolate.
I've been trying to create two characters for a very very short erotic story, a kind of lesson, excursion or dip if you like, into the dreadful art of short story writing.
And so as I wait for the kettle to come to a boil I'll be aiming to put myself in the protagonist's shoes.
It's an unsettling prospect because having a vibrant imagination means I'm not only in possession of a ravishing bed partner but I'm also lumbered with an awkward one.
Goodnight.

Port and Brown Please Barman!

Here are some random thoughts on a Wednesday, I should be going shopping but I can't go out on account of my knees/hair/and chipped nail polish/lingering dreams/unclean blouses and no car.

1. Gordon Brown is the most unpopular Prime Minister since Neville Chamberlain. But his hair is gorgeous.
2. Monty is getting heavier and heavier, he jumped on my lap last night turning my legs into lolly sticks
3. Gordon Brown has to voluntarily vacate Downing St, because if he doesn't tempers will flare.
4. My poems are going from good to sublime
5. Gordon Brown is losing weight and it doesn't suit him or his suits. He is better as fat Bear Man as opposed to skinny Squirrel Man
6. Orlando Beef or Latimer Beef?
7. Gordon Brown looked tired yesterday in Stormont and he looked a bit shrivelled up. I think he needs a rest. He was never cut out to be P.M.
8. I had four and a bit Ports last night. One of them had lemonade in it and it tasted lethal and it did the trick. I lived it up a bit.
9. Gordon Brown looks like a Whisky man to me.
10. I'm looking into writing erotica because I need to write something other than poetry, emails, shopping lists and blog posts. I haven't felt this inspired for years. So now comes the hard work of checking out stuff. Got a few publishers in mind. Got a couple of storylines in mind too.
11. Gordon Brown although a tired and misplaced politician is a very handsome man.
He gets my vote but not for leading the country...

Young Nick, Young Monty, Old Me

Some random thoughts because I can't possibly do a proper post on account of work commitments, Monty, and my late night last night with a tub of Hummus.

1.Nick Clegg (that's him up there) and his co-horts are busy in Bournemouth cooking up a fantasy, their hideous fantasy taking the form of one day running the country. (Hold on a mo while I get up off the floor).
The thought of a the Liberal Democrats ever wielding power in this magnificent country is, quite frankly, laughable. But the scariest thing of all is that Young Nick will one day be Old Nick...

2. At long last there is more than just murmurs on the backbenchers. Worried M.P's and one, now, ex-minister, have decided it's time to throw caution to the wind and have a public bash at Gordo. And about time too. I'm so excited at the thought watching the Labour Party Conference next week that I'm almost purple with frenzikins. I know it's nasty enjoying other people's misery but I can't help it. And anyway I'm horrible.

3. There's another fantastic offering from the BBC. A 90 part series on Radio 4 called "America: Empire of Liberty" introduced by the BBC's Washington correspondent Justin Webb, this is going to be a corker. Another big hug for Aunty.

4. While I'm on the subject of our American cousins, last night on BBC4, I watched 'The Candidate' with Robert Redford, what a fab film that was. Couldn't stay up to watch the next programme "How To Be A Good President" which was a documentary about what it takes to become President, so I recorded it and will watch it tonight whilst tenderly chomping on a burger.

5. My hands are playing up/Monty's playing up/My hips feel a bit queer.
6. But my lungs/ribs/calves are all tickety boo.

7. Monty chased a Daddy-Long-Legs around the kitchen last night whilst I was slicing some French bread, you won't be surprised to hear old fatso didn't catch him.
But I did...
No I didn't kill it, I put him in a cup and chucked him out the window.

Jonathan,Tony, Monty and Me

What would I do without Her Majesty's B.B.C?
I've been listening in awe to 'Balance of Power' by Deborah Davies on Radio 4 and there's no doubt about it, dramas like this are what makes the Beeb the best broadcasters in the world.
Well done Aunty!
My listening pleasure continues in a tic with Jonathan Dimbleby's 'Any Questions'. Tony Benn is one of the guests and he's one politician who is always worth listening to.
Might not agree with the old duffer but my God can he hold an audience?
When that finishes I'll feed the foxes the cat food which Monty refuses to eat!
Then it's into the kitchen for the marinating of little chicken breasts for tomorrow's curry.
Then it's into the bathroom for the chiselling off of make-up.
Then it's cocoa, cat and kip.

Having A Pink Moment

Because it's Friday and my hair is getting greyer and England won on Wednesday and I'm looking forward to Saturday, here are a couple, well a few, actually a very lot of girly things I'm very guilty of...(dreadful syntax)
I'm gonna have fun with this!

1. Going gooey if I see a hairy chest. (and I don't mean mine)
2. Prancing around in front of a mirror modelling a new handbag
3. Wanting to squeeze puppies tummies
4. Wanting to hold babies in funny hats
5. Erotic underwear. Mostly from La Senza.
6. Nipping the top off a marshmallow and sticking it on my nose. Nose? Yes that's right, NOSE!
7. Gorgeous funny sensitive hairy men with big qualifications, who can cook. Not many of those about:(
8. Lipstick. Always, well sometimes, Pink and always, well sometimes, Red:)
9. Spraying myself stupid with my current favourite perfume. 'Beautiful' by Estee Lauder
10. Love poetry/Quotes
11. Candlelight. I'm so romantic
12. Torchlight. I'm so desperate!
12. Men who look like gorillas:)
13. Men who just look:(
14. Dancing to Disco tunes when I've had two double Ports.
15. Blowing kisses at men drivers who give way to me at a junction
16. Crying when I'm in a rage/in a tizz/feeling useless
17. Johnson's 'Dreamy Skin' body cream. One spread and I'm dead!
18. Snuggling Monty. And saying utterly idiotic things like "Izzooo mummy's babbykins"
19. Letting my imagination take me wherever I want to go. Mostly to someone's heart.
20. Thick Chocolate/Thin blouses/Thick saucepans
21. Dogs in bandages.
22. Gruff voices/Sexy voices/Gentle voices
23. Wearing combat trousers up ladders to get cobwebs/spiders and then calling for help
24. Winking
and
25. Egg-Heads with mighty biceps!

Crikey, I never realized I was so girly, must be my age!

Words Are Not Enough..Poem

When words are not enough
I'll pull out my heart and throw it at your feet
there is no other way

When my heart gets killed
I'll tear out my tongue and wrap it tight around yours
there is no other way

When you are left speechless
I'll be quiet and wise and take you quickly to my bed


copyright Angela Norris

Theo For Prime Minister!

We won. 4-1
That's all I know.

But I also know that Theo Walcott, 19, is going to get lots of cuddles, not only from Fabio Capello but from his club manager Arsene Wenger too. But he'll also be metaphorically cuddled by me and the rest of England's army of fans.
As Theo pounded the back of the net with three stunners I sat propped up in bed with Monty clinging to my left knee.
'Get in my son' I screamed as time after time the youngster did the business, but it wasn't only Theo who did the business, Wayne Rooney did the bizzo too, but Wayne being Wayne couldn't resist larking about, continually getting in the ref's face by dancing about like a stupid twit.
He should have grown out of that by now, but I suppose goofing around is part and parcel of Rooney's make-up.

On the darker side of the game, Jo Cole got a whack on the head which sent him crashing to his knees, only to rise and then go down again. Hope he's alright. I haven't checked the news or anything.
Anyway the Croats got a pasting and apparently it's the first time in fourteen years they've lost at home.;)
So glad it was us English that upset them:)
Will write a bit more later...

England 4 Croatia 1

More tomorrow...

David and Jelly

First of all thanks to the Duchess for her heartfelt comment on last night's poem. Her sweet words were just what I needed first thing this morning. My night time poems send me off to sleep better than anything, and I hope they do the same for my readers.
Now back to reality.

England v Croatia
World Cup Qualifier
8pm
Maksimir Stadium, Zagreb

England are playing Croatia today just in case you skipped the first bit, and as usual I'm in a tizz. And I can't bear to think what will occur if we lose to the Croats. I know what I'll do, I'll still wear my cheap England shirt and drool over Beckham's legs, after all he may not be as nifty as he once was, but he still looks quite nice. And he wears nice scarves, just like me...
Forgive me for indulging in a girly moment, it'll soon blow over because I'm off to Sainsbury's and traipsing around Sainsbury's doesn't make me feel girly AT ALL!
I feel more like a violent old cleaner who has ants in her pants. I see a post coming up about what makes me feel 'girly'...

So on the agenda today:
Football because I love it
Trolley pushing because I have to
Willing England to victory and glory because I can't help it
Tea and crumpets because it's very English
Vacuuming Monty's head because he's a disgrace
Spaghetti Bolognaise but not piled up like a hill, that's just greedy
Blackcurrant Jelly because I like to smack it

Thank you.

A Living Rose

It's dark outside.
Not a menacing black darkness just a swampingly heavy dark grey.
And it's not at all sombre either, I mean I wouldn't be afraid to walk down to the end of the road and turn left and go to the pub.
And I will go to the pub but not tonight.
Maybe one night next week.
I'll see.

But tonight outside there is something other than night time, there is colour.

A single stout bright yellow rose over-hangs my path and as it hangs it wonders where Summer has gone?
And as it wonders it also ponders its fate. And its fate is to be turned into stone by the first cold blast of winter, its velvety petals made brittle by night after night of hard hard frost.

I feel something for that rose.
I feel pity.
Because there isn't any escape for it, like there is for some of us. It can't do a bunk or hide its head in the earth or run away to a warmer place, it has to bear tingling Autumnal afternoons and bitter Winter nights. It has to accept Mother Nature's decisions.

I wish I could help.
Help it in some special way, or help it in a simple way. I want to protect it somehow. But I can't, and to feel pity for a flower is such a silly thing to feel.
How can one feel pity for a flower?

I suppose I could sever it from the mother bush and then lay it in between blue tissue and then close a book on it.
It would then be preserved like an bug in amber.
At least that way it would remain forever young and beautiful.
If a bit dead.
I'll see.

It's much darker now and the dim light from my porch lamp is giving a blueish glow to the garden but I can still see the bright living yellow rose.
So my small garden is a kingdom.

Ssh! It's Sunny Don't Breathe A Word...

Dare I say it?
I dare.
It's sunny:)

And as I blink my brain awake I'm hopeful that it's going to be a corker of an Autumnal day. But 'twixt you me and the gate post Autumn doesn't officially start until the 22nd...but I won't say anything if you don't.
There's something safe and snugglesome about walking down the road to buy a nice cabbage wearing a woolly (that's me wearing the woolly, not the cabbage). And so as I tiptoe past the church I'll screw up my eyes because the sun is mighty too and that's fine , although it doth make more lines cometh.
Got a good feeling about today.

So I'll dress for Autumn, which means a white woolley, brown skirt and sensible shoes and off I'll go...
But then I'll come back and pull the blind down in the kitchen on account of the sunlight mixing it up with the batterie de cuisine which is hanging from my curtain track which makes psychedelic patterns on the wall thus sending Monty absolutely bonkers in the nut. Crazy.
So to avoid having the cat go beserk I'll do the right thing and cook in darkness!

Talking of which on the Horsehound menu today: Beef Cobbler, steamed cabbage and carrots and washed down (what a stinking phrase that is) with Lemonade:) For pud the very very very last puddle of Trifle:( I know I know, it's sad isn't it?

I see Andy Murray got beat up by Mr Federer, can't say I'm surprised. But credit where credits due, the Scot did well to get so far. But how on earth he ever got the better of Rafa in the semi-final beats me into a cocked hat. I expect Rafa had a tummy upset or something. Anyway, there's no doubt the boy (Andy) did well. So congrats to him. But no hug!

What else?
Dare I say it?
I dare.
It's still sunny....:)

Night Poem

.........................Sleep is coming
and as I feel my dreams approach
I welcome them

For their lunacy offers me sanctuary
and so happily like a madman
I take it.

Another Monday ! Another Soup!

God, it's 'still' out there.

My road is like a film set and I feel I am the only actor on it...
Nothing and I mean nothing is stirring, not even a carrier bag or sweet wrapper is floating by, there are no elderly people shuffling along or buggy pushing mums pulling toddlers in their wake. There are no people.
Even the unkempt bushes at number 98 are motionless. It's all a bit eerie. But eerie can be soothing I suppose. And I need soothing because I've just returned from an unproductive walk to my local charity shop. It was unproductive on account of it being closed, and will remain closed until the 15th, so no frocks and bric-a-brac for a while.

But let's not harp on about today let me harp on about the weekend.

The weekend was good.
It consisted of listening in amazement to the the dire football match on Saturday night, it was dire due to the fact that the England team struggled to blast plucky annoying Andorra into outer space.
And me? Well I'm still recovering but not altogether unsurprised. I think the England team need a kick up the arse.

Had a nice piece of Pork and a trifle on Sunday.
Had a trifle because I haven't had a trifle for a little while and I think trifles are funny, well my trifles are, because they wobble and anything that wobbles is funny. Trifles are a British invention and I think we have the Victorians to thank for this most silly of puds, anyway whoever invented it, I'm very glad they did.

And so after giggling my way through some over cooked Pork and two plates of trifle, I had another glass of Port and a lie down because I think a lie down is essential on a Sunday!
Pork, Port, Trifle or not!

Today's lunch was Leek and Potato soup followed by Corned Beef and pickle followed by the last sagging bits of Sunday's trifle. (I always make enough soup, casserole, trifle or cake to last two days, this domestic cunning stems from my austere up-bringing, and not because I'm a unskilled housewife!)


Now a fresh pot of tea! :)

We Hope....

England v Andorra
World Cup Qualifier
Barcelona
Radio 5 Live 19:00

We must win.
Not only to put us in a good position for next weeks match against Croatia but to give us hope that we can go further than the first few rounds, therefore not suffering the humiliation of being knocked out like we were in Euro 2008.

And another thing.... We can't allow ourselves the 'luxury' of just scraping through with a draw either, we need to show the Spaniards and the rest of the world that England is still a force to be reckoned with.
But more importantly we have to prove to ourselves that we're still Players on the world stage. Anything less won't do. If we don't or can't give our all by thrashing Andorra then what hope is there against Croatia on Wednesday.
I seem to remember they knocked us about a bit by out-playing us in Euro 2008.
England can't suffer another blow like that and I know I certainly can't.

Mr Capello will no doubt be sweating buckets in his designer suit but not half as much as I and millions of other fans will be in our over-priced England shirts.
We deserve better.

On a lighter note.
Yesterday in London, I bought a sparkly golden handbag and a sparkly green dish.
It's my age.
I then stayed up till ten eating cappuccino cheesecake.
I felt reckless.

So when I can drag myself away from this wretched computer I'll do something about the plant pots on my doorstep. They so need something doing to them. I've then got indoor things to attend to but the indoor things will be competing with football because my head and heart will be in Barcelona.
On the menu today: Homemade Burgers and Chips. Hold the salad.

Good luck my beloved England team, do something wonderful for us.

Night Dances

My window is ajar
the three a.m. wind splitting my curtains apart
their dance shuffling the stillness in the blue of my empty room
And so rising I orchestrate a dead-of-night rumba
and dancing with the owls
I screech

copyright Angela Norris

It's All About Boiling

I'll bet all my handbags that Gordon Brown's face is in his porridge this morning because, according to former Home Secretary Charles Clarke, "Labour is destined to disaster"
Thanks Chaz, I'm sure the beleaguered boiling-with-rage Prime Minister needs to hear that.
I'm going to stick my neck out and say that Gordon Brown will be booking a removal van in the next few months.
I can't write any more about Gordon because I'm getting in a lather, and I can't get in too much of a lather on account of me having a lot to do in the kitchen today. And sensitive delicate flowers like me, shouldn't have choppers and boiling saucepans in their hands when they're overwrought.
I need peace to cook.

So I'm going to take a deep breath now, put on gauntlets and try to get Monty out of the wardrobe, (can't have him in there in case he strokes my new woollies.....) then I'll enter the kitchen put on a plastic pinny and Radio 4 and make a huge bucket of carrot soup and a dozen spicy apple fingers.

Also chalked on the board is :
Make Strawberry cake for the old people
Write sensuous love poem
Do something about my beard.

I Don't Want Ronaldo

An Arab Sheik has bought Manchester City F.C. and apparently he wants to whisk Ronaldo away from Manchester United for about 130 million pounds.
Can't see Alex Ferguson allowing his star player to leave, after all it's Ronaldo who makes Man Utd what it is.
I get in such a flap when I hear about rich men buying glory and happiness usually in the form of buying people, castles, gems and yachts and it leaves me scratching my head wondering why they can't be satisfied with humdrum happiness...

Take me for instance.
I'm getting on a bit and admittedly when happiness does come along it tends to comes in spits and spurts and dribs and drabs and that's ok and I'm very grateful for it, but to me real happiness has nothing to do with bending the ears of Estate Agents, floating around posh boat shows or traipsing round Hatton Garden, no, I get my satisfaction in Poundland.
But it's not only cheap shops which make Glo glow.
It's a lot of other things too.

Things like:
Stockings/socks/tartan tights
Day trip to London/Southend/Paris
Receiving compliments/advice/cuddles
Good chocolate/Werther's toffees/Nobby's nuts
The X Factor/Radio4/The Weakest Link
Pies/Puddings/Pies
Good films/books/diaries
Birds/foxes/chimpanzees
Telly/Radio/Computer
Soul/Chopin/Eurovision Song Contest
Ceramic birds/little ladies/big bowls
Flouncy skirts/woollies/white blouses
Boots/stilettos/slippers
Pearls/silver/plastic beads
Snow/rain/sunshine

People:
Boo
Mum and dad
The Duchess
John Humphrys
Morgan Freeman
Boris Johnson
Digger
Monty, but only when he's not swinging from a lampshade

I could go on and it's made me wonder how I could ever feel sad...

Out There (Audio)

Bit of a cock-up on the audio front, but here it is in most of it's glory!

Rampant Rain and Super Soup

Most important thing of the day HAPPY BIRTHDAY 'BOO'!

It's raining as I type this and I'm thinking 'no soaking up of sunny rays for me today'.
Will be soaking up gas fumes in the kitchen instead!

On Gloria's agenda today:
*Make Minestrone soup (ideal weather for it)
*Write shopping list (I like lists...)
*Read other people's poetry (for a change)
*Watch the Republican's Convention on B.B.C. Parliament (Can't get through day without my politician fix)
*Make Chocolate cake
*Try to upload some audio. I recorded the poem I mentioned last night but something is stopping me upload it, so in between all my other activities I'll be trying to get the poem up and running.

And as it's still raining methinks a cup of very sweet tea is essential, after all tea and rain go so well together.

Stupid Woman!

Monty is in the bath but it's me who's in a lather.
I've had an exceptionally tiring day, what with banging my head against a brick wall and squeezing blood out of the proverbial stone, I've just about had enough!
But as Scarlett O'Hara said 'Tomorrow is another day'.
So bugger it. She didn't say bugger it, I did.
I've written a half decent poem and will be post it tomorrow; can't do it now on account of not knowing where I've put it.
And so on that idiotic note I head for bed.

Super September

September already.
Thank God for that.

Summer was a bit of a wash out on account of there not being much of it about, that's summer I'm talking about. But anyway Autumn is ambling up the road and over the hill tops and will soon be upon us blessing and charming us with her browness.

I like Autumn on account of me being able to drag my woollies and long wild skirts out of the wardrobe and then amble down to Southend and up to London looking boho and a bit barking. Of course I shall need a new hat, because last years hats is so er..last year. Thinking of buying a beret...

And with the new hat comes new gloves and my new gloves must be leather this year, because leather is hot and sexy and because I'm so hot and sexy leather gloves are a Yes Yes. Fluffy pink polyester cuties from Primark are a definite No No.

Now what else is there about Autumn that I like?
Well it marks the end of a summer I'd rather forget for one reason or another, and hopefully heralds the beginning of an Autumn I'll want to remember.

What is it about the beginning and end of seasons which make stupid people like me drone on and on in a sickly girly way? Oh I don't know.

What I do know however is that Winter is lurking behind Autumn's door and Winter means only one thing. More Woollies. Oh and a scarf and choccie puds and fruit cakes and thermal tights and industrial strength vests and presents and football and kissing under the mistletoe and on the table and and and..............
Now I must dash because I have to sort out September birthday type things for dad and chums.