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....