Well here I am writing my final post of 2009.
It's been a funny year, one filled with happiness, aches and several little surprises, of course I've had my share of the rotten stuff but all in all I wouldn't change a thing.
So as I prepare for sleep I want to wish all my readers a good new year. You've all given me a great deal of satisfaction because there's no better feeling than knowing I'm being read!
Happy New Year Sweetie, B, Jerry, Dig, Nof, Mrs Nof and other family members around the country.
And a firm British handshake for my B.F.F across the pond, the divine and determined, D.
Thursday, 31 December 2009
I Took A Man. Nearly Into A Ditch.
This is my favourite drinking parlour, The Punchbowl, not being a frequent patron I tend to make the most of the occasional visit. It has an olde worlde atmosphere complete with open fire, china plates, open beams and horse brasses. It is my kind of dive. Sometimes piped music is played but seeing as it's old stuff I really don't mind. I have always enjoyed the food, not once having cause for complaint. The portions are man-sized but I manage. Outside you are surrounded by the iced stillness of vast acres of green Essex land, it is quite simply, beautiful.
Here I am in jiggling in pink and black baubles about to take Mr H. on his surprise pub lunch. He had no idea of what was to come, but he wasn't disappointed in any way. Being a lady, I bunged some flat shoes in me handbag on account of not being able to drive in heels. We set off a little early because I feared we'd not get a table. I needn't have worried because the only people there were two old girls rattling on about conservatories. I think they'd had a few.
Dressed suitably for lunch at my most favourite pub on earth. The Punchbowl at Church End, Pagelsham. We eventually arrived after me taking a wrong turning and ending up on someone's drive. The aforementioned drive led to a very large farmhouse which had cctv so I may end up on Crimewatch! You'll be pleased to hear that I managed to escape via a very knobbly road. Then we found ourselves by some horses, and after witnessing a very pale faced Mr H I realised we were hanging over a ditch. But fear not, my driving lessons were money well spent and I extricated myself and motor with consummate ease. We drove on...
And after the liver, bacon, bubble and squeak, broccoli and carrots came chocolate fudge cake and cream... Being a cake maker of considerable skill I had to take my hat orf to the chap or chapess who made this. It was a stunner. We had it warm and very nice it was too! Coffee was served with a Bendicks mint and a smile. I liked the waiter very much, so much so that I left a tip worth having.No alcohol was consumed in the making of this blog post. Neither was any booze drunk whilst in the pub, I am a considerate, if crazy lady driver.
Thank you very much for all your support.
Wednesday, 30 December 2009
After a worrying phone call about 6:30 from a very sober Walter, John and I decided to take some soup to Henry, we found this mountain of man hanging over a full to the brim sink, his blue eyes barely open. I navigated him over to his chair and knowing he couldn't engage, made some tea and tidied up the mess in the kitchen. Walter just sat shaking his head.
As I busied myself with plates and dishcloths John kept an eye on the swaying Henry, meanwhile a very fed up Walter cursed as he hoovered up the cats mess.
Where was my ebullient charming man, the joker whose banter makes up for the slave wages and where was the nice man? He was drowning in vodka.
I showed him the soup saying "You might want to have it tomorrow".
But he didn't recognize either me or the offering. So I made yet more tea and re-filled the cat's bowls.
Walter, who looked extremely tired, gazed at the soundless telly saying that Henry had been like this all week and that he'd had a miserable time on Boxing Day. And as me, John and Walt picked up the mess, Henry went further and further away.
Then Walt noticed that his cigarettes were missing so John offered to take Walt to the shop. They left me with Henry.
I sprinted around the kitchen, which looked as if I hadn't been there for a month yet alone a week, and got it looking reasonably clean and tidy.
"Going to bed" Henry said stumbling off the stool and crashing into the glass door.
I grabbed his arm and delivered him to the bottom of the stairs where he tentatively took his first step. Then another and then another...
I watched as he went into his room, heard him fall onto his bed and then nothing. So up I went. If this is what enjoying a drink does then you can keep it. The 18 stone businessman sat on the edge of his bed his head low, his chin digging into his chest.
He mumbled indecipherable nonsense about visions and his uncle. I didn't know what to do, so I just watched him. Fearing he might fall off the bed and knock himself on the table I removed the stuff from his bedside table and loaded it with a pillow. Then I went downstairs.
After talking to the cats I took up a cup of tea, he swallowed it quickly saying he loved me. I came downstairs to John and Walt and a coke.
We sat in the warm dark front room listening to Henry wailing and all we could do was wonder. Wonder what his tomorrows would bring.
Walter thanked us for coming around and then we left.
I don't feel angry about being let down again, in fact I don't feel anything really.
It's Henry who feels it all.
As I busied myself with plates and dishcloths John kept an eye on the swaying Henry, meanwhile a very fed up Walter cursed as he hoovered up the cats mess.
Where was my ebullient charming man, the joker whose banter makes up for the slave wages and where was the nice man? He was drowning in vodka.
I showed him the soup saying "You might want to have it tomorrow".
But he didn't recognize either me or the offering. So I made yet more tea and re-filled the cat's bowls.
Walter, who looked extremely tired, gazed at the soundless telly saying that Henry had been like this all week and that he'd had a miserable time on Boxing Day. And as me, John and Walt picked up the mess, Henry went further and further away.
Then Walt noticed that his cigarettes were missing so John offered to take Walt to the shop. They left me with Henry.
I sprinted around the kitchen, which looked as if I hadn't been there for a month yet alone a week, and got it looking reasonably clean and tidy.
"Going to bed" Henry said stumbling off the stool and crashing into the glass door.
I grabbed his arm and delivered him to the bottom of the stairs where he tentatively took his first step. Then another and then another...
I watched as he went into his room, heard him fall onto his bed and then nothing. So up I went. If this is what enjoying a drink does then you can keep it. The 18 stone businessman sat on the edge of his bed his head low, his chin digging into his chest.
He mumbled indecipherable nonsense about visions and his uncle. I didn't know what to do, so I just watched him. Fearing he might fall off the bed and knock himself on the table I removed the stuff from his bedside table and loaded it with a pillow. Then I went downstairs.
After talking to the cats I took up a cup of tea, he swallowed it quickly saying he loved me. I came downstairs to John and Walt and a coke.
We sat in the warm dark front room listening to Henry wailing and all we could do was wonder. Wonder what his tomorrows would bring.
Walter thanked us for coming around and then we left.
I don't feel angry about being let down again, in fact I don't feel anything really.
It's Henry who feels it all.
...Got the boys coming over tonight so a huge pan of Minestrone is simmering on the stove. To scoop the soup I've made a big Cheese Scone measuring about 10 inches in diameter. It's packed with really strong cheddar cheese and lavishly sprinkled with poppy seeds.
I love making giant scones because I can let rip with the decorations.
Pud proved a prob.
I didn't feel in the mood for a wishy washy fruity affair so have plumped for two steamed puddings...Yes two. Being hormonal I couldn't decide which type of pud to make so I've made a Golden Syrup one and a Blackberry Jam one.
Jugs of custard will accompany my domes of delight.
Henry just called rattling on about what a dump the castle has turned into since his cleaner went on strike. God knows what I'll see when I return on Monday, a pit I expect. All I'm really interested in is seeing Blackie and Ging. Bless their furry hearts.
Got a secret thing happening tomorrow, can't breathe a word of course in case Mr H. gets wind of it. Talking of wind and rain...
Just hope it isn't chucking it down tomorrow...
Just peeped in the mirror and I look awful. Eyes are a little shadowy underneath. Will need to wave the concealer wand around.
I look ill on account of Mr H's noisy cough, I was awakened at some horrible hour and laid there listening to him barking so I slid out and tutted and moaned all the way to the settee. The rotten street lamps burned and Monty thumped my tum. I don't do sleeplessness at all well. Bear with a sore everything, that's what I am...
Well that's enough of this nonsense, I had better go sling my hook, got things to stir and eyes to lighten:)
Thanks to My Fellow Blogger Digger For The List Idea.
1.
Was 2009 a good year for you?
Yes. Met new, exciting, vigorous, handsome people and then met Henry.
2.
What did you do in 2009 that you'd never done before?
Absolutely not telling but it was divine. Such behaviour warranted being arrested.
3.
What was your favourite moment of the year?
Being in the company of sweet people.
4.
What was your least favourite moment of the year?
Seeing mum unable to stand, seeing dad unable to breathe. Worrying all night over two cats which aren't even mine.
5.
Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
No of course I didn't and yes of course I will...
6.
What are your plans for 2010?
Aahhh now there's a question. I'd like to write more poetry. Relax more. Keep my mouth closed sometimes. Go disco dancing.
7.
Did anyone close to you give birth?
A family member gave birth so I am now a Great Aunt.
8.
Did anyone close to you die?
Yes, Vera my mother-in-law. I wasn't as close to her as I should have been but she left her mark.
9.
How many weddings did you go to?
None. In fact I've never been to wedding. Reception yes, ceremony, no.
10.
What countries did you visit?
None. Dream of seeing Rome.
11.
What date in 2009 will remain etched in your memory?
Today, because at precisely 9:25 a.m. I danced in The Factory Shop to Michael Jackson's 'Earth Song'. I let go and it felt fantastic. I only went in for a pedal bin.
12.
What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Sticking at this two bit job. Drives me nuts, the pay is hideous but it's taught me lots. Mostly about how huge my sense of humour is.
13.
What was your biggest failure?
Coming out of my shell only to have my head bashed in.. Not devoting enough time to writing. Eating too many Chinese Take Ways.
14.
Did you suffer any illness or injury?
No not really. Get cheesed off with all my inflammations but all in all I've had a good year physically.
15.
What was the best thing you bought?
Oh that's easy. My shaggy brown coat. I feel fabulous and wild in it.
16.
Whose behaviour merited celebration?
A couple of friends. Generous thoughtful acts beyond the call of duty.
17.
Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
Henry's. Too many instances to list. But he's charismatic and funny. Mine. On a good day I'm a lovely woman to be with but on a bad day I'm an almighty pain in the neck.
18.
Where did most of your money go?
Charity shops. And hidden away in a box for a stormy day.
19.
What did you get really, really, really excited about?
The X Factor Final.
When a man shouted at me.
Jasper Conran Black Seamed Stockings.
Oriental Lillies.
Looking forward to being with hairy fun people, makes my day
20.
What songs will always remind you of 2009?
Bad Boys by Alexandra Burke. I Just Haven't Met You Yet, Michael Buble.
21.
Compared to this time last year are you:
a) Fatter or thinner? About the same.
b) Happier or sadder? Difficult one this. In some things I'm much much happier, but in others I feel impotent, so sadder.
c) Richer or poorer? Richer.
22.
What do you wish you'd done more of?
Writing. Dancing. Telling people to shove off. Being outrageous. Keeping my thoughts to myself!
23.
What do you wish you'd done less of?
Wasting time trying to figure people out. Trying to please people. Thinking. Worrying.
24.
How will you be spending Christmas 2009?
Done up to the nines being the perfect hostess. Watching the telly. Talking to mum about vests. Thinking about far away friends.
26.
Did you fall in love in 2009?
No. But I fell in a big amount of adoration.
27.
What was your favourite month of 2009?
All the summer months. A bit sunburnt across the shoulders but it kind of suited me. Heat does wonders for me.
28.
How did you see in the New Year?
I was asleep. I don't do late nights even at the turn of the year. Boring or what?
29.
What was your favourite TV show?
Well I don't watch a lot of telly but I didn't miss any of The X Factor, Masterchef or Mastermind.
30.
Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
No.
31.
What was/were the best books you read?
Ummmm...A mishmash of recipe books bought from charity shops.
32.
What was your greatest musical discovery?
Michael Buble. Cool or what?
33.
What was your favourite film this year?
I saw 2012. Does that count? It was awful but great fun. Don't go to the pics much.
34.
What did you do on your birthday and how old were you?
I didn't do anything special on my birthday because I was 53.
35.
What one thing would have made your year more satisfying?
Being stalked by a gorgeous man.
36.
How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?
A glorious mix of retro, chic and out and out filth.
37.
What kept you sane?
A lot. My parents. Blogging. Chinese Take Aways. Surprise Gifts. Afternoons with chums and coconut cake.
38.
Which celebrity did you fancy the most?
Larry Lamb. Tall, dark and very old.
39.
Which political issue stirred you the most?
Gordon Brown talking about bringing in a new National Care Service.
40
Did you treat somebody badly in 2009?
I don't think so. If I did it was unintentional. I can be very childlike sometimes.
41
Did somebody treat you badly in 2009?
Yes but it's healing nicely.
42.
Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned this year?
Don't wait for others to join in, go ahead and dance on your own.
43.
What would you like to have in 2010 that you didn't have in 2009?
A modicum of success in my writing. Recognition. Someone to pursue me because I'm so nice to be with.
44.
Quote a song lyric that sums up your year...
"I just haven't met you yet". Michael Buble song.
Was 2009 a good year for you?
Yes. Met new, exciting, vigorous, handsome people and then met Henry.
2.
What did you do in 2009 that you'd never done before?
Absolutely not telling but it was divine. Such behaviour warranted being arrested.
3.
What was your favourite moment of the year?
Being in the company of sweet people.
4.
What was your least favourite moment of the year?
Seeing mum unable to stand, seeing dad unable to breathe. Worrying all night over two cats which aren't even mine.
5.
Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
No of course I didn't and yes of course I will...
6.
What are your plans for 2010?
Aahhh now there's a question. I'd like to write more poetry. Relax more. Keep my mouth closed sometimes. Go disco dancing.
7.
Did anyone close to you give birth?
A family member gave birth so I am now a Great Aunt.
8.
Did anyone close to you die?
Yes, Vera my mother-in-law. I wasn't as close to her as I should have been but she left her mark.
9.
How many weddings did you go to?
None. In fact I've never been to wedding. Reception yes, ceremony, no.
10.
What countries did you visit?
None. Dream of seeing Rome.
11.
What date in 2009 will remain etched in your memory?
Today, because at precisely 9:25 a.m. I danced in The Factory Shop to Michael Jackson's 'Earth Song'. I let go and it felt fantastic. I only went in for a pedal bin.
12.
What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Sticking at this two bit job. Drives me nuts, the pay is hideous but it's taught me lots. Mostly about how huge my sense of humour is.
13.
What was your biggest failure?
Coming out of my shell only to have my head bashed in.. Not devoting enough time to writing. Eating too many Chinese Take Ways.
14.
Did you suffer any illness or injury?
No not really. Get cheesed off with all my inflammations but all in all I've had a good year physically.
15.
What was the best thing you bought?
Oh that's easy. My shaggy brown coat. I feel fabulous and wild in it.
16.
Whose behaviour merited celebration?
A couple of friends. Generous thoughtful acts beyond the call of duty.
17.
Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
Henry's. Too many instances to list. But he's charismatic and funny. Mine. On a good day I'm a lovely woman to be with but on a bad day I'm an almighty pain in the neck.
18.
Where did most of your money go?
Charity shops. And hidden away in a box for a stormy day.
19.
What did you get really, really, really excited about?
The X Factor Final.
When a man shouted at me.
Jasper Conran Black Seamed Stockings.
Oriental Lillies.
Looking forward to being with hairy fun people, makes my day
20.
What songs will always remind you of 2009?
Bad Boys by Alexandra Burke. I Just Haven't Met You Yet, Michael Buble.
21.
Compared to this time last year are you:
a) Fatter or thinner? About the same.
b) Happier or sadder? Difficult one this. In some things I'm much much happier, but in others I feel impotent, so sadder.
c) Richer or poorer? Richer.
22.
What do you wish you'd done more of?
Writing. Dancing. Telling people to shove off. Being outrageous. Keeping my thoughts to myself!
23.
What do you wish you'd done less of?
Wasting time trying to figure people out. Trying to please people. Thinking. Worrying.
24.
How will you be spending Christmas 2009?
Done up to the nines being the perfect hostess. Watching the telly. Talking to mum about vests. Thinking about far away friends.
26.
Did you fall in love in 2009?
No. But I fell in a big amount of adoration.
27.
What was your favourite month of 2009?
All the summer months. A bit sunburnt across the shoulders but it kind of suited me. Heat does wonders for me.
28.
How did you see in the New Year?
I was asleep. I don't do late nights even at the turn of the year. Boring or what?
29.
What was your favourite TV show?
Well I don't watch a lot of telly but I didn't miss any of The X Factor, Masterchef or Mastermind.
30.
Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
No.
31.
What was/were the best books you read?
Ummmm...A mishmash of recipe books bought from charity shops.
32.
What was your greatest musical discovery?
Michael Buble. Cool or what?
33.
What was your favourite film this year?
I saw 2012. Does that count? It was awful but great fun. Don't go to the pics much.
34.
What did you do on your birthday and how old were you?
I didn't do anything special on my birthday because I was 53.
35.
What one thing would have made your year more satisfying?
Being stalked by a gorgeous man.
36.
How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2009?
A glorious mix of retro, chic and out and out filth.
37.
What kept you sane?
A lot. My parents. Blogging. Chinese Take Aways. Surprise Gifts. Afternoons with chums and coconut cake.
38.
Which celebrity did you fancy the most?
Larry Lamb. Tall, dark and very old.
39.
Which political issue stirred you the most?
Gordon Brown talking about bringing in a new National Care Service.
40
Did you treat somebody badly in 2009?
I don't think so. If I did it was unintentional. I can be very childlike sometimes.
41
Did somebody treat you badly in 2009?
Yes but it's healing nicely.
42.
Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned this year?
Don't wait for others to join in, go ahead and dance on your own.
43.
What would you like to have in 2010 that you didn't have in 2009?
A modicum of success in my writing. Recognition. Someone to pursue me because I'm so nice to be with.
44.
Quote a song lyric that sums up your year...
"I just haven't met you yet". Michael Buble song.
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Pie, Cake and Cat
These photos were all taken yesterday.Monty showed little interest in the tea bread but was all over us like a hungry cat when the chicken pie was presented.
Typical male.
P.S. If you click on the pie pic it will open up in another window and you might, if you study it closely, be able to discern the word PIE. And also a badly constructed chicken decoration.
I am not a sculptor.
Ok?
Monday, 28 December 2009
Boxing Day Glo
The chicken pie was made quickly, likewise a full and fruity tea bread, but then...oh dear...my mood dropped sharply, but having learnt from vast past experiences I donned a frock and posed...
And now all is very definitely well.
Mr H. was on hand with his new camera, my Christmas present to him. It is, I'm pleased to report, a smashing success. It has features:)
Anyway when all the dreadful posing was done Mr H. made me sepia because I looked a bit 'flapperish' in the top photograph.
I do so love hamming it up...
So what now?
Music and tea.
And later?
A large ginger wine and that blasted chicken pie.
Late night, late morning.
Love that!
And as my bright eyes take in a brilliantly bright morning my wide awake mind shoots away, scurries off, into the ever so slightly dishevelled kitchen.
What will I cook today?
Mmmm....I think I'll rustle up a quick and tasty chicken pie. Won't take a mo to make, won't take a mo to bake!
Yes, chicken pie it is.
But before I perform wonders by the stove I need to cleanse myself so I'll overdose on Dove products.
I'll put the pie together wearing loose clothing then...
As the pie cooks I'll make a start on a shopping list, won't be a huge one of course, but I do need a few bits and bobs, bits like chips and bobs like toms.
Should be done in ten mins.
Entertainment at night comes in many forms so I'll possibly watch a movie or listen to some soul, but, as it does on so many nights, poetry might poke at my brain so I won't be surprised if I find myself flicking through an anthology.
Then after all that I'll lay down on the settee with a brandy infused coffee and a lavender and wheat heat pack smouldering on my throat.
Love that!
Love that!
And as my bright eyes take in a brilliantly bright morning my wide awake mind shoots away, scurries off, into the ever so slightly dishevelled kitchen.
What will I cook today?
Mmmm....I think I'll rustle up a quick and tasty chicken pie. Won't take a mo to make, won't take a mo to bake!
Yes, chicken pie it is.
But before I perform wonders by the stove I need to cleanse myself so I'll overdose on Dove products.
I'll put the pie together wearing loose clothing then...
As the pie cooks I'll make a start on a shopping list, won't be a huge one of course, but I do need a few bits and bobs, bits like chips and bobs like toms.
Should be done in ten mins.
Entertainment at night comes in many forms so I'll possibly watch a movie or listen to some soul, but, as it does on so many nights, poetry might poke at my brain so I won't be surprised if I find myself flicking through an anthology.
Then after all that I'll lay down on the settee with a brandy infused coffee and a lavender and wheat heat pack smouldering on my throat.
Love that!
Saturday, 26 December 2009
Christmas Day in the Glo House
Silence.
No t.v. or radio.
Not even a frosted bird sang.
Clad in silver and black I glided from the industrial kitchen to a fairyland front room adding delicate unnecessary touches to the already sweet room.
Then, a little later than planned, Henry and Walter arrived. They were plainly dressed, Henry in sky blue shirt and black trousers Walt in kingfisher blue jumper and black trousers. Tweedledee Tweedledum.
Laying down a big golden bag Henry hugged me whilst Walt grinned, his wide blue eyes widening even more at the fairy lights and chocolates.
And as the bag toppled over we all seemed to talk at once. No-one taking any real notice of what the others were saying. But then the first pot of tea arrived and bums started sinking into chairs, then the tearing began... Ripped paper was dropped willy nilly and poor young Walter was left almost speechless by my little gifts. Henry, thank God, definitely lost the power of speech, as his fingers thumbed his new book of quotes (forward by Stephen Fry) Silence again.
Meanwhile I knew my place. The kitchen.
Big hot plates were soon filled with perfectly roasted meat and tender vegetables, and then, like a fussy hen mum, I placed the plates on the decorated table.
"Angela, this looks sooo gorgeous". said Walt, his warm Zimbabwean tones adding extra succulence to the offerings
From that moment on I mothered him to death.
The joyous gathering was a disparate mix of a sharp-as-knives businessman, a skilled media technician, an artist and the bin man. The lunch banter went well. And with each and every mouthful young Walt groaned, his eyes almost dropping a tear. Henry just ate. He did though compliment me on the cabbage.
"Tender darling" he said. John said very little, he just kept Walt's wine glass topped up. Happily Henry didn't sup much.
And then, as the fairy lights flattered an old bird like me, I tiptoed to the cold empty kitchen to get the Buche Noel..
If it's possible for food to produce feelings tantamount to an orgasm, then my little Buche did it.
As my warm wet knife slid into the cream Walt's head dropped onto the table
"Oh my Angela this is toooo much"
"Oh darling you've surpassed yourself" said Henry.
John just smiled.
And I cut.
They ate in peace.
The cook shone.
By 4 we were playing games. Games like the A to Z of food stuffs, the A to Z of birds and the A to Z of cars...
By the time we got to the G in cars I was thinking of a different game. I knew Henry and John don't do dancing so it was left to me to convince a shy little Walt to get in the groove.
"Ah Ang I can't dance" said the stiff Zim.
"Nonsense" I said stuffily "Get up boy" I think it was the flick of my fingers that convinced the lad to do as the cook wanted.
So as we shuffled to the Jacksons the dark got darker and I got looser. As soon as Gnarls Barclay got into Crazy I forgot I was a homemaker and became a dancer. I'd come home. And by jolly jingo did it feel good.
By the umpteenth record my lipstick had melted and I had more than a ladylike shine on my cheek, I was, in other words, having a ball!
My guests were relaxed, well fed, laughing and very happy and so was I.
As with all good parties we ended up slouching in the kitchen, sandwiches and puffs were offered but it was tea everyone wanted and I'm not surprised because man was it hot in the house. As we slouched we told stories about life and jokes about 'parts' and then it all became a bit sinister because Henry brought up 'ouija boards the other side'.
"Don't even go there Hen" I said
He sweated profuseley, Walt laughed nervously, John stood erect in his own house and brought us all down to earth with information about 'atmospheres' and the 'bottom of the sea'.
But then my jolly side jumped up and my innuendo got out of control, Henry and I bantered like there was no tomorrow.
God we were sharp.
And then I noticed how dark it was outside so I snuffed out my candles and told Hen and Walt they had to go. And so after many hugs and thank yous they disappeared into the dead of night.
I stood in the middle of a tableless noiseless kitchen feeling content.
Thursday, 24 December 2009
A Perfect Eve
I surprised myself today.
Excelled even.
So I go to bed happy at having accomplished everything I set out to do.
Tomorrow will see another ludicrously early start but that's alright because I feel lovely.
The tree is simple, the table is laid and my dress is loose upon its hanger.
Gloria is glowing...
X
Excelled even.
So I go to bed happy at having accomplished everything I set out to do.
Tomorrow will see another ludicrously early start but that's alright because I feel lovely.
The tree is simple, the table is laid and my dress is loose upon its hanger.
Gloria is glowing...
X
I'm frisky.
So I'm up with the oven already alight and a cuppa in my left hand.
The plan is for me to have the majority of cooking type things finished by midday, then a snack probably crackers, then attack the front room to prettyfy it for tomorrow. And that's the job I love to do.
I've shifted the big dining table from the kitchen to the front room and will spin round and around it doing things with lacy doilies, flowers and candles. That's the best bit.
Numerous tea breaks will occur.
So now I as sit in my jimjams sipping... oh my God the teas gone cold, I'm thinking about the preps.
Making a Buche Noel. Stress level 9.
Salmon Puffs. 7.
Dressing the table. 1
Deciding what to wear. 1000
Remembering to take pork out of freezer. 10000
Now I really must dash but before I do I want to wish all my chums the best Christmas ever.
Enjoy!
So I'm up with the oven already alight and a cuppa in my left hand.
The plan is for me to have the majority of cooking type things finished by midday, then a snack probably crackers, then attack the front room to prettyfy it for tomorrow. And that's the job I love to do.
I've shifted the big dining table from the kitchen to the front room and will spin round and around it doing things with lacy doilies, flowers and candles. That's the best bit.
Numerous tea breaks will occur.
So now I as sit in my jimjams sipping... oh my God the teas gone cold, I'm thinking about the preps.
Making a Buche Noel. Stress level 9.
Salmon Puffs. 7.
Dressing the table. 1
Deciding what to wear. 1000
Remembering to take pork out of freezer. 10000
Now I really must dash but before I do I want to wish all my chums the best Christmas ever.
Enjoy!
Wednesday, 23 December 2009
What can I say about cabbage that hasn't already been said?
I like it.
Red, white or green, give me a juicy buttery mound of it and I'm happy.
On Christmas day I'll be serving one of my favourite cabbage dishes; Braised red Cabbage with Apples and Spices.
It doesn't only have to be served on big occasions like Christmas because it goes down well on a dismal Tuesdays with a plate of good bangers and mash.
A Green cabbage like a nice Savoy is super shredded and mixed with bacon and onions. Also makes a smashing Colcannon of which I'm very fond.
White cabbage is essential for coleslaw and popping into anything remotely Chinese.
I despair when I hear youngsters moaning about their greens.
Greens are good.
My grandmother made me drink the water in which she boiled her greens. At the tender age of nine this ghastly lukewarm liquid was almost force fed into me but she said it would be good for my complexion...:)
Sprouts are another excellent green vegetable, but a much maligned little vegetable, they look silly but taste wonderful but only after a hard frost.
I had an easy day at Henry's.
Played mummy to the cats, drank too much tea, chatted nonsense to Henry and Walt and came home early via the fish and chip shop...
I treated myself to a pie.
The queue in Somerfields was hideous. They had to get the manager out on account of all the moaning minnies.
Seems like I chose the wrong day to buy a small chicken I said to the cashier.
Grunt.
Next door in the Off Licence was the most sour faced, miserable looking old witch, I think I've ever seen manning a till. God she was hard. I'd like the smallest bottle of Brandy you have please I said.
Banging it down on the counter she looked at me with such venom that inside I crossed myself a dozen times over.
How much is it I asked
£1.99 she spat
Oh right and dashed down some change in front of her.
It was, as if you didn't know, a miniature. Bought it for the Buche Noel. Hope the boys like it because in buying it I came face to face with the devil...:(
Ran home in the rain (didn't have the car) ate my pie and fell exhausted onto the settee looking up at the sweetest flowers. Oriental Lillies take me to a heavenly place.
I like it.
Red, white or green, give me a juicy buttery mound of it and I'm happy.
On Christmas day I'll be serving one of my favourite cabbage dishes; Braised red Cabbage with Apples and Spices.
It doesn't only have to be served on big occasions like Christmas because it goes down well on a dismal Tuesdays with a plate of good bangers and mash.
A Green cabbage like a nice Savoy is super shredded and mixed with bacon and onions. Also makes a smashing Colcannon of which I'm very fond.
White cabbage is essential for coleslaw and popping into anything remotely Chinese.
I despair when I hear youngsters moaning about their greens.
Greens are good.
My grandmother made me drink the water in which she boiled her greens. At the tender age of nine this ghastly lukewarm liquid was almost force fed into me but she said it would be good for my complexion...:)
Sprouts are another excellent green vegetable, but a much maligned little vegetable, they look silly but taste wonderful but only after a hard frost.
I had an easy day at Henry's.
Played mummy to the cats, drank too much tea, chatted nonsense to Henry and Walt and came home early via the fish and chip shop...
I treated myself to a pie.
The queue in Somerfields was hideous. They had to get the manager out on account of all the moaning minnies.
Seems like I chose the wrong day to buy a small chicken I said to the cashier.
Grunt.
Next door in the Off Licence was the most sour faced, miserable looking old witch, I think I've ever seen manning a till. God she was hard. I'd like the smallest bottle of Brandy you have please I said.
Banging it down on the counter she looked at me with such venom that inside I crossed myself a dozen times over.
How much is it I asked
£1.99 she spat
Oh right and dashed down some change in front of her.
It was, as if you didn't know, a miniature. Bought it for the Buche Noel. Hope the boys like it because in buying it I came face to face with the devil...:(
Ran home in the rain (didn't have the car) ate my pie and fell exhausted onto the settee looking up at the sweetest flowers. Oriental Lillies take me to a heavenly place.
Tuesday, 22 December 2009
There's a Bolog braising so I have a few mins to blog.
Hasn't it been cold?
My fingers resemble blown-up Twiglets. You know what I mean, all knobbly and going in and out. Only difference is my twiglets are royal red and not common brown.
Could barely open a tin of tomatoes.
Today at Henry's was alright.
His wayward daughter was home along with her very thin young man. She slithered into the kitchen and nuked the pale remnants of last nights take-away.
"Wouldn't you like a proper brekkie?" I said like an old duffer.
"Nah, ordinary breakfasts are like so boring" She slithered again, this time back to her room with the dangerously only-just-warm-rice dish
When she and her little boyfriend left I was glad because I could then fight my way into her room to try and make it habitable. I couldn't.
I found the Chinese on the bed next to a pink hairbrush.
Cat Report.
Ging dissed me.
Blackie licked my fingers. Maybe he thought I was a Giant Twiglet.
Walter Report.
He was at work His room was awful. He's overdoing it on Power drinks and boots.
Henry Report.
He was in black and his cheeks were red. Reminded me of a cool Santa. Only this one has a very small sack. In other words he's tight.
He rattled on about presents and how mine might be delayed on account of missing the delivery driver the first time round and how the delivery man who was supposed to come today, hadn't, yet.
And isn't Christmas expensive...
And that he might not be able to come to my house for Christmas Day lunch because he may need to cover for absent members of staff.
Bugger.
By this timeI was trying hard to keep my festive cheer bubbling.
Then he had a turn and went back to bed. "Wake me at 12 darling will you with a nice cup of tea."
So at 12 I knocked on the door and went in and sat on the edge of his bed looking at him. He looked a bit bad.
He let his tea go cold and talked about Walt nicking chicken drumsticks, his missing spoon the one with the ridges, his cough, he's up in the night with it, his amorous ways at 35, and what a lark he had. And his bladder.
I left shortly after the bladder conversation.
Hasn't it been cold?
My fingers resemble blown-up Twiglets. You know what I mean, all knobbly and going in and out. Only difference is my twiglets are royal red and not common brown.
Could barely open a tin of tomatoes.
Today at Henry's was alright.
His wayward daughter was home along with her very thin young man. She slithered into the kitchen and nuked the pale remnants of last nights take-away.
"Wouldn't you like a proper brekkie?" I said like an old duffer.
"Nah, ordinary breakfasts are like so boring" She slithered again, this time back to her room with the dangerously only-just-warm-rice dish
When she and her little boyfriend left I was glad because I could then fight my way into her room to try and make it habitable. I couldn't.
I found the Chinese on the bed next to a pink hairbrush.
Cat Report.
Ging dissed me.
Blackie licked my fingers. Maybe he thought I was a Giant Twiglet.
Walter Report.
He was at work His room was awful. He's overdoing it on Power drinks and boots.
Henry Report.
He was in black and his cheeks were red. Reminded me of a cool Santa. Only this one has a very small sack. In other words he's tight.
He rattled on about presents and how mine might be delayed on account of missing the delivery driver the first time round and how the delivery man who was supposed to come today, hadn't, yet.
And isn't Christmas expensive...
And that he might not be able to come to my house for Christmas Day lunch because he may need to cover for absent members of staff.
Bugger.
By this timeI was trying hard to keep my festive cheer bubbling.
Then he had a turn and went back to bed. "Wake me at 12 darling will you with a nice cup of tea."
So at 12 I knocked on the door and went in and sat on the edge of his bed looking at him. He looked a bit bad.
He let his tea go cold and talked about Walt nicking chicken drumsticks, his missing spoon the one with the ridges, his cough, he's up in the night with it, his amorous ways at 35, and what a lark he had. And his bladder.
I left shortly after the bladder conversation.
Just before I go out I must tell you what happened last night.
There I was, at 7:30 listening to a stew bubble when Mr H, phoned saying something about power failures at stations and would be late...
Ok.
The stew bubbled on.
Just after 9 ring ring...The battery has died can you come and give me a jump start?
Off I went leaving the once juicy stew all drying and horrible.
Outside was like an ice rink so I glided slowly down to the station where I was met by a frosty Mr H.
Blah blah blah...Battery things and whatnots. And after several minutes of huffing about with wires I set off with a cheery Mr H. up close to my pipe.
The stew was alright...
There I was, at 7:30 listening to a stew bubble when Mr H, phoned saying something about power failures at stations and would be late...
Ok.
The stew bubbled on.
Just after 9 ring ring...The battery has died can you come and give me a jump start?
Off I went leaving the once juicy stew all drying and horrible.
Outside was like an ice rink so I glided slowly down to the station where I was met by a frosty Mr H.
Blah blah blah...Battery things and whatnots. And after several minutes of huffing about with wires I set off with a cheery Mr H. up close to my pipe.
The stew was alright...
On Saturday I made a 'Parkin'.
Can't touch it though because it needs to rest, to get itself together, to mellow for a week, so Christmas day will find me cutting a wedge or two.
Parkin is made using oatmeal, treacle, flour, brown sugar, an egg and a good mix of spices... ginger, mixed spice, nutmeg and cinnamon. What I found amazing was the fact that it didn't take an age to bake, just 1 hour in a moderate oven and the brown beauty was ready. And although it had a slightly domed cracked top I fell in love with it immediately. Sitting on a sturdy chair I held it in my woollied arms like it was a present from the gods.
After allowing it to cool I wrapped it in greaseproof paper and placed it in a tin.
On Christmas Eve I might dust it with a little icing sugar to make it look a little festive, I won't though be sticking plastic holly in any of its crevices.
The food I'm most looking forward to making is the Buche Noel.
It's a tricky chap to make on account of me needing to make a near perfect chocolate Swiss roll, then if I accomplish that I'll fill it with sweetened chestnut puree, mustn't be too runny or else it'll seep into the sponge, and it mustn't be too thick otherwise it won't budge.
So I'll be optimistic and say it's filled and rolled, now I'll have to cut slices off in an oblique fashion and stick them on again at angles, to make the log look more log like. And although I've made Buche Noel before I always feel a slight trepidation because it's not just any old choccie sponge, it's a class act is my Christmas Log.
So there it is, filled, cut, and looking woody and authentic all I need to do then is cover it with whipped double cream and go in with the fork to 'bark' it up.
Fish doesn't usually figure large at Christmas except for Salmon Puffs.
The recipe was found in Family Circle magazine about twenty years ago.
A simple choux pastry is made, tiny spoonfuls are baked, then they're pricked to allow the steam to escape then they're left to go completely cold.
After say three hours of all this nonsense they are filled with a mixture of smoked salmon, cream cheese, dill, lemon juice and pepper.. These dainty puffs are supposed to be served with the pre-lunch sherry but I make them to accompany the cold meat sandwiches on Christmas night. They are very very moreish. Rather like Pringles but with a bit more pizazz.
Drinks.
Contrary to popular belief. I don't ddrink much. I do though have a giddy penchant for a swig of ginger wine mixed with lemonade. I used to down it neat but a friend suggested the lemonade thing so I tried it and whoop deee dooo what a whizz that was.
Immense thanks to whoever it was who led me to it!
Tomorrow cabbage.
Can't touch it though because it needs to rest, to get itself together, to mellow for a week, so Christmas day will find me cutting a wedge or two.
Parkin is made using oatmeal, treacle, flour, brown sugar, an egg and a good mix of spices... ginger, mixed spice, nutmeg and cinnamon. What I found amazing was the fact that it didn't take an age to bake, just 1 hour in a moderate oven and the brown beauty was ready. And although it had a slightly domed cracked top I fell in love with it immediately. Sitting on a sturdy chair I held it in my woollied arms like it was a present from the gods.
After allowing it to cool I wrapped it in greaseproof paper and placed it in a tin.
On Christmas Eve I might dust it with a little icing sugar to make it look a little festive, I won't though be sticking plastic holly in any of its crevices.
The food I'm most looking forward to making is the Buche Noel.
It's a tricky chap to make on account of me needing to make a near perfect chocolate Swiss roll, then if I accomplish that I'll fill it with sweetened chestnut puree, mustn't be too runny or else it'll seep into the sponge, and it mustn't be too thick otherwise it won't budge.
So I'll be optimistic and say it's filled and rolled, now I'll have to cut slices off in an oblique fashion and stick them on again at angles, to make the log look more log like. And although I've made Buche Noel before I always feel a slight trepidation because it's not just any old choccie sponge, it's a class act is my Christmas Log.
So there it is, filled, cut, and looking woody and authentic all I need to do then is cover it with whipped double cream and go in with the fork to 'bark' it up.
Fish doesn't usually figure large at Christmas except for Salmon Puffs.
The recipe was found in Family Circle magazine about twenty years ago.
A simple choux pastry is made, tiny spoonfuls are baked, then they're pricked to allow the steam to escape then they're left to go completely cold.
After say three hours of all this nonsense they are filled with a mixture of smoked salmon, cream cheese, dill, lemon juice and pepper.. These dainty puffs are supposed to be served with the pre-lunch sherry but I make them to accompany the cold meat sandwiches on Christmas night. They are very very moreish. Rather like Pringles but with a bit more pizazz.
Drinks.
Contrary to popular belief. I don't ddrink much. I do though have a giddy penchant for a swig of ginger wine mixed with lemonade. I used to down it neat but a friend suggested the lemonade thing so I tried it and whoop deee dooo what a whizz that was.
Immense thanks to whoever it was who led me to it!
Tomorrow cabbage.
Monday, 21 December 2009
A Harmless Post
Carrying on in the foodie manner...
A delightfully robust beef stew is cooking as I type. It's a simple dish of stewing beef, onions, carrots and potatoes, the stock is flavoured with a splash of Worcestershire sauce and a smidgeon of thyme.
Pepper and salt are in support.
On a more harrowing note, I went to Henry's today. He got up eventually and both he and Walt managed to get under my feet and in my hair for the next three hours.
Blasted men.
A 'we called but you were out' card had gone astray and would I look for it. Might be in the files. Might be in the magazines. Could be in the bins. Any bins. Probably put there by a disorganized crusty Walt.
So out I went, crunching through mountains of snow to the two horrid wheelie bins.
Sure enough there it was. After handing the reasonably clean card to H. he attended to the matter immediately...
Cant' get through to them darling he shouted. Go online and do it I said with a hiss.
Oh yeah....
Oh God...
The cats have pulled down the decorations.
Blackie leapt into the video cupboard, and Ging escaped from her collar. Flipping moggies.
Apparently Henry's son will be arriving Christmas Eve and will I make sure his room (the cat's room) is decently spruced up. What a cheek.
And if I'm ever in need of a room I too can take up residence in the cats room.
Lovely...
During a ten minute break I told H. that after Christmas I'd be taking a few days off. He went ballistic. What will I do without you he joked. How will me and Walt survive he blabbered.
Buy yourself some tins of corned beef I quipped and drained me mug dry. Right On Glo!
It's snowing again.
And me with Alex just washed.
Bugger!
A delightfully robust beef stew is cooking as I type. It's a simple dish of stewing beef, onions, carrots and potatoes, the stock is flavoured with a splash of Worcestershire sauce and a smidgeon of thyme.
Pepper and salt are in support.
On a more harrowing note, I went to Henry's today. He got up eventually and both he and Walt managed to get under my feet and in my hair for the next three hours.
Blasted men.
A 'we called but you were out' card had gone astray and would I look for it. Might be in the files. Might be in the magazines. Could be in the bins. Any bins. Probably put there by a disorganized crusty Walt.
So out I went, crunching through mountains of snow to the two horrid wheelie bins.
Sure enough there it was. After handing the reasonably clean card to H. he attended to the matter immediately...
Cant' get through to them darling he shouted. Go online and do it I said with a hiss.
Oh yeah....
Oh God...
The cats have pulled down the decorations.
Blackie leapt into the video cupboard, and Ging escaped from her collar. Flipping moggies.
Apparently Henry's son will be arriving Christmas Eve and will I make sure his room (the cat's room) is decently spruced up. What a cheek.
And if I'm ever in need of a room I too can take up residence in the cats room.
Lovely...
During a ten minute break I told H. that after Christmas I'd be taking a few days off. He went ballistic. What will I do without you he joked. How will me and Walt survive he blabbered.
Buy yourself some tins of corned beef I quipped and drained me mug dry. Right On Glo!
It's snowing again.
And me with Alex just washed.
Bugger!
Monday 21st
It's come to something when the second thing on one's mind at 5 in the morning is....Suet!
Yes m'dears, as I laid in my bed at that horrible hour, I was pondering whether or not to make a steak and kidney pudding for Christmas Eve.
I think I need to take a lover...
Yes m'dears, as I laid in my bed at that horrible hour, I was pondering whether or not to make a steak and kidney pudding for Christmas Eve.
I think I need to take a lover...
Saturday, 19 December 2009
Christmas Food and the Lithuanian with Cold Hands.
Great day shopping!
Bought a bottle of South African wine for Christmas day. It now stands alongside the rest of the booze on my old dresser.
Booze Information:
1 bottle of Hardy's White wine.
I bottle of Sainsbury's Ginger Wine.
1 bottle of Somerset Cider.
1 bottle of South African Red.
In the fridge are two bottle of beer. One will go into a beef casserole, the other will be drunk whilst getting stuck to popcorn.
4 non-alcoholic bottles stand by the fridge just infront of the basket. They are Oranginas and Lemonades.
Also popped in the trolley was a bottle of Camp coffee and chicory essence. Deelish cold but better hot. It'll be used too, as an ingredient in my Buche Noel.
Loads of other festive things were purchased in a heaving Sainsburys'
Ground Cloves for the Braised Red Cabbage.
Red Wine vinegar. See above.
Japanese Rice Crackers.
Later...
Tootled into the car wash to have a very muddy Alex spruced up. And he has come up nice. I gave the Lithuanian lad or whatever nationality he was a pre-Christmas tip because I don't want him bending me wipers out of shape come the new year.
I also half filled him up (that's Alex not the Lithuanian) because I can't stand watching that little black needle banging against the the little red thing at the end.
Bought a bottle of South African wine for Christmas day. It now stands alongside the rest of the booze on my old dresser.
Booze Information:
1 bottle of Hardy's White wine.
I bottle of Sainsbury's Ginger Wine.
1 bottle of Somerset Cider.
1 bottle of South African Red.
In the fridge are two bottle of beer. One will go into a beef casserole, the other will be drunk whilst getting stuck to popcorn.
4 non-alcoholic bottles stand by the fridge just infront of the basket. They are Oranginas and Lemonades.
Also popped in the trolley was a bottle of Camp coffee and chicory essence. Deelish cold but better hot. It'll be used too, as an ingredient in my Buche Noel.
Loads of other festive things were purchased in a heaving Sainsburys'
Ground Cloves for the Braised Red Cabbage.
Red Wine vinegar. See above.
Japanese Rice Crackers.
Later...
Tootled into the car wash to have a very muddy Alex spruced up. And he has come up nice. I gave the Lithuanian lad or whatever nationality he was a pre-Christmas tip because I don't want him bending me wipers out of shape come the new year.
I also half filled him up (that's Alex not the Lithuanian) because I can't stand watching that little black needle banging against the the little red thing at the end.
Friday, 18 December 2009
Pre-Minestrone Notes
I don't know what I want to do but I need to do it now:(
In other words I'm fraying round me edges.
Blast!
I have that 'I need to indulge in something wicked' feeling. Only thing is my 'wicked' tends to be something like eating crackers in bed:(
I've done a list:(
Be of good cheer I'm saying to myself. Ok. Tomorrow I'll fill up Alex, drive to Southend, become overwhelmed in Sainsbury's and indulge myself and others by purchasing two doughnuts:)
Did I say I've done a list? :) :(
My hat is knock out! Very flapperish. I wanna be loved by you just you and nobody else but you I wanna be loved by you alone..Boo boopedoo :)
Indulge indulge indulge...
Minestrone anyone?
In other words I'm fraying round me edges.
Blast!
I have that 'I need to indulge in something wicked' feeling. Only thing is my 'wicked' tends to be something like eating crackers in bed:(
I've done a list:(
Be of good cheer I'm saying to myself. Ok. Tomorrow I'll fill up Alex, drive to Southend, become overwhelmed in Sainsbury's and indulge myself and others by purchasing two doughnuts:)
Did I say I've done a list? :) :(
My hat is knock out! Very flapperish. I wanna be loved by you just you and nobody else but you I wanna be loved by you alone..Boo boopedoo :)
Indulge indulge indulge...
Minestrone anyone?
Glo White
Ghastly.
Drove extremely slowly through loads of snow to get to Henry's only to find him in bed.
Walt turned up an hour later because he was unable to 'do the bins'.
Drifted around the house doing not very much.
Then went into town to get the cat's collars.
Bitterly bitterly cold.
Returned only to find a still out-of-it- Henry.
Said 'blow this' and came home.
Drove extremely slowly through loads of snow to get to Henry's only to find him in bed.
Walt turned up an hour later because he was unable to 'do the bins'.
Drifted around the house doing not very much.
Then went into town to get the cat's collars.
Bitterly bitterly cold.
Returned only to find a still out-of-it- Henry.
Said 'blow this' and came home.
Thursday, 17 December 2009
Dad
London was brittle, cold.
And dad wasn't well.
He's been unable to go out on account of his breathing problems so no presents have been bought.
And this is a first.
And I don't like it.
Stuff the presents all I want is a frisky nimble dad.
As I listened to him trying to breathe whilst making a pot of tea I was worried. He said the sudden cold snap hasn't helped and that he'll be staying in a lot more now.
What the hell?
Men like him don't do the staying in thing.
Men like him carry on regardless.
But has the time come when my hero has to hang up his Delboy hat?
Bugger off, this time next year I want him out in the snow buying me stuff......:)
On a lighter note.
Mum loved her Oriental Lillies and I had bought a lipstick BEFORE I even reached the station. (Popped in the chemist on the way back from the postal orrifice)
Henry phoned whilst I was on the train coming home, he talked nonsense as usual and I popped round at 5 and ate two of his pork pies.
Walter came home distressed because of work related issues.
I bought a few nice items today.
A lipstick, a long tin, some smoked paprika from M&S and a long long silvery locket from H&M. Also popped into Tescos and bought some wretched pork chops.
I wore my new hat today and Henry said I looked sweet like Mary Poppins.
Only wish I could click my fingers a la Poppins and make dad 35 again.
Going to bed now.
See ya tomorrow.
X
And dad wasn't well.
He's been unable to go out on account of his breathing problems so no presents have been bought.
And this is a first.
And I don't like it.
Stuff the presents all I want is a frisky nimble dad.
As I listened to him trying to breathe whilst making a pot of tea I was worried. He said the sudden cold snap hasn't helped and that he'll be staying in a lot more now.
What the hell?
Men like him don't do the staying in thing.
Men like him carry on regardless.
But has the time come when my hero has to hang up his Delboy hat?
Bugger off, this time next year I want him out in the snow buying me stuff......:)
On a lighter note.
Mum loved her Oriental Lillies and I had bought a lipstick BEFORE I even reached the station. (Popped in the chemist on the way back from the postal orrifice)
Henry phoned whilst I was on the train coming home, he talked nonsense as usual and I popped round at 5 and ate two of his pork pies.
Walter came home distressed because of work related issues.
I bought a few nice items today.
A lipstick, a long tin, some smoked paprika from M&S and a long long silvery locket from H&M. Also popped into Tescos and bought some wretched pork chops.
I wore my new hat today and Henry said I looked sweet like Mary Poppins.
Only wish I could click my fingers a la Poppins and make dad 35 again.
Going to bed now.
See ya tomorrow.
X
Glo The Red Nosed Sweetie
I've got to slow down!
Got to top a trifle!
Pack a shopping bag!
Got to get to the stinking Post Office!
Get to London!
And get flipping pork chops!
And my nose is red!
Got to top a trifle!
Pack a shopping bag!
Got to get to the stinking Post Office!
Get to London!
And get flipping pork chops!
And my nose is red!
Wednesday, 16 December 2009
The Flight Of The Phoenix.. Glo's Night In.
One of my favourite films is on Film4 soon so this will have to be a quickie postie.
Talking of posties I have to drag me poor old feet orf to the wretched sorting office early tomorrow morning to pick up my parcel. But as it's a gift for the old girl in London I don't mind one bit. But where to park that's the question.
Might park up at the station then traipse to the post office via the Square or park illegally near the vets or pay 60p and park in Back Lane...
The station.
As Mr H is working late I'm on meagre rations tonight. Nought but a few measly cream crackers will I have for me tea.
But seeing as I'm in daredevil mode, I think I might splash out a bit and open the Christmas cheddar.
To drink or not to drink. Not, because the dare devil in me might get a liking for it. Never ever have I drunk alone. I will though make a decent pot of tea, nothing like wearing your jimmys eating crackers and sipping tea in bed. With Monty.
I made the trifle by the way and it is huge. Should keep dad swamped in sugar for a couple of days.
Mum has an orange tea bread. Should keep her buttering for a week or so.
Must dash have to gather together me bits and bobs before the film starts. Cream crackers, tea and cat.
Blissful.
Talking of posties I have to drag me poor old feet orf to the wretched sorting office early tomorrow morning to pick up my parcel. But as it's a gift for the old girl in London I don't mind one bit. But where to park that's the question.
Might park up at the station then traipse to the post office via the Square or park illegally near the vets or pay 60p and park in Back Lane...
The station.
As Mr H is working late I'm on meagre rations tonight. Nought but a few measly cream crackers will I have for me tea.
But seeing as I'm in daredevil mode, I think I might splash out a bit and open the Christmas cheddar.
To drink or not to drink. Not, because the dare devil in me might get a liking for it. Never ever have I drunk alone. I will though make a decent pot of tea, nothing like wearing your jimmys eating crackers and sipping tea in bed. With Monty.
I made the trifle by the way and it is huge. Should keep dad swamped in sugar for a couple of days.
Mum has an orange tea bread. Should keep her buttering for a week or so.
Must dash have to gather together me bits and bobs before the film starts. Cream crackers, tea and cat.
Blissful.
This Morning:
Chicken. Skinned. Dropped on floor.
Henry up. Henry down. Henry up. Henry down.
Laundry lament. Walter's pants were a surprise
Cat cuddles. Weak tea. Tired. Inflamed right index finger. E.T.?
Then a little while later...
Oriental Lillies.Loads of money."Not those thank you, those up there". Cheeky blighter.
Cat Collars and Discs for Blackie and Ging. Good God how much? Henry WILL be pleased....
Post Office Sorting Office Shambles. Where's My Parcel? Mum's present. Will return tomorrow to get my parcel. OK.
Snow flakes. Aaaah. Red nose. Kind of cute. Large hat absolutely gorgeous.
Icy Fingers. Purple and stiff.
Feet. Numb and horrible. Could a toe break off I wonder.
This afternoon:
Make trifle for mum and dad. Don't forget to lavish cherry jam everywhere.
Wrap presents.
Do washing.
Start another list.
Bird balls. Bird House. Crack ice in bird bath.
Bake a cake.
Look at eyes.
Look at toes.
Have a fish finger.
Tonight:
Recovery position.
Chicken. Skinned. Dropped on floor.
Henry up. Henry down. Henry up. Henry down.
Laundry lament. Walter's pants were a surprise
Cat cuddles. Weak tea. Tired. Inflamed right index finger. E.T.?
Then a little while later...
Oriental Lillies.Loads of money."Not those thank you, those up there". Cheeky blighter.
Cat Collars and Discs for Blackie and Ging. Good God how much? Henry WILL be pleased....
Post Office Sorting Office Shambles. Where's My Parcel? Mum's present. Will return tomorrow to get my parcel. OK.
Snow flakes. Aaaah. Red nose. Kind of cute. Large hat absolutely gorgeous.
Icy Fingers. Purple and stiff.
Feet. Numb and horrible. Could a toe break off I wonder.
This afternoon:
Make trifle for mum and dad. Don't forget to lavish cherry jam everywhere.
Wrap presents.
Do washing.
Start another list.
Bird balls. Bird House. Crack ice in bird bath.
Bake a cake.
Look at eyes.
Look at toes.
Have a fish finger.
Tonight:
Recovery position.
Tuesday, 15 December 2009
Pickled Love 1
I first caught a glimpse of you by the canned peaches
you were dressed like a rich man
effortlessly
but a trifle tight in the leg I thought as you tossed a tin
me
I was dressed to kill
teal suedette skirt with frisky polyester blouse in quite the wrong shade of blue
but death wasn't on my mind
not at all
a life coloured with colourful ingredients was.
My dad said Marcie look for a rich man but a rich man with a heart or two
steer clear he said of men without manners because they'll steal the piss from you
You moved swiftly for an older person
your gait clean and nimble
stretching for the prunes made me ponder your bowels
even the rich have gastric I supposed
me I was riddled with pain
but not in body because that was supremely A1
it was my mind my brain indeed that needed a stick
of dynamite
Do you remember me following you all the way to the bread
I was impressed by the mighty mega pound grains you chose
Not one not two but 17 types of seeds and nuts jewelled up up your choice of loaf
me I dropped in the supasaver bread all wet and white with no nuts at all
I stopped a while later as your eyes met mine
by the mayo, sauces and pickles
terrified to speak I read without moving my lips the label about fats and salts and sugars
then suddenly
would this go with fishcakes you asked breaking my train of impeccable thought
proffering up a fat black jar of clowny Ainsley Harriots Hot Pickle Sauce
I knew right there right then I was the chosen one
Peering at your unstained ungnawed hands I rattled off something about Jamaica and gherkins
you seemed to admire my knowledge
and I loved that
but I could not move
and a blurry wash of shoppers poked in and out between us
but your pickles held us together.
I loved you.
you were dressed like a rich man
effortlessly
but a trifle tight in the leg I thought as you tossed a tin
me
I was dressed to kill
teal suedette skirt with frisky polyester blouse in quite the wrong shade of blue
but death wasn't on my mind
not at all
a life coloured with colourful ingredients was.
My dad said Marcie look for a rich man but a rich man with a heart or two
steer clear he said of men without manners because they'll steal the piss from you
You moved swiftly for an older person
your gait clean and nimble
stretching for the prunes made me ponder your bowels
even the rich have gastric I supposed
me I was riddled with pain
but not in body because that was supremely A1
it was my mind my brain indeed that needed a stick
of dynamite
Do you remember me following you all the way to the bread
I was impressed by the mighty mega pound grains you chose
Not one not two but 17 types of seeds and nuts jewelled up up your choice of loaf
me I dropped in the supasaver bread all wet and white with no nuts at all
I stopped a while later as your eyes met mine
by the mayo, sauces and pickles
terrified to speak I read without moving my lips the label about fats and salts and sugars
then suddenly
would this go with fishcakes you asked breaking my train of impeccable thought
proffering up a fat black jar of clowny Ainsley Harriots Hot Pickle Sauce
I knew right there right then I was the chosen one
Peering at your unstained ungnawed hands I rattled off something about Jamaica and gherkins
you seemed to admire my knowledge
and I loved that
but I could not move
and a blurry wash of shoppers poked in and out between us
but your pickles held us together.
I loved you.
Day Off Well Spent
I don't do Henry on Tuesdays but I arrived early this morning unannounced to look for Blackie.
And I found him.
The blighter sauntered towards me without a care in the world and I fell to my knees like a fool crying.
I really am a silly woman.
I know it's daft going there on one of my off days but I knew today would be awful if I didn't know what was going on. So I went.
As the tears ran so did my mascara but I hugged the moggy like he was my own, then I said I'd kick his arse if he did that to me again. And on receiving a stern ticking off from his sort-of-mum he wandered into the kitchen unaware of the hell he'd put me through.
And hell it certainly was.
My fellow cat lovers will understand.
Henry was in bed whilst I was slobbering on the floor with Blackie so I let him be. I then wilted considerably and sat on the settee with a cup of tea staring at both cats.
After wiping my eyes and trying to calm my racing heart
I drifted to the study where I lifted a couple of heavy weight books...
Laying face down on the carpet I wedged my shoulders under the stupidly awkward stairs and slammed the wooden floorboard as hard as I could, then loaded it with the aforementioned books. I may, tomorrow, lay a dictionary down aswell. I'm sure Henry doesn't use it much.
He got up wondering what all the fuss was about.
And for a moment or two I felt like I'd wasted my time, energy and caring attitude. But that soon disappeared when Blackie came into the kitchen to look into his bowl and look out into the frost filled garden. Henry tends to have a more manly attitude to pets, manly in so far as 'bugger them they're only animals', an attitude I don't understand for a minute. You take animals on to care for them, they are not friendly old shoes or employees who are good enough one minute and disrespected the next.
Blackie is different from Goldilocks. Blackie prefers his own company and mine and joyously does his own thing unaware of what that can sometimes lead to...
He doesn't dig Henry at all.
If I could I'd nick him...
And I found him.
The blighter sauntered towards me without a care in the world and I fell to my knees like a fool crying.
I really am a silly woman.
I know it's daft going there on one of my off days but I knew today would be awful if I didn't know what was going on. So I went.
As the tears ran so did my mascara but I hugged the moggy like he was my own, then I said I'd kick his arse if he did that to me again. And on receiving a stern ticking off from his sort-of-mum he wandered into the kitchen unaware of the hell he'd put me through.
And hell it certainly was.
My fellow cat lovers will understand.
Henry was in bed whilst I was slobbering on the floor with Blackie so I let him be. I then wilted considerably and sat on the settee with a cup of tea staring at both cats.
After wiping my eyes and trying to calm my racing heart
I drifted to the study where I lifted a couple of heavy weight books...
Laying face down on the carpet I wedged my shoulders under the stupidly awkward stairs and slammed the wooden floorboard as hard as I could, then loaded it with the aforementioned books. I may, tomorrow, lay a dictionary down aswell. I'm sure Henry doesn't use it much.
He got up wondering what all the fuss was about.
And for a moment or two I felt like I'd wasted my time, energy and caring attitude. But that soon disappeared when Blackie came into the kitchen to look into his bowl and look out into the frost filled garden. Henry tends to have a more manly attitude to pets, manly in so far as 'bugger them they're only animals', an attitude I don't understand for a minute. You take animals on to care for them, they are not friendly old shoes or employees who are good enough one minute and disrespected the next.
Blackie is different from Goldilocks. Blackie prefers his own company and mine and joyously does his own thing unaware of what that can sometimes lead to...
He doesn't dig Henry at all.
If I could I'd nick him...
Monday, 14 December 2009
Bugger
The room was tackled with zeal whilst Henry lay in bed snoring. And as box after box climbed towards the ceiling I noticed Blackie was missing.
I immediately searched for him but he was nowhere to be seen, then I noticed a loose floorboard under the stairs and set about getting both John and a lamp to help in the search.
John arrived and did a tremendous job by using my hand mirror and more lamps. Still no cat.
By this time I was totally fucking pissed off so I went into Henry's room to wake the bugger up.
"We can't find Blackie"
He came downstairs and said that Blackie will turn up eventually.
I fought back the tears and strode once more around the house calling out the cats name.
Then as if that wasn't cruel enough, I saw Goldilocks's arse manoeuvring through down the same hole.
I ran as fast as I could but she was gone too.
Henry was nonplussed I however was fuming and out of my head with rage.
"They'll be out soon enough" he said
John agreed and with that I picked up my coat and hat and reluctantly left. We arrived home a little while ago and I'd left my basket on the worktop so John tootled off to get it.
He's home now and the good news is Goldilocks is up and about. But I want skittish Blackie up and about too.
I think Blackie got spooked by all the boxes but mostly by the fact that his safe haven has been taken away.
Still at least Henry got his blasted room done...
I immediately searched for him but he was nowhere to be seen, then I noticed a loose floorboard under the stairs and set about getting both John and a lamp to help in the search.
John arrived and did a tremendous job by using my hand mirror and more lamps. Still no cat.
By this time I was totally fucking pissed off so I went into Henry's room to wake the bugger up.
"We can't find Blackie"
He came downstairs and said that Blackie will turn up eventually.
I fought back the tears and strode once more around the house calling out the cats name.
Then as if that wasn't cruel enough, I saw Goldilocks's arse manoeuvring through down the same hole.
I ran as fast as I could but she was gone too.
Henry was nonplussed I however was fuming and out of my head with rage.
"They'll be out soon enough" he said
John agreed and with that I picked up my coat and hat and reluctantly left. We arrived home a little while ago and I'd left my basket on the worktop so John tootled off to get it.
He's home now and the good news is Goldilocks is up and about. But I want skittish Blackie up and about too.
I think Blackie got spooked by all the boxes but mostly by the fact that his safe haven has been taken away.
Still at least Henry got his blasted room done...
Blasted Henry wants me to re-invent a bedroom. The bedroom where the cats have taken up residence...
Thankfully it is a tiny room, but it is chock-a-block with junk.
The reason given for the makeover is that he may be having someone to stay.
Oh God...
Only thing I care about is the welfare of the cats.
I will do this job quickly and efficiently then come home.
:)
Thankfully it is a tiny room, but it is chock-a-block with junk.
The reason given for the makeover is that he may be having someone to stay.
Oh God...
Only thing I care about is the welfare of the cats.
I will do this job quickly and efficiently then come home.
:)
Sunday, 13 December 2009
Pigments of my Imagination
Accustomed to spells of terrible intensity
this wicked-laden night has
scorched my heart to death
smelling the burn my nostrils open and shut like the furnace
And above my head like a red hammer about to fall
are yellowing devils picking at the bones
I thought they were pigments
of my imagination
but they are real
And accustomed to spells of terrible intensity
this wicked-laden night has
brought me down to earth
and clawing through the dirt I try to resist its heat
Because above my head like a gold pot of honeyed water
are little white folk tapping at my soul
I thought tonight they were figments
of my imagination
but they are real...
this wicked-laden night has
scorched my heart to death
smelling the burn my nostrils open and shut like the furnace
And above my head like a red hammer about to fall
are yellowing devils picking at the bones
I thought they were pigments
of my imagination
but they are real
And accustomed to spells of terrible intensity
this wicked-laden night has
brought me down to earth
and clawing through the dirt I try to resist its heat
Because above my head like a gold pot of honeyed water
are little white folk tapping at my soul
I thought tonight they were figments
of my imagination
but they are real...
General Berry
*After all the excitement of a frivolous Saturday comes the attending-to-a-chicken-lunch Sunday.
And as I'm not in the best of moods for dealing with a damp bird it's best I take myself out of the kitchen for a moment.
*But before leaving the hot place I assembled Mary Berry's Luxury Bread and Butter Pudding for pud, made a Queen of Puddings for Henry and Walt and discussed with Mr Horsehound the merits of the right and proper way to wrap awkwardly shaped presents.
So you can see how my Sunday is going.
*In a bowl stewing in left-over tea is half a pound of mixed dried fruit, this will in a few hours be transformed, with the addition of some flour, eggs and sugar into a homely old tea bread. It is without doubt the simplest yet richest tea bread I have ever made. Spread liberally with butter of course it makes sitting down much better! Is there a more satisfying sight than slices of brown cake laying quietly side by side on a cake stand?
*Yesterday I bought some dried papaya which I've thrown into the already luxurious Bread and Butter pudding. Sultanas, raisins and currants do sometimes, I feel, need the inclusion of a little upmarket support. And ingredients don't come any more posher than papaya. Miss Berry's recipe doesn't include the aforementioned papaya but I feel that she would be well pleased with me tinkering with her recipe.
I love Mary Berry.
And her books.
Once upon a time my recipe books were young and proud standing like soldiers on parade but now with age, they've lost their sparkling uniforms. And instead of pristine covers they're decidedly loose leafed, even a bit flaky.
But to me they will always be my little soldiers.
And Mary Berry is the General...
Saturday, 12 December 2009
Olly v. Joe
Tonight was great.
A very fit George Michael sang a duet with sweet Joe McElderry.
The unbelievable Michael Buble smoothed and cuddled with Dagenham girl Stacey Solomon.
And a 'I've-missed-my-cue' Robbie Williams slid about the stage with a fizzing-out-of-his-head Olly Murs.
Live telly at its very slickest.
The awesome swirling Dermot O'Leary hugged and smacked a lot of shoulders.
Mr Cowell hammed it up as usual. A cold Mrs Cole acted dreadfully, hope they ditch her next year. Miss Minogue looked and acted better. And Mr Walsh said the same thing over and over again.
And I sucked it all in.
And the fabulous news is that Olly Murs, who I've loved ever since he slid to 'Superstition' in the auditions, has made it to the final 2.
His opponent is the Geordie lad with the West End voice, Master Joe McElderry.
My money and heart are on Olly because he's real. He makes mistakes and laughs himself out of them. He looks like an amateur and acts like one. He's wonderful.
Whereas dapper Joe is too good, he's never given a bad or even offish performance. He's too handsome, too vocally on the money and too damn perfect. He's a bore.
I like a little imperfection in my men so giddy, eager, give-me-fame Olly is the man for me.
I like 'em silly and raw.
A very fit George Michael sang a duet with sweet Joe McElderry.
The unbelievable Michael Buble smoothed and cuddled with Dagenham girl Stacey Solomon.
And a 'I've-missed-my-cue' Robbie Williams slid about the stage with a fizzing-out-of-his-head Olly Murs.
Live telly at its very slickest.
The awesome swirling Dermot O'Leary hugged and smacked a lot of shoulders.
Mr Cowell hammed it up as usual. A cold Mrs Cole acted dreadfully, hope they ditch her next year. Miss Minogue looked and acted better. And Mr Walsh said the same thing over and over again.
And I sucked it all in.
And the fabulous news is that Olly Murs, who I've loved ever since he slid to 'Superstition' in the auditions, has made it to the final 2.
His opponent is the Geordie lad with the West End voice, Master Joe McElderry.
My money and heart are on Olly because he's real. He makes mistakes and laughs himself out of them. He looks like an amateur and acts like one. He's wonderful.
Whereas dapper Joe is too good, he's never given a bad or even offish performance. He's too handsome, too vocally on the money and too damn perfect. He's a bore.
I like a little imperfection in my men so giddy, eager, give-me-fame Olly is the man for me.
I like 'em silly and raw.
Saturdays Don't Get Any Better Than This
Blue Wooden Hanging Half Moon Decoration. 10p
McDonald's Bagel. No idea of cost because it was bought for me!
Oxfam Handbag. Snap shut. Walnut brown cloth riddled with pure golden slithers.
Miss Marple meets Cruella DeVille. £5
Big Secret Gifts for mum and dad. Loads of dosh.
Smaller Secret gifts for other people. Quite a bit of wonga.
Five feet green garland with red padded hearts and tartan bells. 10p.
Three feet of swinging golden bells. 10p.
Small red Chinese bowl. 25p.
Even smaller blue and white ceramic lounging Chinese boy. 25p.
Bag of biscuits. 95p.
Rose Lip Liner. £1.
Long Handled Colander.99p
Red flan dish. 99p.
Yellow big faced flowers in green wooden tub. For mum's windowsill. 99p.
Serious Present for Mr Horsehound. Saved for a year to buy it!
An 'Apple' potpouri dressed in golden chiffon with a dainty yellow bow. 99p.
Four tall white candles. 40p.
Then...
Drive home in the sun to tea, snooker and an elegant Christmas card sent all the way from London a-lying on the mat. Thank you My Lord.
Priceless.
And the excitement doesn't end there.
Tonight it's the final of The X Factor where I'll be rooting for the Essex lad Olly Murs, not the best singer but the best showman and that counts too...
For dinner I'll be cooking Chinese Pork and Pak Choi.
Like I said, Saturdays don't get any better than this!
McDonald's Bagel. No idea of cost because it was bought for me!
Oxfam Handbag. Snap shut. Walnut brown cloth riddled with pure golden slithers.
Miss Marple meets Cruella DeVille. £5
Big Secret Gifts for mum and dad. Loads of dosh.
Smaller Secret gifts for other people. Quite a bit of wonga.
Five feet green garland with red padded hearts and tartan bells. 10p.
Three feet of swinging golden bells. 10p.
Small red Chinese bowl. 25p.
Even smaller blue and white ceramic lounging Chinese boy. 25p.
Bag of biscuits. 95p.
Rose Lip Liner. £1.
Long Handled Colander.99p
Red flan dish. 99p.
Yellow big faced flowers in green wooden tub. For mum's windowsill. 99p.
Serious Present for Mr Horsehound. Saved for a year to buy it!
An 'Apple' potpouri dressed in golden chiffon with a dainty yellow bow. 99p.
Four tall white candles. 40p.
Then...
Drive home in the sun to tea, snooker and an elegant Christmas card sent all the way from London a-lying on the mat. Thank you My Lord.
Priceless.
And the excitement doesn't end there.
Tonight it's the final of The X Factor where I'll be rooting for the Essex lad Olly Murs, not the best singer but the best showman and that counts too...
For dinner I'll be cooking Chinese Pork and Pak Choi.
Like I said, Saturdays don't get any better than this!
Thursday, 10 December 2009
Hoodies Sing For Their Supper
The first boy carollers arrived an hour ago.
The tallest one wore a sparkly lopsided hat, the middle one a strand of red tinsel behind his ear, but the boy with the bucket was more plainly dressed in a Hoodie and fingerless gloves.
Standing ten feet from my door they rapidly throated a half hearted 'Jingle Bells',
I ran to my purse for 'go away money' then ran back to to the open door holding out a bar of Kinder chocolate and a £2 coin. By this time they were strangling 'Silent Night'
I know I'm a twit but the stupid hat and diabolical cheek deserved a small treat.
On a lighter note:
If I were in a box what would I rather be with.
Snakes?
Spiders?
Rats?
Rats. At least I could maybe cooch coochy them:(
If I could change one thing on my body what would I change?
My nails. They are the pits:(
If I was a weather what weather would I be?
A typical English summers day.
Delicate in the morning, bright in the afternoon and hot at night.
The tallest one wore a sparkly lopsided hat, the middle one a strand of red tinsel behind his ear, but the boy with the bucket was more plainly dressed in a Hoodie and fingerless gloves.
Standing ten feet from my door they rapidly throated a half hearted 'Jingle Bells',
I ran to my purse for 'go away money' then ran back to to the open door holding out a bar of Kinder chocolate and a £2 coin. By this time they were strangling 'Silent Night'
I know I'm a twit but the stupid hat and diabolical cheek deserved a small treat.
On a lighter note:
If I were in a box what would I rather be with.
Snakes?
Spiders?
Rats?
Rats. At least I could maybe cooch coochy them:(
If I could change one thing on my body what would I change?
My nails. They are the pits:(
If I was a weather what weather would I be?
A typical English summers day.
Delicate in the morning, bright in the afternoon and hot at night.
The Wrong, The Good and The Relief
Last night's get together with Henry and Walt went down very well as did the liver and bacon and chocolate puddle pudding but agreeing to allow Walter to accompany me to Sainsbury's this morning was wrong.
He's a nice enough lad but he kept moaning about awful Henry is so by lunch time I was totally fed up.
He got the message that I wanted him to leave when I slammed my pepperoni pizza in the oven.
He left sharpish and shortly after eating the pizza so did I.
Going to the charity shop was salve to my open wounds.
A quick friendly chat with the Scottish lady and almost all my angst was gone.
I bought a small fringed black evening bag originally from 'Next', a medley of Christmas decorations including a dangly legged blue Father Christmas, and a smashing cream angora jumper made in Italy.
Later...
I watched some snooker as I drank some tea and then Monty paid a visit so I laid my hands on him in a mumsy manner.
He closed his eyes in a dreamy fashion but then his ears stuck up erect when a siren sounded. How many times do I need to reassure him that nothing and no-one will get him whilst my hands clap and tap his head.
Cooch woochy.
Cooking tonight:
Chicken Goulash, mashed potatoes, green beans.
Mandarins and Ice Cream
And a small glass of Ginger Wine.
Mmmmm Relief!
He's a nice enough lad but he kept moaning about awful Henry is so by lunch time I was totally fed up.
He got the message that I wanted him to leave when I slammed my pepperoni pizza in the oven.
He left sharpish and shortly after eating the pizza so did I.
Going to the charity shop was salve to my open wounds.
A quick friendly chat with the Scottish lady and almost all my angst was gone.
I bought a small fringed black evening bag originally from 'Next', a medley of Christmas decorations including a dangly legged blue Father Christmas, and a smashing cream angora jumper made in Italy.
Later...
I watched some snooker as I drank some tea and then Monty paid a visit so I laid my hands on him in a mumsy manner.
He closed his eyes in a dreamy fashion but then his ears stuck up erect when a siren sounded. How many times do I need to reassure him that nothing and no-one will get him whilst my hands clap and tap his head.
Cooch woochy.
Cooking tonight:
Chicken Goulash, mashed potatoes, green beans.
Mandarins and Ice Cream
And a small glass of Ginger Wine.
Mmmmm Relief!
Wednesday, 9 December 2009
Brain on Amber
Left the castle a tad earlier than usual due to an unstoppable Walt.
My goodness, can that lad yak.
From the moment I arrived to the blessed moment I left he talked incessantly, mostly about himself and and Henry. And that suited me fine. On the rare occasion when I managed to halt his flow he looked upon me with amazement.
But he appears to have a fine upright streak running through his body does Walt and this was made evident by his concern for his friend back in Zim.
"How do you spell 'entitled'?" he asked.
Apparently he wants this friend to come to the UK because "it's a fine place to live".
"E..N..T...I...T...L....E...D" I annunciated beautifully
His fingers painstakingly spelling out each letter on his mobile.
So as he carried on chatting and texting I stepped up onto the stool because there was, I had noticed, a dire need for more tinsel in the bar area and so without thought for my safety or sanity I flung a few lengths around the head of a gargoyle.
Then the gas man called. "Deal with him" I said to Walt.
"Yes Ma'am"
I rather liked that, issuing orders to the youngster, made me feel like Mrs Danvers. But what a bitch she was.
But I don't do bitch at all well. I'm more like a fusty maiden aunt who cares for her charges despite their reckless behaviour. More Miss Poppins than Mrs D I think.
Just after 10 Henry entered the kitchen looking a bit frayed round the edges, he'd been on the juice Monday night and hadn't got up till teatime Tuesday. Tuesday evening was a bit wet too. But everything is tickety boo Angie...
So then he went to work and I was left with Walt.
But all in all it wasn't a bad morning.
The cats going berserk with a cable tie made everything ok...
My goodness, can that lad yak.
From the moment I arrived to the blessed moment I left he talked incessantly, mostly about himself and and Henry. And that suited me fine. On the rare occasion when I managed to halt his flow he looked upon me with amazement.
But he appears to have a fine upright streak running through his body does Walt and this was made evident by his concern for his friend back in Zim.
"How do you spell 'entitled'?" he asked.
Apparently he wants this friend to come to the UK because "it's a fine place to live".
"E..N..T...I...T...L....E...D" I annunciated beautifully
His fingers painstakingly spelling out each letter on his mobile.
So as he carried on chatting and texting I stepped up onto the stool because there was, I had noticed, a dire need for more tinsel in the bar area and so without thought for my safety or sanity I flung a few lengths around the head of a gargoyle.
Then the gas man called. "Deal with him" I said to Walt.
"Yes Ma'am"
I rather liked that, issuing orders to the youngster, made me feel like Mrs Danvers. But what a bitch she was.
But I don't do bitch at all well. I'm more like a fusty maiden aunt who cares for her charges despite their reckless behaviour. More Miss Poppins than Mrs D I think.
Just after 10 Henry entered the kitchen looking a bit frayed round the edges, he'd been on the juice Monday night and hadn't got up till teatime Tuesday. Tuesday evening was a bit wet too. But everything is tickety boo Angie...
So then he went to work and I was left with Walt.
But all in all it wasn't a bad morning.
The cats going berserk with a cable tie made everything ok...
Stop My Brain
Thinking about pork and presents at 5:30 a.m.
Then at 7, whilst dripping in the shower, red cabbage came to mind.
And then at 7:45 cards, fingers and Sulphasalazine accompanied the mushy Weetabix.
Never a moments peace.
But I dare say during my morning at the castle with lanky Walt and huge Henry all thoughts of Christmas preps will fade. After all, overloading one's mind can be dangerous.
But as I scoop the poop and load the teapot my nut will scatter orf to this evening's meal. I've invited Walt and Hen over for a nice liver tea.
On a lighter note:
I don't like mince pies.
Then at 7, whilst dripping in the shower, red cabbage came to mind.
And then at 7:45 cards, fingers and Sulphasalazine accompanied the mushy Weetabix.
Never a moments peace.
But I dare say during my morning at the castle with lanky Walt and huge Henry all thoughts of Christmas preps will fade. After all, overloading one's mind can be dangerous.
But as I scoop the poop and load the teapot my nut will scatter orf to this evening's meal. I've invited Walt and Hen over for a nice liver tea.
On a lighter note:
I don't like mince pies.
Tuesday, 8 December 2009
Prayer
The first time I came across Carol Ann Duffy's work I was on the tube heading to Queensway. One of her poems was plastered over the head of the person sitting opposite me. As I read it I was saved from the crush, so beautiful was it that I scribbled it down with an eyeliner pencil. The poem was 'Prayer'. So can you imagine my feelings when I heard Carol Ann reading it out loud on The South Bank Show?
She is a remarkable poet and 'Prayer' is my favourite. I've read it out loud many times, mainly to the cat but I don't do it justice.
But when she read it she made her simple words about the faithless bleed all over my ears.
Some poems are so awesome, so magnificent that I'm not comfortable in their presence.
For those who haven't read it...
Some days although we cannot pray, a prayer utters itself, so a woman will lift her head from the sieve of her hands and stare at the minims sung by a tree. A sudden gift.
Some nights although we are faithless the truth enters our hearts, that small familiar pain, then a man will stand stock still, hearing his youth in the distant Latin chanting of a train.
Pray for us.
Grade 1 piano scales console the lodger looking out across a Midlands town then dusk and someone calls a child's name as though they named their loss.
Darkness outside. Inside the radio's prayer.
Rockall.
Malin.
Dogger.
Finistere
Carol Ann Duffy
She is a remarkable poet and 'Prayer' is my favourite. I've read it out loud many times, mainly to the cat but I don't do it justice.
But when she read it she made her simple words about the faithless bleed all over my ears.
Some poems are so awesome, so magnificent that I'm not comfortable in their presence.
For those who haven't read it...
Some days although we cannot pray, a prayer utters itself, so a woman will lift her head from the sieve of her hands and stare at the minims sung by a tree. A sudden gift.
Some nights although we are faithless the truth enters our hearts, that small familiar pain, then a man will stand stock still, hearing his youth in the distant Latin chanting of a train.
Pray for us.
Grade 1 piano scales console the lodger looking out across a Midlands town then dusk and someone calls a child's name as though they named their loss.
Darkness outside. Inside the radio's prayer.
Rockall.
Malin.
Dogger.
Finistere
Carol Ann Duffy
Drained
After doing the drains I made another mess. This time with the Royal Mail's 'last dates for posting'.
But after storming around the kitchen in a fearful temper I soon got relaxed by watching some snooker. The horrible hairy Ronnie O'Sullivan is playing the horrible hairless Peter Ebdon. Still I watched it. And very good it was too, in fact they're still crashing balls about the baize but I need a break, just a little one so here I am with a nice cup of tea.
Before I forget, many thanks to Nof for reminding me that Carol Ann Duffy was on The South Bank Show. Ooodles of thankfulness Mike.
I sat entranced by the majesty of the Poet Laureate and wanted to scratch the eyes out of all who came near her. But I suppose, like many things in life, me meeting Miss Duffy ain't never gonna be. We're not all intended for greatness and even though we may feel that we're good enough to be up there, the starbright heavens can only hold but a few, therefore I am quite resigned to living in the shadows.
And now it's dark already so I'd better get back to the snooker and making dinner.
But at least the drains are clear.
But after storming around the kitchen in a fearful temper I soon got relaxed by watching some snooker. The horrible hairy Ronnie O'Sullivan is playing the horrible hairless Peter Ebdon. Still I watched it. And very good it was too, in fact they're still crashing balls about the baize but I need a break, just a little one so here I am with a nice cup of tea.
Before I forget, many thanks to Nof for reminding me that Carol Ann Duffy was on The South Bank Show. Ooodles of thankfulness Mike.
I sat entranced by the majesty of the Poet Laureate and wanted to scratch the eyes out of all who came near her. But I suppose, like many things in life, me meeting Miss Duffy ain't never gonna be. We're not all intended for greatness and even though we may feel that we're good enough to be up there, the starbright heavens can only hold but a few, therefore I am quite resigned to living in the shadows.
And now it's dark already so I'd better get back to the snooker and making dinner.
But at least the drains are clear.
In The Mind of A Housewife Between 7 and 8 a.m.
Drains. 1. Blocked. Grey water spilling over onto path. Old shoes chucked last week. Fingers gnarled. Achey breaky knees. Drain on my energy. The pool remains.
Minestrone soup. Saturday. An X Factor treat with homemade three seeded bread. Honey wash or egg wash?
Low on eggs. Last till Thursday? If no Creme Caramel made then yes.
Clothes Horse. 1. In need of. 1999 one very bad.
Exotic sausages. Dumbed down with canned spicy beans and mash. Simples. No brain needed where sausages are concerned.
Drips. 1. Cold tap. Plumber? No the drip can drip. Water Wastage? The Copenhagen Summit? It's all my fault.
Fish cakes.
Poetry.
Lardons.
:(
Minestrone soup. Saturday. An X Factor treat with homemade three seeded bread. Honey wash or egg wash?
Low on eggs. Last till Thursday? If no Creme Caramel made then yes.
Clothes Horse. 1. In need of. 1999 one very bad.
Exotic sausages. Dumbed down with canned spicy beans and mash. Simples. No brain needed where sausages are concerned.
Drips. 1. Cold tap. Plumber? No the drip can drip. Water Wastage? The Copenhagen Summit? It's all my fault.
Fish cakes.
Poetry.
Lardons.
:(
Monday, 7 December 2009
Mini Post Before the Boeuf
Light of My Life...
Have just spent a frightful two hours disentangling me lights!
Why I put them up I just don't know. But a few straggly tinkering lights have now set off the tree nicely and it looks very sweet indeed.
But the light fiasco didn't end with the tree. Oh no. I found a few more strands in a box by the immersion heater, they now hang wildly from my kitchen dresser and bedroom mirror. Gaudy perhaps. But a hoot.
The Window...
Carrying on with the gaudy-haven't-got-a-clue-what-I'm-doing-theme, a disparate group of old plastic Santas are standing erect on me windowsill. One of the Santas though has different leg lengths so I stuffed a little paper in his boot so he can stand as proud as the others.
The Tree Again...
A few pretty wooden trains and animals hang quite literally by a thread. I don't do glittery balls. Only items of excellence swing from the tree.
Delia Smith...
I sipped some lemon tea watching Saint Delia (on the BBC's website) drown an assortment of dried fruits in many types of booze. Cherry brandy, ordinary brandy, port and something else which I can't spell. Angostora bitters I think she said, anyway she drowned them. Leave them for a week the drinker said then make a Creole Cake. Oh God why can't she make a Buche Noel like me?
Henry Wonders...
He phoned as I was standing on a chair.
"Do you like flowers Angie?"
"I do".
"My tummy is bloated and I have a docs appointment tomorrow" Henry said
"So is mine but I don't have any appointments."
He laughed uproariously whilst I looked at a cobweb. Silence.
"Went to Argos today for presents, got the baby Lola something then I came home via Somerfields and I feel like shit"
I got down and stood by the sink.
"Your grand daughter is all that matters Henry"
Long silence.
He then cried.
"Hey you, howsabout you and Walt coming round for liver and bacon on Wednesday. My treat."
"Ok darling, thank you" he said
I then got back on the chair.
The lights are on.
Have just spent a frightful two hours disentangling me lights!
Why I put them up I just don't know. But a few straggly tinkering lights have now set off the tree nicely and it looks very sweet indeed.
But the light fiasco didn't end with the tree. Oh no. I found a few more strands in a box by the immersion heater, they now hang wildly from my kitchen dresser and bedroom mirror. Gaudy perhaps. But a hoot.
The Window...
Carrying on with the gaudy-haven't-got-a-clue-what-I'm-doing-theme, a disparate group of old plastic Santas are standing erect on me windowsill. One of the Santas though has different leg lengths so I stuffed a little paper in his boot so he can stand as proud as the others.
The Tree Again...
A few pretty wooden trains and animals hang quite literally by a thread. I don't do glittery balls. Only items of excellence swing from the tree.
Delia Smith...
I sipped some lemon tea watching Saint Delia (on the BBC's website) drown an assortment of dried fruits in many types of booze. Cherry brandy, ordinary brandy, port and something else which I can't spell. Angostora bitters I think she said, anyway she drowned them. Leave them for a week the drinker said then make a Creole Cake. Oh God why can't she make a Buche Noel like me?
Henry Wonders...
He phoned as I was standing on a chair.
"Do you like flowers Angie?"
"I do".
"My tummy is bloated and I have a docs appointment tomorrow" Henry said
"So is mine but I don't have any appointments."
He laughed uproariously whilst I looked at a cobweb. Silence.
"Went to Argos today for presents, got the baby Lola something then I came home via Somerfields and I feel like shit"
I got down and stood by the sink.
"Your grand daughter is all that matters Henry"
Long silence.
He then cried.
"Hey you, howsabout you and Walt coming round for liver and bacon on Wednesday. My treat."
"Ok darling, thank you" he said
I then got back on the chair.
The lights are on.
Saturday, 5 December 2009
Hobbling Horsehound
Super days shopping.
Well actually we didn't spend the whole day shopping, more like four hours, but nevertheless we had a wonderful time until...
Mr Horsehound produced from a small tacky bag my pre-Christmas Christmas present. A Car Ice Scraper.
He hobbled home.
Goodnight All.
Well actually we didn't spend the whole day shopping, more like four hours, but nevertheless we had a wonderful time until...
Mr Horsehound produced from a small tacky bag my pre-Christmas Christmas present. A Car Ice Scraper.
He hobbled home.
Goodnight All.
Mrs Horsehound Does Christmas Part 1...
Just popping in before I pop to town in my jaunty checked culottes.
The proper Christmas shopping starts here right now.
Won't overdo it, how can I?
A little shaky cleaner on urchin wages has many mouths to feed. But that won't stop them knocking on my cracked door with their outstretched hands expecting more than a mouldy mince pie. And although I adore them all I won't be able to stuff designer gear right down their frontages, but I will endeavour to please all with my smile:)
Bless you all.
The proper Christmas shopping starts here right now.
Won't overdo it, how can I?
A little shaky cleaner on urchin wages has many mouths to feed. But that won't stop them knocking on my cracked door with their outstretched hands expecting more than a mouldy mince pie. And although I adore them all I won't be able to stuff designer gear right down their frontages, but I will endeavour to please all with my smile:)
Bless you all.
Friday, 4 December 2009
Show Us Your Fish Cakes Glo!
Had a spiffing morning at Henry's mainly because he scrambled off just after I arrived. But before he went we had our usual bit o' banter. Apparently I'm lovely and small would I care to go to a quaint old pub on Sunday to hear an Irish folk group?
Soul Queen Gloria said no.
Don't do folk at all.
This old heart of mine prefers The Isley Brothers and other black entertainers.
Which reminds me, Mr Persistent also asked if I'd like to go to the Cliffs Pavilion to see a show or play in the new year. He now had Gloria's full attention because I love the theatre, used to go lots when in London, but since ditching the soot for the seaside my visits have dwindled...and so I said yes and that I'd look through the brochure. So glad I did...
The West End production of 'Dancing in the Streets' is heading up the line likewise 'Witness for the Prosecution' and 'The Woman in Black'. So methinks that providing he doesn't die in the meantime Glo will accompany Henry to the theatre.
I mentioned fish cakes earlier well...
I've made them.
I mixed some freshly made mashed potato with a can of salmon then added a good spoonful of anchovy essence, a touch of lemon juice and some salt and pepper.
Took mounds of the mixture into my hands, formed them into cakes, dusted delicately with flour, dipped into beaten egg then gently covered with fresh breadcrumbs.
Now as the weekend approaches dizzying me with its fun and spending I really must dash.
Hope all my readers have a good one, especially Digger, Nof, Lord Byron, Jerry, Sweetie, Johnnie and the elderly Mr Guinness.
And my brave friend across the ocean, my American Duchess, way to go girl...
Soul Queen Gloria said no.
Don't do folk at all.
This old heart of mine prefers The Isley Brothers and other black entertainers.
Which reminds me, Mr Persistent also asked if I'd like to go to the Cliffs Pavilion to see a show or play in the new year. He now had Gloria's full attention because I love the theatre, used to go lots when in London, but since ditching the soot for the seaside my visits have dwindled...and so I said yes and that I'd look through the brochure. So glad I did...
The West End production of 'Dancing in the Streets' is heading up the line likewise 'Witness for the Prosecution' and 'The Woman in Black'. So methinks that providing he doesn't die in the meantime Glo will accompany Henry to the theatre.
I mentioned fish cakes earlier well...
I've made them.
I mixed some freshly made mashed potato with a can of salmon then added a good spoonful of anchovy essence, a touch of lemon juice and some salt and pepper.
Took mounds of the mixture into my hands, formed them into cakes, dusted delicately with flour, dipped into beaten egg then gently covered with fresh breadcrumbs.
Now as the weekend approaches dizzying me with its fun and spending I really must dash.
Hope all my readers have a good one, especially Digger, Nof, Lord Byron, Jerry, Sweetie, Johnnie and the elderly Mr Guinness.
And my brave friend across the ocean, my American Duchess, way to go girl...
Yippeee it's Fish Day!
Woke up with something heavy and loud on my feet. 'Twas Monty. And as I'm a twit where the cat is concerned I slithered out of bed in my flowered nightie just to fish him up. After scooping out his 'cod in jelly' I pondered fish in a big way.
So tonight instead of cooking spiced pork and cabbage, I'll fry some salmon fishcakes.
More on those later. Much later.
But before the fish fest I have to pop down the winding road to work.
Hopefully Henry's heart will be beating in a regular fashion and Blackie and Goldie will leap into my arms.
More later...
So tonight instead of cooking spiced pork and cabbage, I'll fry some salmon fishcakes.
More on those later. Much later.
But before the fish fest I have to pop down the winding road to work.
Hopefully Henry's heart will be beating in a regular fashion and Blackie and Goldie will leap into my arms.
More later...
Thursday, 3 December 2009
A mini post before the spagbol
Ok so here I am.
And to be honest I'm a little pooped.
After coochy coochying Henry at the doctors, I went shopping for odds and ends, ended up buying £1 worth of Christmas decorations and a pink mirrored evening bag from the Church Charity shop. The adorable Joan was on hand with advice about Turkeys, so that was nice!
What else?
Oh yes after the docs and shopping I cooked myself a couple of rashers of decent bacon and hid in the front room watching three recorded hours of Channel 4's The Queen. Excellent.
Of course by the end of the Queen thing it was getting dark so...
I had to think about food.
A largish Bolognaise was made along with three mini chocolate, banana and pear trifles. And as the custard bubbled, my mind drifted away to all things Christmassy. And I felt that old tingle again.
I received a big Christmas card today, a simple carollers hanging round the lamp post thing, but it's very nice and so now it's standing on the mantelpiece alongside the teeny weeny one from the Avon lady.
And to be honest I'm a little pooped.
After coochy coochying Henry at the doctors, I went shopping for odds and ends, ended up buying £1 worth of Christmas decorations and a pink mirrored evening bag from the Church Charity shop. The adorable Joan was on hand with advice about Turkeys, so that was nice!
What else?
Oh yes after the docs and shopping I cooked myself a couple of rashers of decent bacon and hid in the front room watching three recorded hours of Channel 4's The Queen. Excellent.
Of course by the end of the Queen thing it was getting dark so...
I had to think about food.
A largish Bolognaise was made along with three mini chocolate, banana and pear trifles. And as the custard bubbled, my mind drifted away to all things Christmassy. And I felt that old tingle again.
I received a big Christmas card today, a simple carollers hanging round the lamp post thing, but it's very nice and so now it's standing on the mantelpiece alongside the teeny weeny one from the Avon lady.
X
Last night I was handed two bunches of Oriental Lillies and a jar of home made Redcurrant Jelly. These, as you all know, are two of my favourite things. But to be blessed by them on a dark and wintry night made me feel warm and snug inside.
So thank you to my fellow poet, the generous and wild haired, Lord Byron. X
Tuesday, 1 December 2009
Quickie Before Dinner
Just got back from Henry's after being on hand whilst he had his barnet notched.
Poor old Walter was in a filthy temper having fallen out with a colleague.
Henry has never played poker and has never eaten Queen of Puds.
Walter plays poker and eats everything.
The new look Henry had his picture taken by me.
Walter laughed and said something about vanity.
Henry looked stunned when I invited him for Christmas lunch.
Walter can't wait.
Henry knows a man who could get me a nice piece of beef. For free.
Walter chatted up Nadine on his mobile.
Henry asked me to stay and play Pontoon. I said no, only play real card games.
Walter thanked me for his fish tea saying it was 'divine'.
Henry wondered if John would PX me.
Now a quick dinner of bacon and cake!
Poor old Walter was in a filthy temper having fallen out with a colleague.
Henry has never played poker and has never eaten Queen of Puds.
Walter plays poker and eats everything.
The new look Henry had his picture taken by me.
Walter laughed and said something about vanity.
Henry looked stunned when I invited him for Christmas lunch.
Walter can't wait.
Henry knows a man who could get me a nice piece of beef. For free.
Walter chatted up Nadine on his mobile.
Henry asked me to stay and play Pontoon. I said no, only play real card games.
Walter thanked me for his fish tea saying it was 'divine'.
Henry wondered if John would PX me.
Now a quick dinner of bacon and cake!
Crackerless. This is NOT a poem
Not a nut in the house...
Nor length of silver tinsel
No plastic robins with wonky legs or porky cherubs nailed to the door
No angels:(
Nor wildly happy reindeers jumping over chimneys
Not a glimpse of Father Christmas with a fat sack by the fire
No carol c.d's no Cliff or any similar nightmare
No flicking lights burning the plastic tree
No tree:(
No signs outside. Santa Stop Here! No Santa
Not a whisper of mince pies
Nor bottle of Port on the side alongside the squashy tangerines
Not even a bottle of boring ginger beer
No drink
Not a sight of killer marzipan or sultanas steeping in brandy
No cake frills
No cake
No beef a-frosting in the freezer
No cranberry jelly or pickled pears or my signature Salmon Puffs
No wine
No time:(
No wrapping paper or cards
No stamps in a book
No blasted turkey
Not even some foil to wrap the blasted bird
No crackers:(
But today I felt a tingle when I looked upon the calendar...:)
Nor length of silver tinsel
No plastic robins with wonky legs or porky cherubs nailed to the door
No angels:(
Nor wildly happy reindeers jumping over chimneys
Not a glimpse of Father Christmas with a fat sack by the fire
No carol c.d's no Cliff or any similar nightmare
No flicking lights burning the plastic tree
No tree:(
No signs outside. Santa Stop Here! No Santa
Not a whisper of mince pies
Nor bottle of Port on the side alongside the squashy tangerines
Not even a bottle of boring ginger beer
No drink
Not a sight of killer marzipan or sultanas steeping in brandy
No cake frills
No cake
No beef a-frosting in the freezer
No cranberry jelly or pickled pears or my signature Salmon Puffs
No wine
No time:(
No wrapping paper or cards
No stamps in a book
No blasted turkey
Not even some foil to wrap the blasted bird
No crackers:(
But today I felt a tingle when I looked upon the calendar...:)
Monday, 30 November 2009
Little Lisa
My hairdresser Lisa has left me looking very gamine and feeling flighty. The thirty eight year old Essex girl is a whizz with scissors and spray gun. I love her.
As the hair fell we chatted like a couple of parrots and when, after thirty minutes of snipping, she whipped the gown away from my shoulders, I put my specs back on and gasped! Losing just a couple of inches has made such a fabulous difference.
"You can wear your hair very short because you're elf like" Lisa said flicking my ends
"What?" I said, smiling like an idiot totally unable and unwilling to take my eyes away from the mirror
"Elf like, your face is elf like" she repeated.
"Whatever you say darling" I squealed
And so after dropping her a few quid she fled into the night to work her magic on another old girl's head.
And that's what a good hairdresser does. She works magic. Bless Little Lisa.
As the hair fell we chatted like a couple of parrots and when, after thirty minutes of snipping, she whipped the gown away from my shoulders, I put my specs back on and gasped! Losing just a couple of inches has made such a fabulous difference.
"You can wear your hair very short because you're elf like" Lisa said flicking my ends
"What?" I said, smiling like an idiot totally unable and unwilling to take my eyes away from the mirror
"Elf like, your face is elf like" she repeated.
"Whatever you say darling" I squealed
And so after dropping her a few quid she fled into the night to work her magic on another old girl's head.
And that's what a good hairdresser does. She works magic. Bless Little Lisa.
Carrying on from my earlier post...
I'm sure that...
A little while ago Susan Boyle looked into her plain polished mirror and saw a face with locked-up emotions, and a body devoid of any manic attention.
Now, on any old morning, Susan Boyle looks into all mirrors and sees a face transformed by girls in heels waving brushes of blusher over her plump cheeks. A lick of crimson and suddenly the church worker is no longer on her knees in the pews but high in the air on a chair in 'make-up'.
And then her coconut hair is fingered and coloured tenderly and is taken from its depressed state into the shine and crimped kingdom which is show business. Then the dresser pops in and peels off Susan's cracked and safe high street garb, pouring the new woman into smooth dresses with a smack of glitter. Praying will never be brighter.
Dreamer Boyle is now Susan Boyle. Singer.
The spinster is dead long live the single woman.
*I tried to post a picture of Susan but every time I clicked to save, I couldn't.
Now that's what I call fame...
I'm sure that...
A little while ago Susan Boyle looked into her plain polished mirror and saw a face with locked-up emotions, and a body devoid of any manic attention.
Now, on any old morning, Susan Boyle looks into all mirrors and sees a face transformed by girls in heels waving brushes of blusher over her plump cheeks. A lick of crimson and suddenly the church worker is no longer on her knees in the pews but high in the air on a chair in 'make-up'.
And then her coconut hair is fingered and coloured tenderly and is taken from its depressed state into the shine and crimped kingdom which is show business. Then the dresser pops in and peels off Susan's cracked and safe high street garb, pouring the new woman into smooth dresses with a smack of glitter. Praying will never be brighter.
Dreamer Boyle is now Susan Boyle. Singer.
The spinster is dead long live the single woman.
*I tried to post a picture of Susan but every time I clicked to save, I couldn't.
Now that's what I call fame...
Miss Boyle Number 9 In The Charts.
Wish I could hold on to Susan Boyle and say
"Worth the wait eh babe?"
"All those long days and nights holding everything in, standing in the cold looking, singing, into the bathroom mirror wishing people would take you and your voice in. Now you're naked, flying with new colours with nothing but the sound of Wild Horses beating in your head. Ride 'em babe"
"Worth the wait eh babe?"
"All those long days and nights holding everything in, standing in the cold looking, singing, into the bathroom mirror wishing people would take you and your voice in. Now you're naked, flying with new colours with nothing but the sound of Wild Horses beating in your head. Ride 'em babe"
Sunday, 29 November 2009
Ssssh it's Sunday...
I was up early so decided to make the most of it.
Made a Currant Tea Loaf and assembled our chicken lunch whilst watching the very entertaining Keith Floyd on Sky3.
Lunch will be a simple roast chicken with honeyed carrots, peas, sage and onion stuffing and hedgehog potatoes, a spoonful of redcurrant jelly will be stirred into the gravy.
For pud? Not in the mood for a big fat pud so I'll serve the last of the Apple Fingers with some Vanilla Ice Cream.
Also been reading the cookery books I bought the other day.
And as the bird roasted and the bread baked I thought there's nothing more comforting than sitting in the kitchen with a friendly cook book and pot of tea. Oh, and resting your head on Monty's legs. He was strewn across the back of the armchair you see and didn't give a fig when I barged in!
Better sign off now, my timer has pinged!
Made a Currant Tea Loaf and assembled our chicken lunch whilst watching the very entertaining Keith Floyd on Sky3.
Lunch will be a simple roast chicken with honeyed carrots, peas, sage and onion stuffing and hedgehog potatoes, a spoonful of redcurrant jelly will be stirred into the gravy.
For pud? Not in the mood for a big fat pud so I'll serve the last of the Apple Fingers with some Vanilla Ice Cream.
Also been reading the cookery books I bought the other day.
And as the bird roasted and the bread baked I thought there's nothing more comforting than sitting in the kitchen with a friendly cook book and pot of tea. Oh, and resting your head on Monty's legs. He was strewn across the back of the armchair you see and didn't give a fig when I barged in!
Better sign off now, my timer has pinged!
Saturday, 28 November 2009
In The Pink!
Pic taken today.Here I am in one of my 'newest' frocks.
Soft and lush.
Perfect with booty wooties.
Bought in London for £8.
Update on the saga of King Henry And The Scullery Queen
Three men were in the kitchen when I arrived.
Henry, Walter and Walter's co-worker friend, Devon. They yakked about male things whilst I prodded the cats' tummies. Then the the two youngsters, that be Walt and Dev, left for the mesmerizing lights of Southend sea front. And I was left with the wheezing monarch.
The take-away was excellent, me plumping for Thai red chicken curry, Henry opting for pork balls and a little plain rice.
Red wine was offered but I declined seeing as I was driving. I satisfied myself with a decent cup of tea. Henry was good company, even managing to stop talking occasionally so as to get an idea of what was going on in the film..."No Way Out".
Kevin Costner's finest I think.
Anyway, we ate and chatted and glimpsed now and again at the movie then it was time for me to leave. So after declining his tender offer of the washing up gloves, I tootled off in Alex.
And a bit later as I chiselled orf my make-up I read Henry's text message which said I was 'great'.
And great I can sometimes be.
My greatness will manifest itself next Thursday when I go to the hospital with him for some heart check type stuff. My King is a little anxious. As I would be too. But with his "funny cleaner" in tow I think we'll make a day of it.
Friday, 27 November 2009
Smashing Day. Smashing Night?
Had a spiffing day at Henry's.
Made a beef stew:)
Relocated some skulls:)
Pondered jug positions:)
Filled his 'new' salt and pepper pots. These, light bulb style shakers, were bought by me in London yesterday. And they are absolutely brilliant. He was speechless...:)
Re-arranged blobs of cream on his grape and apple jelly. Kind of got shoved about a bit in transit:(
Sorted out Blackie and Goldilocks's bathroom issues:(
Then after the briefest of chinwags, Henry was on his way. And within a few moments, so was I.
And the charity shop was my first port of call.
The Scottish woman guarded the till as I did catapults of joy at finding a 'Willow' pattern teapot. Been on the lookout for ages, so I was happy.
Also bought a shirt for Mr Horsehound and a pair of brown checked Culottes for myself!
Home to a light-barely-enough-to-keep-a-budgie alive lunch and an ecstatic Monty, well maybe not ecstatic exactly, he just ran ran up and down the hall then sat by his bowl. He only wants me for fish:(
After a brisk rub down with a flannel I'm shimmying down to Henry's tonight for a movie and balls night. I supply the movie. He supplies the balls. Chicken balls. With a lot of sauce. Of course!
Made a beef stew:)
Relocated some skulls:)
Pondered jug positions:)
Filled his 'new' salt and pepper pots. These, light bulb style shakers, were bought by me in London yesterday. And they are absolutely brilliant. He was speechless...:)
Re-arranged blobs of cream on his grape and apple jelly. Kind of got shoved about a bit in transit:(
Sorted out Blackie and Goldilocks's bathroom issues:(
Then after the briefest of chinwags, Henry was on his way. And within a few moments, so was I.
And the charity shop was my first port of call.
The Scottish woman guarded the till as I did catapults of joy at finding a 'Willow' pattern teapot. Been on the lookout for ages, so I was happy.
Also bought a shirt for Mr Horsehound and a pair of brown checked Culottes for myself!
Home to a light-barely-enough-to-keep-a-budgie alive lunch and an ecstatic Monty, well maybe not ecstatic exactly, he just ran ran up and down the hall then sat by his bowl. He only wants me for fish:(
After a brisk rub down with a flannel I'm shimmying down to Henry's tonight for a movie and balls night. I supply the movie. He supplies the balls. Chicken balls. With a lot of sauce. Of course!
Wednesday, 25 November 2009
Heaven
*Marshmallows. Biting one in half, then sticking the ends on the ends of my pinkies and playing puppets.
*Cabbage. All kinds but preferably white with pork belly. Red tends to stain pig flesh. Nasty.
*Uniforms. But not the postman's. Or the bin men. Prefer men of violence.
*Male Hairy arms and gorilla legs. What is it with me and hair? By the way I'm getting mine seen to next week That's my head hair not my leg hair. (I do sometimes sport Gorilla legs but that tends to be when I'm sulking.)
*Haldiram's Khatta Meetha. Whilst surfing the intertubes late at night. Exotic, sweet and full of chemicals but such a spiffing chum in your nightie.
*Ginger Wine. In a pint glass. I don't frink.
*Old people. With a full deck and funky hair. Saw a sharp old girl on the telly with razored red hair. Loved it.
*Roomy knickers. But only on days when I'm spitting feathers. Happy days calls for little 'uns.
*Cold sausages. Eaten quickly standing up. Because there's something very sensuous about holding onto a banger when really you should be engrossed in honourable works like polishing.
*Balaclavas. On bushy chested men men clutching a bag of marshmallows whilst also gripping a bottle of Ginger wine and large white cabbage.
Now That's Heaven...
*Cabbage. All kinds but preferably white with pork belly. Red tends to stain pig flesh. Nasty.
*Uniforms. But not the postman's. Or the bin men. Prefer men of violence.
*Male Hairy arms and gorilla legs. What is it with me and hair? By the way I'm getting mine seen to next week That's my head hair not my leg hair. (I do sometimes sport Gorilla legs but that tends to be when I'm sulking.)
*Haldiram's Khatta Meetha. Whilst surfing the intertubes late at night. Exotic, sweet and full of chemicals but such a spiffing chum in your nightie.
*Ginger Wine. In a pint glass. I don't frink.
*Old people. With a full deck and funky hair. Saw a sharp old girl on the telly with razored red hair. Loved it.
*Roomy knickers. But only on days when I'm spitting feathers. Happy days calls for little 'uns.
*Cold sausages. Eaten quickly standing up. Because there's something very sensuous about holding onto a banger when really you should be engrossed in honourable works like polishing.
*Balaclavas. On bushy chested men men clutching a bag of marshmallows whilst also gripping a bottle of Ginger wine and large white cabbage.
Now That's Heaven...
Glo Goes Home
So good to see the sun. So I put on my dark glasses and tootled to Sainsburys. After seeing to Henry of course!
He was in bed when I arrived so I did my stern mother act and told him to move his arse.
"Can't do that darling" he piped up, his head barely visible under the duvet
I stood on his discarded trousers and repeated the order.
"Be down in a minute then" he whimpered
"Good that's what I want to hear" I said throwing back the grey curtains.
"Don't go in the bathroom Angie darling, will you?"
I shot a glance at the en suite door and knowing what he meant said softly "No, I won't" and came downstairs.
A little later...
After I'd fed Blackie and Goldilocks I fed the birds then I pulled the skin off some chicken thighs and tossed some tasty ingredients into the slow-cooker.
It was as I was staring at some fungi on a slice of bread that Henry presented himself.
"So what's new and exciting Angie darling?
I have to give him credit, he's on his last legs yet still manages to make inconsequential light hearted banter with his cleaner.
"Going to Sainsbury's soon so I won't be hanging around here larking about with you. Tea?"
He made a comment and the tea was made.
And so it went on. Way too long again. And even though he's as tight as my taps he's got something I like. And that is a never-say-die attitude. Kind of reminds me of my parents. A bit. In some ways. They too detest dealing with health issues, they too think they will live forever. They too see everything as a challenge. They too rib me rotten. He thinks the sun shines out of all his orifices, so does daddy, mum's a bit more humble though.
Anyway we talked on our stools taking the mick out of each other and then I said I was going on account of me having loads to do elsewhere.
He didn't like it. But I rose and put on my black mac anyway, leaving him looking glorious in his big white shirt and beige trousers.
"What time you going to the docs" I asked, hand on the door knob.
"Just after five" Henry sulked
"Ring me if you get in trouble, don't if you don't".
"Alright darling" he laughed
And so I got to the front door and looking back, saw this giant of a man perched on his throne looking like a lost, scared and unloved King.
He was in bed when I arrived so I did my stern mother act and told him to move his arse.
"Can't do that darling" he piped up, his head barely visible under the duvet
I stood on his discarded trousers and repeated the order.
"Be down in a minute then" he whimpered
"Good that's what I want to hear" I said throwing back the grey curtains.
"Don't go in the bathroom Angie darling, will you?"
I shot a glance at the en suite door and knowing what he meant said softly "No, I won't" and came downstairs.
A little later...
After I'd fed Blackie and Goldilocks I fed the birds then I pulled the skin off some chicken thighs and tossed some tasty ingredients into the slow-cooker.
It was as I was staring at some fungi on a slice of bread that Henry presented himself.
"So what's new and exciting Angie darling?
I have to give him credit, he's on his last legs yet still manages to make inconsequential light hearted banter with his cleaner.
"Going to Sainsbury's soon so I won't be hanging around here larking about with you. Tea?"
He made a comment and the tea was made.
And so it went on. Way too long again. And even though he's as tight as my taps he's got something I like. And that is a never-say-die attitude. Kind of reminds me of my parents. A bit. In some ways. They too detest dealing with health issues, they too think they will live forever. They too see everything as a challenge. They too rib me rotten. He thinks the sun shines out of all his orifices, so does daddy, mum's a bit more humble though.
Anyway we talked on our stools taking the mick out of each other and then I said I was going on account of me having loads to do elsewhere.
He didn't like it. But I rose and put on my black mac anyway, leaving him looking glorious in his big white shirt and beige trousers.
"What time you going to the docs" I asked, hand on the door knob.
"Just after five" Henry sulked
"Ring me if you get in trouble, don't if you don't".
"Alright darling" he laughed
And so I got to the front door and looking back, saw this giant of a man perched on his throne looking like a lost, scared and unloved King.
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