Poem. I Care Not For Tomorrow

Under my skin vast planes of tenderness now run
all together a surprise tenant to my vacant soul
why when I imagined I was all dried out
did your warm waters crack my frozen heart?

In amongst the dried leaves of my life
your sweet stupidity galloped untamed
out of hand
flinging wildness in my path
you played like a boy

Unbridled
exuberant
in outrageous lilac and red
I skipped in mud


I care not for tomorrow


Angela Norris

Happiness v. Contentment

Happiness is two bars of Galaxy in a glass jar by the lamp
Contentment, eating half a bar in my pyjamas on the settee

Happiness is finding a 50p ceramic robin in charity shop
Contentment, finding a suitable place for it whilst the tea is brewing

Happiness is a good bouncy song on the radio
Contentment, listening to it whilst stepping into a blue sparkly dress

Happiness is having a optimistic life improving plan
Contentment, looking forward to simple things on a Thursday

Happiness is ooohing and aaahing over sexy underwear
Contentment, imagining the effect

Happiness is watching "Britain's Got Talent"
Contentment, looking forward to watching it whilst making a curry

Happiness is having fifty pounds
Contentment, having forty and not worrying

Happiness is being with like minded people
Contentment, accepting people with different minds

Happiness is roast beef
Contentment, spotted dick and custard

Happiness is a zingy spine shaking wake-up-you-bugger shower at 7
Contentment, lathering up in the afternoon

Happiness is birds, foxes and bumble bees
Contentment, Monty

Happiness is chatting to ordinary people
Contentment, talking to a Duchess

Happiness is writing a good heart felt poem
Contentment, blogging

I'm happy with contentment

Glo glows. But not with happiness, with contentment. There's a difference. I left work today feeling rather chuffed at what I'd achieved. Made a start on the my master's music room, re-arranged various front room knick-knacks in a more flamboyant, artistic manner and didn't get in a flap over the ironing. A job well done methinks.

And as I strode out to the motor with my shirt hanging out my jeans, my neck ached, but my mind didn't, and that's all I care about. My brain. The rest can go to pot, fall to pieces and go to hell, just as long as my mind is serene, I'm happy!
And that beggars the questions
What is happiness?
What is contentment?
I think a post is on it's way. I'll try not to do another long list. I said I'll TRY..
So, as my other master is on the long night shift, I'll just peck away at chips and ketchup and then, probably just after nine, rub cream into the craters under my eyes and fall asleep. Content.

A to Z of Housekeeping

A - Another cup of tea.

B - Bongo drums. Don't ask. Teenagers in the house.

C - Cooking. Plate it up. Nuke it. My stuff usually.

D - Dodgy plumbing. The house not the man.

E - 'The Echo' piles of them. All out of date. Everywhere.

F - Fires. I do dust not ashes.

G - Grapes. Shrivelled, black. Some in bowls others on floor.

H - Henry VIII and Henry the vacuum cleaner. Boss is obsessed by the King. I, with the rotten machine.

I - Ironing. Not in original job spec but at 50p per item where's the ironing board?

J - J-Cloths. Hundreds of them, Some tatty, some ironed...ha ha ha...

K - Knees. A good pair needed.

L - Lots of liquids. Water, orange squash, wine, disinfectant. Need the third one after the last one!

M - Mops, matches, Marmite.

N - Nice and tidy. For a day.

O - Ornaments. a.k.a.dust magnets. What is it about single men, metal boxes and ceramic fairies?

P - Pants. Over-sized and over the banisters. Grim but funny.

Q - Queen gets queasy after a barrage of jokes about body parts.

R - Recycling. Bins too many. Too full and too heavy. Having neck trouble as a result.

S - Sausages. Loads past sell-by date. Not my business. Not my fault. Well maybe it is my business. Out they go.

T - Tea. Couldn't work without copious amounts. Got my own mug. Large builders type. But with a daisy on it.

U - Underwear. Be prepared for shocks.

V - Videos. Be prepared for shocks part 2.

W - Washing. I'm half-load Ang. Love my environment.

X - X-rated language. Not from me of course. Innocent jocularity? F*** O**

Y - Yanking. Stuck drawers, stiff handles and unyieldly knobs. Usually upstairs.

Z - Zonked. Me. Fifty two. Five foot. But laughing. Another cup of tea...

Help Gimme all your money, gimme all your love...

Up to my ear lobes in dead spiders, smashed toy cars and Jack Daniels. Just another day at Ray's.
Tomorrow it's the other one.

Chalked on the wall for tonight.
Corned Beef again and chocolate ice cream again. Since I've been working my dinners have gone a bit awry. I'm shattered you see on account of three things.

1. I'm rubbish at time management.
2. I watch televised non-essentials like snooker
3. I fantasize too much.

I try to be organized and ordinary but my stupid sex-starved brain goes all silly and I end up with unused erotic garments, un-ironed shirts, fantasies about snooker tables and cheap corned beef.
Working sucks!

Queen Among The Brethren

On the kitchen table tonight:
Minestrone soup and crusty bread followed by jammy coconut pudding with custard. A queer mix but absolutely smashing.

But that was tonight's fare what about last night's fare at the Saxon Hall?

It started with possibly the best tomato soup I've ever tasted and was very slowly followed by roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, cauliflower, carrots and roast potatoes. And then and then and then Spotted Dick and thin custard. Culinary heaven. Everything was perfectly cooked and we were served by pleasant people. Could it get any better?

I was seated at a table for nine, and as I looked around at the great (judges and police people) and the not so great (ordinary businessman and kitchen fitters) I wondered about my choice of outfit. True, I had put it together well but the other birds there were more conservatively dressed. All that is except the elderly lady two chairs to my right who was wearing a white jumper emblazoned with a red cross. So wrong at eighty odd. But she was a joy to be with and later grabbed me for a dance.

The men wore ties and suits and I was very nicely placed in between two of them. Big chaps they were, one was my employers 'minder'. I got a kick out of that. It was kind of thrilling being with a gentleman who needs to be protected. But who was going to protect 5ft me. Why the burly man to my right of course...My boss. Er...He was slightly out of puff due to his dependence on two walking sticks. But he looked good.

So as the food was delightfully and almost silently demolished I hoped I wouldn't make a fool of myself when the singing started. Yes we sang. There were songs. Oh dear. The songs were in a very well crafted booklet which also contained inspirational verses, political quotes and pics of her Majesty. Ok I thought this should be a good bash and it was, until we were all handed plastic St George flags. And as the organist struck up 'There'll Always Be An England' I felt slightly queezy. It was more like a Nazi rally than a Freemason do, not that I know about Freemason parties but its flamboyance, fervour and unashamed patriotism had me reaching for a napkin. I was sweating.

And then we broke into 'Oh I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside' and I thought I'd have a quick look around. I saw an all singing, all smiling crowd of white middle aged folk getting slightly merry on beer and wine and I sang as well but it was not due to drink. I felt good. So I sang 'Jerusalem' with as much fervour as I could muster, my delicate chords though being mightily drowned out by much stronger voices.
But I did my best.

The wine flowed but not in my direction. I declined offers of 'top ups' and remained true to my wine spritzer. I also remained true to myself. Being a canny Londoner who comes from the bad side of the tracks I managed to secrete upon my lap and later into my handbag three crispy mint chocolates. The giant oranges proved more difficult. So on seeing them balanced upon my knees my gentlemen friend told me to pop them down my jumper. He is now recovering in hospital!

The evening raised a few hundred pounds for charity, the interesting eclectic mix of Essex people had a great time and I looked like a cross between Vivienne Westwood and a Dominatrix. Yeah I had a good time too...

The night ended with 'God Save The Queen'. I felt quite at home.
God bless you all...

Ladies and Gentleman Pray Stand For The Queen. That's Her Over There In A Lather.

Well the great day has arrived and as I sip my umpteenth cuppa I'm feeling more and more nervous. I have no idea what the other ladies will be wearing so I'm hoping my black and flashes of red ensemble works:)

I will be picked up by my gentleman in a lovely black car and be whisked away to a Saxon hall...I'm already wondering what time it'll end because I'm usually in bed by nine and I so don't want to fall face first into the pudding at half eight:(

Full report some time over the weekend:)

St George's day

Dearest England
How I love you.

You with your parish councils and curries.
With castles and caravans.
You with the world banging on your door.
How I love you.

England my dearest, how did you claim my heart?
Was it your tendency to care for the world’s dispossessed?
Or just your eagerness to embrace mediocre celebrities?
A little of both I suppose.

Your history might have something to do with my adoration of you.
Wasn't it you my dear one, who gifted the world some of its greatest inventions?
The jet engine, the web and The Beatles.


Don’t forget Shakespeare and Churchill?
They had a thing or two to say.
You my England with your bowler hats, flat caps and mini skirts.
Bedfordshire clangers and the Debden Chocolate Pudding (invented by an Essex lady)
All these things and many more carry your signature

Well blow me down you even gave me the footie.
And that’s why I love you, you crazy old girl.

You're a fine creature with a magnificent history whose mighty strength saved the world
Perpetually heroic.
Can you see my tears?

Your willingness to accept time’s inevitable make-over is admirable, even though we, the people who love you, want you to remain unchanged.
You're looking a bit frazzled now, and there's a hair or two out of place but your battle-scarred face remains a picture of unwavering serenity.
I could look at you forever

And my darling sweetheart there's no-one I'd rather cuddle up with when I feel lost, lone and afraid. I couldn’t feel safer.
And if you need me there’s no-one I’d rather die for because I’m never happier than in your jewel-bedecked arms.

My Dearest England how I love you.


Angela Norris.

Garden at Night. Poem

The garden at night
a whisper away from heaven

dreams like a sleeping child
stirring occasionally

its canopies of green
hiding silently
creatures and debris

the garden at night.


Angela Norris

I love you but you're bad for me

I heard a fascinating item on the 'Today' programme.
Ants are clever and search out 'homes' just as carefully as we do. They check out the neighbourhood looking for a nice little place where the Queen can rule in comfort while the workers work. Sounds a bit like my gaff. Only this Queen works. Something wrong there!

I've always admired ants for their industriousness just like I admire bees and spiders, but that doesn't mean I want them in my kitchen. Why do they scuttle around my bins and worktops making me feel sorry for them whilst at the same time revering them. I'm just awash with conflicting emotions.
Clever creatures or creepy crawlies heading for the sugar bowl:( I'm confused.

Anyway as this Queen gets ready for another day in rubber gloves I'll be thinking about a vegetarian dinner. Chick pea curry with spicy vegetable rice. Might pick up some naans on the way home.
Also must take junk to the tip, got an old telly, bits of wood and other things clogging up the garage in a dangerous way.

So after bopping about under the beams waving a yellow duster around I'll come home to more work...

"Go to the ant thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise"
Proverbs 6:6

Busy busy busy.
And as I ironed I looked out at the birdies in my employer's garden, their frantic feeding and boisterousness reminding me of children at play.
A little while later I drove away willing the sunlight to continue and it did, and so after some refreshment, I dozed off in my conservatory.
A few winks and two cups of tea later I'm about to prepare dinner. And as I do I'll be pondering what to wear Thursday evening. Dark or light? Striking or demure? Pink lipstick or red?
Busy busy busy.

Food Gloria's Food!

It's misty outside and misty means we're in for smashing weather so I'm going to wear a flouncy skirt and fresh blouse to work. But before I do that, here are some more lists.

My favourite sandwiches

1. Chicken, sage and onion stuffing and redcurrant jelly. Only on a Sunday after I've had a kip. But I must have me crusts cut orf just like the other Queen.

2. Corned beef and Branston pickle. Much needed after testing the bike in the long grass. Thanks Ken.

3. Chicken, curried mayonnaise and mango chutney. White bread is essential for this. Please don't think of using just any old chutney, it's mango or nothing.

4. Tuna mayonnaise. First tried in Ponti's, a small Italian run cafe in Kensington. Ate there in the 1980's. I was young, richer and indestructible then, unlike now where I'm old, poor and falling to bits.

5. Smoked salmon. Only in pubs with men.

6. Roast beef. Ditto.

7. Strawberry jam and Nestlé cream. I know I know it sounds horrible, but it isn't...First tasted around 1968 in Beryl's house in Shepherds Bush. She was a friend of mums and an old Jehovah's Witness who tried to save me. Bless her. Still tastes good today even though I don't know any Beryls and have fallen by the wayside.

8. Sausage and fried onions. Possibly the greatest of them all. But the snorker must be excellent. The onions must be very dark brown and copious. Be mean with onions and you won't be welcome in my house.

My favourite casseroles

1. Beef stew and dumplings. Forever. Changed over the years, added stuff and removed stuff. But my suet dumplings remain the same. Large and plump. Could be hazardous to health but I'd rather die by dumplings than die by lettuce.

2. Latimer Beef. A spicy curry like dish. Often have Ms. Jaffrey's chapattis with this. This is what I call the crazed off spring of Madhur Jaffrey and Mary Berry. Two women cooks. Told you it was crazed.

3. Saturday Chicken. Odd but good. Packet of stuffing fused with cooking wine and jam. Heinous mix but so tasty with couscous and Harry Hill.

My favourite sweet things

1. Galaxy chocolate. A Sunday treat, whilst watching telly under a tartan car blanket. Simple pleasure.

2. Cadburys Creme Eggs. But only one at a time. Two look decidedly dodgy side by side.

3. Flake. Crumbly and makes a mess but taste excellent whilst laying down.

4. Bounty. Makes my teeth ache but only if I bite instead of suck.

5. Twix. Old favourite. Impossible to eat both biscuits at one sitting. Gluttony is bad.

7. KitKat. Two fingers only. Save the rest for later. Like 10 minutes later.

8. Steamed Puddings. Golden syrup pudding is great served with chocolate ice cream. Stupid but great.

9. Trifles. Strawberry is best. Mandarin a close second. But never use canned custard because only people without time use canned custard. If trifle sponges are unavailable a swiss roll is acceptable. But do use a quality one. Lidl swiss rolls are for desperate lonely people. But they're cheap.

10. Magnums. The emperors of the frozen world. Expensive ice cream for lovers. Or rich people. Or sexually active women lounging around in nighties on settees. I have a nightie.


Enough already.
Oh and I love bagels...

Shaheen admired by the Queen

Hair was cut Saturday tea time by the droning Lisa followed by two plates of Nasi Goreng and Britain's Got Talent.

The Nasi was superb likewise the very English show...There was a boy on there called Shaheen he was 12 years old and as he got into 'Valerie' Simon Cowell stopped him. 'Got another song you can sing?' he asked. The kid nodded and named some Michael Jackson song. The backing tape began, he started to sing. Screeches and screams from the audience. Teary mumsy looks from Miss Holden and triumphant grins from Mr Cowell. Me? I fell in love immediately of course. 'My God' I thought 'How on earth can a child with tender lungs, little clean winkle and a heart intact sing with the heart of a man? Beats me. But as the dark haired nipper with the sad knowing eyes gave us the big money note, I wondered where he was heading. Straight into cash filled arms of Simon I expect.

It was a good show and one which reminded me of old time British variety shows. Lots of medicre acts, glowing-in-the-dark outfits, squawking shining girls and a few top notch warblers. The only thing the show doesn't have is a Norman Wisdom, Bruce Forsyth or my favourite, Mr Jimmy Tarbuck. What it does have however are Anthony and Declan a.k.a Ant and Dec. They lark about in the wings like a couple of multi-millionaire schoolboys offering shoulders to Cowell whacked performers and smiling hugs to the successful. They're relaxed, slightly childish and bounce off each other rather like Morcambe and Wise did, but they're not Eric and Ernie and never will be, but for bonkers Britain's Got Talent they're ideal!

Yesterday was Sunday and I know that for three reasons.
1. I had a jammy bagel for breakfast.
2. I had a roast.
3. We watched American Idol.
Might as well give you a run down of what happened. Adam Lambert was outstanding. That's it. Although Danny Gokey had me slobbering over the screen, 16 year old Allison was good and Lil was better than last week but I'm still worried about her, I thought she had balls. The others? So so...
So the weekend was a mixture or a couple of little highs, a few hellish craters and a the consumption of a tube of Salt and Vinegar Pringles.
My hair looks great by the way.

As I Go Down To The Shops Today

The old 'uns were good company yesterday.
But before I'd even sat down mum told me I looked tired and Dad said I looked thinner. So. I tapped mum's cracked skull with a wet tea spoon and poked dad's flab with a broom handle They loved it.
We yaddered on for a few hours about money, globalisation and breast implants. So no change there. And no change is good. Sometimes. But other times change is needed, infact it's essential...
And now my adult life.
Until last night I had a chum who made insensitivity an art. I'm not going to say what happened as the rain and other fluids poured because this is a happy blog, but this morning I am chumless. And as I buy things in shops down the road, his thoughtless devastating words will accompany me. And I thank him for them because now I can take off the theatrical garb and be me again.

Lisa, my hairdresser, is popping in at tea-time. See pic and you'll see why. I wouldn't usually post a pic where I look less than gorgeous but I like this one because it was taken last Saturday and that day was a good simple day. I think I look kind of fresh. Oh, and food is involved!

Birds and Pensioners

Just seen a robin going bonkers in the bird bath.
Looks like better weather for the weekend.
Going to London to see the old dears.

My One and Only Love. Poem

On the Horsehound menu tonight. Fish..FISH? Yep Fish. I'm feeling too tired to 'make' anything, so grilled Pollack is the fish dish of the day. But it is healthy so...For pud? A 3 minute microwaved syrup pudding. IT IS HOMEMADE. I haven't sunk so low as to nuke a SHOP BOUGHT one!

I love to cook but I couldn't and wouldn't live without beautiful words...
Been reading some of the poems on this here blog and the one below is a favourite of mine. It's sentiments pure, it's honesty clear, I love it with all my just beating heart.


On bright snow I childishly blow
frozen kisses to my friends
Then
On wooden benches I solemnly sit
slicing out your name
Then
On bent knees I show
my pretty insane love for you
Then
On Tuesday you said 'us'
and I couldn't feel the pavement.

Monty

Latest pics of his Lordship...
He's my furry mate, silent clown and bonny boy. Can be a trifle serious sometimes but taking everything into account I wouldn't change him.

A List To Cheer The Heart

Things Which Satisfy My Heart

1. Laughing. Especially wet laughs where my eyes sting and I choke.

2. A good dinner. Whereby I ooh and aah a lot feeling rather smug 'cos I cooked it.

3. Compliments. Love my eyes and lips being gawped at.

4. Quietness. Like now. Just me, Monty and a nice cup of tea.

5. Bird watching. In my garden, in the street, anywhere. Love the little fellas.

6. A movie with lots of guns. But the gun user must wear a suit. Gun weilding jeans wearers are gross.

7. Jumping round the room to Tamla Motown. Impossible to remain still when 'The Four Tops' rattle.

8. Buying stuff in charity shops. I love you Joan.

9. Chums. Old ones young ones. Thin ones fat ones. Even dull ones..

10. Surprising people with winks, presents and unexpected bodily contact. But only on a Thursday.

After work I felt like walking.
So coatless I stepped up the hilly road all the way to the funny little pet shop opposite the playing fields. In front of me on my glorious amble were five, half pint schoolboys one of which was being dragged by a mud coloured dog. The dog was a gentle brute with a shining coat and big stupid ears, I don't know what make of dog it was but his wagging tail and floppy tongue made me laugh.
After handing over £2 for 4lbs of bird seed I walked out into the late afternoon sunshine. And all of a sudden I had the urge for alcohol. But being a bit broke I couldn't drop in the local tavern so I suffered all the way home.
Passing The Victory Inn was a nightmare, there were two lads leaning on a railing each holding a glass of ale and so I averted my gaze just in case they thought I was after them. I wasn't of course, I'm married and my backs playing up so... Anyway the sun was making me squint and the dribble of traffic on the Ashingdon Road was being held up on account of some nitwit being absurdly badly parked outside the sweet shop.

My turning was coming and the weight of the seeds was making me sweat, so I glanced up at the perfect sky, quickly shut my eyes and then took a big breath. In Obamaesque style I thought "I can do this" as my shoulder joints almost dislocated. I'd had a tiring day, I was up a ladder a lot of the time and had to do things with kippers so why I thought I could lug bags of budgie grub about, I just don't know.
Stupid. That's what I can be.
I limped along, occasionally glancing into neighbour's gardens and wondering where on earth they get the time, energy and money to create such Edens.
My bungalow couldn't come quickly enough and as I chucked the bags down I sneered at two fence lounging pigeons and thought "All this I do for you and what do I get?" "Pooh pooh on me Sweet Peas"

On the Horsehound menu tonight Beef Casserole and giant Dumplings
Chocolate Ice Cream
Then early night.

Legs

A gorgeous Easter was had by Mrs Horsehound.
What did I do? Not a lot. Most of the time John and I talked about me and my new found riches. I haven't found a toy boy or an old boy what I have found however is some new vigour, some pizazz, some ooomph. And I like all three. I suppose as one gets on a bit, one needs to be yanked by the hair or some other part of the anatomy in order to be woken up. I've been yanked. And I like it. But my legs ache.
Work is playing a big part in my new found lust for life and for a lazy tripe hound like me that's an amazing statement to make. My two jobs are keeping me busy, hardly have the time to blog, hardly have the time to shop. And when Mrs Horsehound stops buying bric-a-brac there must be something mightily huge happening. Yesterday was hectic, my job with Ray had me busy for three hours and after being shocked and stunned by his hairy I'm-doing-the-mowing-in-shorts legs I left him a mug of Spiderman tea. I crawled home.

Home.
To gnaw on the remnants of a half leg of lamb and crunch on some Digestives. Then fun stuff with a chum. Then more work, this time arranging oven chips on a tin tray for supper. Told you I was busy. After all that I was beat. But I had one more thing to do. And that was to polish a piece of prose I'm writing for St Georges Day. This prose may or may not be suitable for the grand occasion I'm attending on the 23rd April. I'm hoping it is. At any rate I'll post it here on this fine blog along with a great poem written by John. That man continues to surprise me. Me Mrs Mop he Philip Larkin! Life is weird...
Today I'm off to my other employer. Man number 2. A fine man with a highly charged sense of humour and a dodgy leg. I must get home at a decent time though on account of me making an exotic Toad-in-the-Hole.

Monty And Max

As I wait for my hot cross bun dough to rise I've got one eye on Jesus, so beautifully played by Max Von Sydow in The Greatest Story Ever Told. (C4) It's a bit slow compared to the remarkable 'The Passion' recently shown on BBC4. Still it's comforting for a sinner like me to be in the presence of God even if he is wearing too much make-up.

On the Horsehound menu today:
Apart from a buttered bun later, I'll be having some lone tomato soup and maybe a fried egg roll about five. John is working today so I'm getting up to all sorts of mischief. Mostly in the kitchen with Monty and the telly.
Better go, because it's after one and me soup has just pinged!
Happy Days...
Nice recent pic of Monty don't you think?

What To Do At Easter. Poem

Overdo everything my friends.
I intend to.

A glass of wine to unzip the tongue
chew chocolate till my teeth zing.

Wear red at twelve
and turn up the volume as the sheets get rattled.

Use expletives
then
as the singers swell
turn down the volume
and let the sleepy fairies come.

And as the fairies drop nothing but goodness upon my shining silver hair
I'll mumble something about The Lamb of God
and what he did for us.

And then on the Sunday
I'll suffer my way up to heaven
on sticky buns and roast New Zealand Lamb.

Then I'll push the cat over.

And

It's gone ten and I'm still up.
And my eyes are spinnnning.
And the cat is smelly.
And I've got to go out at eleven to pick up John.
And I want my Horlicks and everything.
And I feel like telling someone to shove off.
But I've written a poem so it's not all bad...

For The Boys And Girls

A notice in my local post office was asking the good folk of Ashingdon if they'd like to send some sweets and books to the men and women currently serving in Afghanistan. So seeing as I like sweets, soldiers and doing the occasional good turn, I cleared the shelves of the local sweetie shop and boxed up a load of Murray Mints, Starbursts and Werther's Originals. Unfortunately I wasn't allowed to send cake, otherwise I would! What I did slip in though was a note:) I will not divulge the content of the aforementioned note on account of it being about tea and sex. And I wouldn't want my readers to think I'm obsessed with either. What I am obsessed with however are sweeties.

Now humdrum stuff.
Providing the weight of the parcel didn't exceed 2kg/4.4lbs it wouldn't cost anything to send. So John and I picked the shelves of Mr Naseem's corner shop clean:) The man behind all this is a vicar who goes by the name of Peter, and along with the confectionery he's also asked for books...Anything but Mills and Boon. I like him already! In future I will no doubt be scouring the shelves of my local charity shop looking for paperbacks which I feel military types might get a kick out of. No romance of course, just grown up stuff about history and battles. But hold on a min, what about the women who are serving Aunty Betty, I bet they'd like to read a sloppy tale about decent looking blonde birds falling for rascals in leathers who torture them with their searing brown eyes whilst offering them nothing but fantastic hearth rug sex in a Swiss chalet. Nasty. But essential.
Anyway today I'll be sending a sweetie box to a far away place hoping the sweets and my note hit the spot. The above picture shows a selection of the wrapped confectionery that I am sending.

God Save The Queen.

Sunday's Are Such A Thing

Weatherwise it's a sweet Spring day. Sunny and not too chilly. Sky looked very big as I put a few things on the line, refilled the bird bath and feeders, and did some half hearted aerobics by the Buddha.
Cooking today is a small chicken and some veg. For pud a chocolate, orange and banana trifle. Will no doubt have a toasted cheese sandwich about seven.
Messed about with my hair this morning after I'd had some sugar puffs and a jammy bagel, I moussed it up and asked John what he thought. John said he preferred it flatter. So I smiled and then stormed off.

I bought stuff yesterday. On account of me having money.

A cream jacket, half price from Primark, God if it'd been any cheaper they might as well as let me have it for free.

Some golden cup hooks. A dozen for 99p. The woman in The Trade Counter who took my money looked like a Romany. I didn't offend her in any way in case she put the bok on me.

A bunch of artifical daffodils for mum. Would take up some of my homegrown ones, but I'm selfish and want to look at them.

Two packs of pretty floral notelets/envelopes. Very feminine indeed. But I will not buy notelets with cats on. I'm not that weak.

Hold Up Stockings. Because they make me walk better. And feel like a real woman.

A genuine diamante photo frame for mum. For Easter. She's girly and giggles a lot. Especially over fake diamonds.

A pair of Red suede shoes for me. Perfect for spring. Secondhand of course but that's alright, I'm used to it. The woman in the shop kept calling me "Darling". She was ok but very old. And had hair that looked like a brassy helmet. I liked her enormously.

A brown and white apron. Because I want to be professional in my new job. Sensible women wear protection. Brazen husseys do not wear pinnys. Well not when managing a home. Maybe after hours, I don't know.

Now I must attend my rapidly roasting bird.

Mrs Horsehound's 6ft. Bookcase

Here it is.
The bookcase.
Underneath the recipe books are two other shelves of recipe books. Much larger beasts but just as tatty and loved.The knick knacks are the best of my knick knacks, the others being displayed on the dresser in the front room.
The lace on the shelves are cut up net curtains which although undoubtedly naff at windows look awfully pretty covering Melamine!
If I had to choose a favourite out of the favourites I think it would be the small round yellow bowl which sits alongside the recipe books. It is a delightful piece.
Now, as Monty sulks in the conservatory, I must take out my mid-afternoon pre-menstrual angst on a homemade Meatball.
Thank you very much.
If you click on the pic you'll get a bigger version and be able to inspect my knick knacks..Close up!

Friday Fancies

The bookcase is still standing and with a bit of luck I'll post a pic later today..

On my to do list today:

1.Looking at bookcase.

2.Re-arranging dust particles from here to there. I'm becoming adept at this.

3.Diving into the laundry basket just for the hell of it. And because clean clothes are running low.

4.Marinating chicken legs for tomorrows feast. Probably whilst watching "Without A Trace" on Ch4. Will have elevated endorphin levels due to guns and handsome Americans so could get messy if the cleaver hits my thumb instead of the drumstick. But that's what being a housewife means. Sacrifice. I soldier on.

5.Will rustle up a few Rock Cakes for John's next week munchbox. Will freeze them of course. Mustn't allow husband's Rock cake collection to plummet. Could be catastrophic for all concerned.

6. Wonder about frocks. Mostly dance type ones on account of I might be going somewhere in June. Long way off, but I excite easily.

7. Rub "Moonflower" cream into my knees. Will no doubt go all the way up. Never know ya luck.

8. Have a Digestive biscuit with my tea at three. Tend to sink mid-afternoon and a little crunchy thing helps. Close eyes shortly after because after an intake of sugar I tend to feel sexually aroused.

9. Change bedding.

10. Look at bookcase.

On the menu today: Meatballs

Precious Things

I've been shoving a bookcase around the kitchen.

And after lovingly laying upon it delicate lacey doilies I filled the shelves with kitchen knick knacks. These precious things I've been collecting, have hung about on various shelves, window sills and dressers but now they are housed in a 6ft tall bookcase. The bookcase in question is made of a sort of Melamine, I would have preferred oak or pine or even teak but Melamine will do nicely for now. Got this gem from "Freecycle" a place where people offer up stuff they no longer need and planks like me dash in the car to the Leigh-on-Sea to get it! And this is exactly what I did today.
After a quick chat on the phone to 'Ruth' I verily raced along at 28mph with the window open because I was heating up, and sort of parked outside someone's house...I rang, I knocked, I rang, I knocked. But no Ruth. So I phoned. "Hello" I said wearily "It's Angela, and I'm outside your house, where are you?"...
Suddenly I heard a door open and a voice cried out "Over here". I was at the wrong house. :) Told you I was a plank.
Anyway, after giving it the once over I, along with John, staggered across the road with it. And then. Couldn't get it in the car...I didn't moan or swear or even cry. I just stood and wondered..After flattening the seats, taking off a couple of shelves and scraping some sort of paintwork, we managed to get the bugger in.
I drove off listening to John The Great Map Reader of Essex's directions. Wrong. He managed to get me slightly flustered and we ended up by The Blue Boar public house in the wrong lane. So taking swift evasive action I gave the thumbs up to the bloke alongside me at the lights and duly jumped in front of him because I wanted to do a left!
Half an hour later I was home with my man and the bookcase.
I am now shattered beyond belief my knicks have a new home but I am knackered.
Will post a pic TOMORROW.
If he can find the camera:)

England v Ukraine
Tonight 20:00
Wembley
London
It's on the telly


As everyone knows I love it when my beloved England play. But I love it even more when it's an important game and tonight's is important. Because, unless we manage to rip the heads off the Ukrainians, the nasty vicious England bashers will have a field day. And I don't want that. So I'm hoping that Mr Fabio Capello has given the boys a thorough oral seeing to. I've always wanted an England manager, or coach as they call him now, to get verbally rough with the players and consequently scare the living hell out of them. And from what I've seen from past results Mr Capello is doing just that.
See ya later lads...

P.S. President Obama was in MY county last night. The county of Essex. That's right, the best thing since toasted Bagels, was in Essex. He landed at Stansted airport just before 8.p.m and I was in a flap. I loved seeing Airforce One, Marine One and The Presidential limousine a.k.a The Beast.
I LOVE AMERICANS!