Say Hello To Georgie

I have bought what could be the finest handbag. Ever.

It is very like a handbag I had in 1974, a time when, unlike now, I was happy, calm and unafraid. I saw this ghastly/heavenly beauty as we were on our way back to the car park.
"Just popping in here" I said and left John standing clutching bags of other rather mundane goodies like men's pants and Swiss Rolls. Anyway I galloped into Peacocks dismissing the rails of horrible clothes and headed straight to the bags. And hanging like an angel of light was my saviour. As I stood there fingering it I felt the hot breath of a tired man on my neck.
"It's not ostentatious, is it? I asked, opening and closing it a dozen times, having already made up my mind that it was mine. "No dear" He said

Indulging in bags has been a pastime of mine for decades so I had to model it in front of a huge mirror of course knowing damn well that it would look divine and very me whatever I wore and wherever I went. Even Sainsbury's.

But yet as I smiled ridiculously at it in the huge mirror tossing it this way and that I felt like screaming/laughing/wailing because I was so desperate to feel alright again. You see I am a slightly frantic slightly manic woman who's been crying a lot lately and holding on to this perfect handbag reminded me of the gal I was. A gal who wore wild boho clothes and Patchouli scent, who read miserable poems and went to bed at 11 without cleaning her teeth. I was a semi-wild child who preferred books to boys and large handbags to small ones. And here in the middle of Southend high street was a bag which had catapulted me back to the days of working in the glue factory and eating Kebabs with Ernie. Never knew what mental illness was and only ever worried about the day in question.

So we queued and John paid the £12 and after eating two bananas in the car park we drove home to fish paste sandwiches. I've now filled my new bag with women's stuff and it awaits its first outing which will probably be Monday when I pop out for more bananas.
I will always love this bag, not because it's well made or any nonsense like that but because it shone a little light into my cave.
Thank you Georgie. Yep, I've even christened it.

More Pimm's now I think...

A Simples Love

Dearest Sergei,

You have my heart you know. Now give me back my glasses.

Gotcha

Here they are...Aleksandr's mates...
So in love.

Compare the Bungalow

Now hold on a minute, there's something dangerously sinister going on here. I'm a fan of Aleksandr the founder of Compare the Meerkat. com. (See the link in my fav sites) And try as I might I cannot copy any picture of any Meerkat from any site. Why not:(

Anyway back to Aleksandr, if you click on his site it'll take you to Facebook, where he has like a million friends (me one of them) and being desperately in love with the little fella I left him a message. Now the long wait begins...
I also signed a petition asking the powers that be to include the word 'simples' in the dictionary. After all it has become an overnight sensation in this bungalow. I squeak with adoration when the guys come on and just love Sergei's slipping glasses. I empathise fully.

Aleksandr's televisual commercial is my favourite of all time, Sergei, his co-worker is so adorable I want to smuggle him out of his I.T room under my skirt and load him up with sugary English treats, like Marzipan Mice:)

Simples.

Goode Works In Mysterious Ways

Poetry is icing sugar. Cooking is lard.
Poetry soars. Cooking goes for a stroll.
Poetry is an aspirin. Cooking, a nice cup of tea.

So what's all this about?
Another navel gazing episode?
Another bout of who's-the-real-me claptrap?
Correct on the first count and correct on the second count.

I've been composing verse since my first spots appeared and I've been making apple pies ever since penis's loomed large.
And poems and pies have coloured my existence ever since.

But who is the real me?
Am I a half-crazed-hiding-in-an Essex-bungalow poetess or a full-crazed-cycle-riding cleaner who cooks a decent roast?
Both.
But only one gives extreme comfort.

At a very early hour I was zombieing my way from room to room feeling incredibly sorry for myself when I suddenly felt a warm hand fall into mine.
It was the hand of Goode.

And as the birds sung and the sun showed up old stains I flicked.
Flicked through the pages of a twenty-two year old recipe book. In it were great recipes like Swedish Souffle, Orange and Banana Layer and Glazed Meatloaf. It was then I knew I was a cook and not a poet. For not one poem has ever pleasured me in quite the same way as making a knock-out dinner.

My feet were getting cold so I carried the paperback into the bedroom and got to know Miss Shirley Goode all over again.
Smidgens of smiles danced over my face as she sang about chicken carcasses, semolina and lamb breasts but it was her eloquent praising of left-over cabbage that saved my sanity. I imagined running around Aldi's looking at vegetable displays and then scooting back home to make ten litres of Minestrone. I lost my tiny self in visions of Somerset Casserole, Fatima's Fishcakes and Turkish Oranges it was all so good and all so me.


Never had that from a book of English verse.


On the menu today:
Glazed Meatloaf
Potato Salad
Strawberry Shortcake

Charity Queen

My love of charity shops will never end.

I spotted a new one on my way back from Henry's. ( I raced around the castle like a woman on a mission) The mission being I wanna get home! Anyway the charity shop...It's an animal rescue one, didn't have time to reccy the place thoroughly but from the giant teddy bear tied to a chair outside it looks liked my kind of joint.

What else? Oh yes, here's what I bought yesterday in Valerie's ( I kill shoplifters) Trinity Hospice shop in Queensway.

1.
A dark green oblong shaped cushion measuring about 12 ins by 9 ins. It has a galloping red horse embroidered on it, but the stitching is coming undone, that's why the tag said £2 Sold as Seen :(
But the knackered horse looks relieved and at home resting against the arm of the settee:)

2.
A 2ft 'pure silk' wall hanging in green. It is 'pure silk' because it says so on the back. But here's what made me pay a shed load of cash for it. It is embroidered with dozens of little Chinese people. There are birds and bridges and all sorts of activities going on. I love it. Being a thug I was tempted late last night to hammer it to the newly painted walls but sense prevailed and so I will try to find a nice frame for it. It cost a lot. Can't say how much on account of Johnnie finding out. I'd be dead meat if he knew I'd paid over £6 for it.

And finally...

3. A sparkling baby pink backless top which will be held down upon my body by six wispy ropes.
Cost of this delicate dom attire? £1


That's enough from me, now I do chips:)

Last night I made a cracking salad.
Had cold smoked mackerel with a couple of new potatoes and a green and red salad. Felt very fit as I shredded the fish flesh and chased a whole baby beet around the plate. But then I smirked. Because the oven timer pinged and I knew my chocolate up-and-over pudding was ready.
After clearing away the fish plates I studied the baked pudding for a moment. It gurgled a bit. Little bubbles of hot mocha sauce appeared up the sides and then disappeared. And then so did the entire pudding:)
I do not feel the same about tinned peaches.
That was last night what about today?

Today.
Hoping to whizz around the castle today. Am in no mood for banter with Henry. So as I pedal my way down the road I'll be thinking of tonight. Tuna and a tight skirt I expect.

My London Day

Mum said she had some bad news.
And that she doesn't want to talk about it.
Dad said she was over reacting again.
Dad said she always over reacts. But that he has to do as she says.

Last week a man came to their door professing to be my dad's nephew. This man said his name was 'David' and that he was the son of my dad's sister Pauline. Neither me nor my parents have seen or heard from Pauline since about 1974.

Being a Londoner and living in flat on the sixth floor my dad didn't ask the man inside, instead he talked through an open bathroom window relaying the information back to a frantic mum. She said he wasn't to come in and that if dad did let him in then she'd walk out.
The man stayed on the balcony.

After a lengthy conversation 'David', who was in his forties according to dad, said that he'd been looking for his mum for many years and could they give him any information on her whereabouts.
No was the short pitiful answer.

My dad hasn't seen any of his sisters for 28 years, the last time they all came together was for the two-faced funeral of my paternal Grandad. And after the mock sorrow affair in 1981 all communication was voluntarily severed.

Over the roaring traffic noise 'David' said he'd recently found out that one of my dad's sisters, Shirley, had died. She was about 68. Was about 68...That's rather sad isn't it? Not knowing that your sister has died and being unsure about her age.

He went on to name the other sisters and as dad went back and forth from the bathroom to the living room telling mum all this she still insisted that this man must not come in.
He didn't come in.
What he did was say how lonely he was and that he'd like to keep in touch. He handed over his address and mobile number and said it'd be nice if they kept in touch.

Today Dad sat on the arm of the armchair spilling out all this stuff whilst gently condemning mum for not allowing the stranger in.
He knew the names of all of dad's sisters and the name of Shirley's husband. He knew facts about where they'd all previously lived, street names, town names etc...Mum was vehement that absolutely no contact must be made with anyone. No phone calls or emails or anything like that
I asked dad what happened next. And what happened next was that 'David' returned a few days later with more information and still the door was closed on him.

About Pauline:
I only met her a few times when I was growing up. She had hair as black as coal and had her son son adopted...At one time she was in Holloway nick and at other times she was at Butlins. She got involved with an older Spanish man who was quite smitten with her. At my cousin Patsy's 18th birthday party Pauline told the Spaniard to "go and get me a colour telly you bastard. She was the salt of the earth. She got her telly.

About Shirley:
Shirley was my aunt, and despite being my aunt I never really knew her. All I remember was that she was loud and loaned money to people for a price. She went to the bingo with her housekeeping money and cooked a lot of sausages. She was a lazy woman who never did a days work in her life and in the late 1960's moved house because she'd fallen out with a neighbour over an apple tree. She liked her two sons but slapped her daughter around the head a lot. Her daughter Patsy, my bubbly cousin, died suddenly a couple of years ago of a brain haemorrhage. She was 50, we found out about this via an old family friend.

When mum was making some tea I asked dad if he'd contact 'David' he said he'd send him a Christmas card.
Would you?

Sending Whispers: Poetry

I love you
You I love
Sending plated gold whispers
down the line
I listen for you

I want you
You I want
giving me a hundred minutes
in your every hour
I clock watch for you

I love you
You I love
creasing the immaculate
with your thunderous hands
I shout a mouth of obscenities

I need you
You I need
Supplying rushing sharp air
for all my life
I suck for you

You
you look at me
Me you see
waiting patiently
in your shadow

you follow me

I love you

Glo Tells A Fishy Tale

Hot day?

Yep

Busy lady?

Yep, and guess what I was up to several hours ago on my settee

No idea dear.

I was eating George's special.

Really?

Yes, Cod and chips on a polystyrene plate.

Good British fare.

Yes, a decent enough lunch in fact more than decent because I had two pickled onions too.

Large?

They were Big George's pickled onions, so yes, very large.

And for afters?

Wind.

:)

Unofficial Pizza

Clad in gingham I feel rather sporty so this afternoon I made a Pizza. It is not an OFFICIAL pizza on account of it being made with a scone dough instead of a bread dough. I like experimenting especially in the kitchen.
So here's the recipe.
Tinker with it all you like but do try to use a decent Salami.

Heat the oven to really hot. Something like gas 7 or something.
Grease a tin.
Open a window.
Remove clothing.




8 oz self raising flour

2 oz block margarine

4 tbsp milk mixed with 4 tbsp water

As much grated Cheddar cheese as you like. Use a strong Cheddar, what's the point of mild?

Lots of halved black olives. Pitted ones are ideal otherwise you'll spend an inordinate amount of time digging out stones. Pointless.

1 drained can of tomatoes. Fresh toms could be used but I only have two hundred tomato bushes left so I'm being careful

1 largish onion, chopped finely. White red who cares?

A few slices of Salami, peppered one is decent enough. Use the rest on crackers.

1 sliced pepper, either red or green

a good squirt of tomato puree

some oregano, basil and anything else remotely Italian

black pepper
a little sugar
salt




Rub the margarine into the flour, don't keep rubbing it or it'll go all sticky and damp and we don't want that now do we?
After you've wiped your hands slowly add the liquid, you might not need all of it so do keep a watchful eye on the contents of your bowl. Remember wet is bad when making pastry.

Now draw the dough together and form into a ball. When you've managed to do that lightly dust your worktop with flour and gently roll out to fit a greased baking tin. Oblong, round square makes no difference to me, only don't have it to thick otherwise there won't be enough space for your glorious toppings.

The next step is the best step.
Place the tomatoes, onion, herbs, tomato puree, pepper, salt and sugar in a big bowl and ever so gently mix. Don't be tempted to cut corners by cramming it into a small bowl, you'll only make a mess and I don't want you blabbering to me about it. Big bowls always.

Place this mixture on top of the dough and then go beserk with the rest of the gear. Lay on the salami, the olives the peppers and finally sprinkle on tons of good strong cheese. A little full fat will do you good.

You can drizzle some olive oil on now if you like.

Bake for about 45 minutes.
Don't be tempted to rush it because mark my words, you'll be sorry.

All Done

As the wind blew in through gaping windows and as the last fluid ounces of paint was spread I was stopped by some thrilling news.
The 'X' Factor is back!
Returning to a small screen near you on the 22nd August will be the over blown judges, the very professional and gorgeous Dermot O'Leary and the singers. And I cannot wait.
This year there's gossip surrounding the possible inclusion of Mr Roberto Williams, who I feel, will steal the show, the headlines and the screams from other less interesting people. But that's showbiz for ya. After all who wants to sit and be made comatose by a dullard. Bring on the real star of the show that's what I say.

So after the paint was eased on, then lashed on, then laughed on, we ate six cream crackers and some cake. And as the crumbs clogged up me teeth I could see the finishing line in what has to be the longest most marathon stint in decorating history. But the end was a-coming.

The end.
What a beautiful word to all those wielding brushes in their underwear and bad plimpsols. By 6 p.m. it was done. All that was needed now was some spicy chicken and a little sit down then the real decorating could begin with silk blooms, wooden cats and new curtains. The artist in me was running wild you see with visions of a new more clean cut front room but not one with no ornamentation at all, after all that wouldn't be me. So as we sat awkwardly watching a programme on Channel 4 about God, my eyes darted around the smelly painted room like an excited child thinking where I could put my giant Chinese teapot:)
By the leaf green sweet dish. I think...

This Isn't My New Dress This Is An Old One

I didn't think my day could get any better.
Not only did I do a marvellous stint at Henry's, (by the way he asked if I'd run away with him to Suffolk), I found the cutest tea pot in the charity shop. Blue and white it is with blue flowers on it. There were two matching cups and saucers which I of course bought oh and I bought the stupidest dress. It's black with pencil straps and has loads of glittery gold metal things around the waist. I have no idea where I'll where it but I dare say it'll raise a few eyebrows. The picture up there is NOT of the new dress, it is an old metal frock I bought ages ago. OK?
What else? Oh yes I bought another cake stand. Total cost of goodies £ 6 :(

Now blood pressure.
I will deliberately have mine raised tonight on account of my decision to listen to Radio 4's Any Questions... Bob (I'm a Communist) Crowe is a guest. It will take wild horses to drag me away from the wireless. I don't necessarily want to hear what he has to say I just want to hear the boos when Mr Dimblebum introduces him. :)

I made a cake yesterday for Henry's daughter.
Oh dear.
Oh deary me.
The icing was a awful, instead of being dark glossy oozing umptousness brown, it was grey.
So I've made another one and this one will be decorated with something or other. Henry, bless him, is getting in a bit of a lather over the 90 odd guests who'll be turning up at the castle. Poor old bean is having security guards on the doors to deter the unwelcome elements...So only 4 people will be boogieing :)

Ho hum, I've got a tum. And looking down at my protuberances I'm thinking about me in this new glitterball frock. Up there is a picture of me in another starbright dress, it is now in the draw under my football shirt.

Whilst I'm waiting for my icing to firm up I'll hum a happy tune and talk snorkers. Tonight I'll be sliding a decent honey and spiced sausage inside a sesame bap lathering it up with lashings of fried onions and serving it with chips. Chips are good because they're 'friendly' food. And so here is my list of other friendly foods.

-Quince Jam from sister-in-laws
-Cakes from my oven
-Snipped Marshmallows after six with a rude man in the room
-Bananas at eleven every single flipping day
-Cream Crackers with Hummus on a Friday in my kitchen on a chair without a hairnet
-Mashed potato forked into a spiritual altar
-Plums from men
-Fish and Chips from George's but no pickled onions because they've lost their crunch from being sat on a counter for nine months
-McDonald's any day
-Chinese take away on a Saturday sometimes
-Nobby's Nuts usually after a walk up a hill without a mobile phone
-Pimm's and lemonade crammed with lemon, mint and cucumber and a pink plastic swizzle stick but only with a man with a bad eye

The icing is now ready:)

Musings Before Baking

Just been for a walk around my garden.

Rosemary is looking well and so is the newly trimmed Forsythia. A huge amount of 'unwanted' yellow flowered weeds have sprung up and beautiful they are too. I won't and can't go in with the secateurs just because they're weeds, weeds too can be awesome! Awesome? This is what happens when you spend time with teenagers, their language seeps into yours. But yes, undesirable bushes can erupt and add a splash of colour along your greying wall. So the weeds stay.

Something which won't be staying however is the sad old paint on the sad old doorstep. That's in for a new lick of red gloss tile and step paint. I like painting... The front room, by the way, is coming along albeit painfully slow.

Anyway back to the front garden.
I have quite a large frontage, and if truth be told, it's splendour comes not from design by from wilful neglect. I've tended just to let things grow, I'm averse to pruning shears you see. Something I read somewhere about plants feeling pain or some such nonsense. At any rate I clip very little. Many a time I dislodged the wing mirror on the car because of over hanging rose branches.

I think if I had my way (some hopes) I'd let the whole garden run riot. In fact it's very near that out the back. A Buddleia has appeared from nowhere and I now spend a lot of minutes standing at the sink watching the butterflies feed on the purple flowers. Stinging nettles are coming up too but they seem quite content to rub shoulders with Fuschia (?) and something else I can't remember the name of...

Gotta dash now. Got to make a birthday cake for an awesome teenager!

England v Holland

With all the running here there and everywhere I clear forgot about the football! Tonight my beloved England are playing the bulb growers.
So if I get a move on, do my emails, throw some dinner in the oven and get kitted out in my footie gear I should be slammed down in front of the box by 7:)

Great Cleaner

I recovered well from doing business with Graham the gardener and so happily trotted off to work this morning.

The place was ok. Quite tidy. I got up from the floor and went about my duties. Then I heard Henry's bellowing voice asking "is that is you Angie?"
"Who else is it gonna be, and do you want tea?" I bellowed back.
Silence. So I not only made him tea but put a little cereal in a little bowl with a nice glass of apple juice also.
He was a wreck.
I gently chastised him about his smoking, drinking and his prominent veins and then left his room and came downstairs. I busied myself with the humdrum and sometime after 11 he appeared telling me a joke about two Australians...

I came home to a wired up John (he's wearing a blood pressure monitor thingy) and a tuna sandwich. So after patting Monty and tapping John's big machine I removed my clothes.

A piece of poem flicked around my head like a distressed budgie so I jotted words down whilst munching on a gingernut.
God, I love being home.

Henry just called saying how precious I am to him and would I like a curry. I am obviously a very great cleaner.
John's blood pressure machine exploded.

Bartering

There was a knock on my doorbell just after ten. It was a big glowing-in-the-dark man and his hair was wild and white and his radio was blaring out pop music. I stared at him. He spoke.
"Is it alright if I cut Carol's bushes from your side?"
I stared.
Then smiled:)
"Yes of course".
"Ok" he said and turned on his green sandalled feet.
I forgot about him immediately and returned to my pans.
Then I thought about money and my bushes. Hmmm I thought, I wonder how much he charges. So after spying on him for thirty seconds I went out to speak with him.

"Hello, are you ok up there? He was up some steps with a silenced hedge trimmer
"Oh yes I'm fine"
"How much do you charge?
"Why what do you want doing?
"Just a couple of feet off that Forsythia" I said pointing round the corner
He came down and plodded across my imperfect lawn.
"Just a couple of feet? he asked squinting
I nodded and wilted in the heat wondering about the cost.
"How much do you charge? I said again
"£10 an hour"
My heart hit the weeds. Christ Almighty it's going to take longer than an hour I thought and so the idea of having a neatly trimmed frontage suddenly disappeared. But I needed it doing so...
"Won't take you long will it?" I asked smiling like my biggest smile
"No" he laughed "Shouldn't take long"

So I left him to it.

Then about ten minutes later he was banging on my window. "Any chance of a cup of tea?"
Just get on with the lopping I thought, time is money matey and I ain't got much of either I'm a busy girl. Grrrrr.....

Five minutes later he was supping my cuppa.
"So what you doing today? he nosed
"Cooking"
He thought that was dead funny
"Oh yeah, what you cooking then?"
"Pizza, for lunch, I'm baking a lunchtime pizza"
He was mightily impressed because he told me so.
And his face got redder by the minute. "You're making me nervous" he laughed
And I'm not going to pay you I thought....:)

As he piled my wheelie bin with shaved off bits of bush he now and again wiped his plate sized hands down the length of his short shorts, I stuck my head out the window and asked.
"How much do I owe you then?"
"A slice of pizza" he said seriously
Crikey I thought ok, I'm going to get a bit of gardening done for the price of a slice of salami pizza.
"Alright, come round the back way at noon"
And he only did.

He stood in by my table and said
"This have never happened before"
I groaned and served up his lunch.
We chatted about unimportant things, things like stinging nettles, neighbours and local pubs. He was a charming man full of short snippets about his sister and dislike of pets.
I plied him with beer and listened as he gabbled on.

After saying for the umpteenth time that he's never been invited in for pizza he said he should be going because he had to finish off Carol's conifers.
He handed me all his phone numbers and warned me about nettles.
He left a very happy if surprised man.
And I sat with my feet up, a cup of tea and a tenner still in my purse.
Thanks Graham.

Poetry: The Lake

Truly tired today.

After a weeks "holiday" I returned to Henry's. And as I waded through his junk I managed to take myself to a sweeter place. My poetry. Recalling snippets of old verse catapulted me from the cesspit and into a calm beautiful azure lake. I saw this lake in my mind's eye and as the flies rampaged around my aching head I slipped a hand in the icy water and it felt good...

Having an imagination is a great thing.

The lake had orange and lilac flowers floating on it and in the distance I saw a strange looking bird, its head was large and bulbous and covered by a crown of scarlet feathers. It sat motionless on the bank and I wondered when it would move.

Then I went upstairs.
A calamity of men's underpants lay on the floor and so I bent and stretched trying to make a home out of the pigsty.

My lake swelled.

Going downstairs a poem I'd written yesterday for a friend jumped around my brain, jumped in and out like a crazed happy child and it felt good, so when I humped the laundry basket from a to b my heart screeched in defiance...


Anyway, the continuous vision of the lake was therapeutic. I couldn't see anything around it, no grass or people or wooden boats, just a bird.
It's at times like these that I wish I could paint.



The Lake

I'm on your edge
in the dry
but you're pulling me in
drawing me down
tender lake

A bird in red looks across
aloof in scarlet headdress
his stillness matching my own

We stare

I'm on your edge
in the heat
and my stance is lonely and queer
a sudden gust makes the waters wave
and it urges me to come in

The bird in red turns from me
its nature saying fly
hurtling
it scuds and shoots round the sky

I'm on the edge
eyeing the bird
whilst cold water christens my feet
How name thee these feet
Heavy I say
and remain on the edge of the tender lake.



I'm on my own writing this but the lake is still waving to me:)

Morning Sun

Hello sun

Even at this early hour I see you're in scintillating form. Well keep it up will you because I'm out on my bike today and I don't want showers splashing my brilliant chrome.

You still there? Oh yes you are, had a panic then, thought you'd upped and left and gone sulky behind that cloud. That one right there, over my right shoulder and over the house opposite. Oh good there you are, knew you couldn't leave the Queen in the dark in the nude on a Monday morning.
Now liven up, get set and stay in place all day. Because if, when I set out on my journey, you're playing hide and seek, I'll be smileless. I want you to get in my eyes so I can look cool in my shades. The Queen does rock so well.

Goosebumps now.
And they're big.
Time methinks to stop.
To listen to a barking dog, smack Monty's arse and tilt my head skywards.

Combing The Sky

Udder.
Waterfall.
Camel.
Arabesque.
Cracking the Nut.
And Combing The Sky...
A hotch-potch of crazed words from the keyboard of a drunken Glo? Nope. The terms used in Belly Dancing.
And how this information was brought about I will now tell you.

My Sister-in-Law and Nof her gift giving husband and my number one fan came for lunch with me and Mr Horsehound and I loved every sweet moment. For not only was it a family visit it was uplifting. I was given lots of good stuff, a home made c.d. which had a picture of me on the cover. I was also handed a pot of quince jam, two novels and a marrow. And in between a rather long delicious lunch of pork, rice, jelly, grapes,chocolate cake and beer and wine we spoke of mums, dads, maps, life, trains, death, work, pensions, wills and poetry. And then the boys sat out the afternoon amongst the cobwebs in the hot conservatory whilst I saw the light with Mrs Nof...

Mrs Nof.

A petite silver flapper-haired good soul who imparted unto me a priceless gift...The gift of a boot up the backside, in other words she made me think, made me re-evaluate my situation, hell she made me want to do something. Something other than shove a Hoover around. And as we laughed and shared our experiences, my eyes creased with jollity but inside my heart was crying. And these invisible tears were borne from a desperate need for satisfaction. Not monetary satisfaction but every day mundane satisfaction, the kind she has, on a Monday when she goes to her work and helps people.
That's what I want to do.

Anyway, as the sun melted the lino and a rude Monty dissed us, the boys rattled on about the A127 and other male things. But me and Mrs Nof chatted and then suddenly she shot from the chair to show me the 'waterfall' and pointed her sandal clad toes in a move known as 'cracking the nut'. Then whipped her hips this way, that way in a move known as the 'Suzy Q'. Her long flowered red skirt shifting in and out and round and about, brushing my poorly painted cupboards.

Watching these belly dancing moves in the chaos of a post lunch kitchen was funny and youthful and made me long to join in but being the hostess I just sat and enjoyed the show. Mrs Nof's face was alight, not because of the pork or chocolate cake but because she was enthusiastic about life. About belly dancing, about people. About what she does. There was an almost child-like quality to her passion and devotion. Getting on the bus on a Monday whether to go to work or belly dancing class was no chore.
How I envied her.

Mr Nof and Mr Horsehound's voices began to fade away as I was taken on a tour to a better place.
As I swallowed and noted every single word from my sister-in-law I started to feel zeal. To feel ablaze. I was hopeful. I could see myself, maybe not yet, but in the future doing something more fruitful with my life than what I'm doing now. Don't ask what, because I don't know.

But as Mrs Nof spoke about characters and where we get them from, I said that Susan, Mrs Nof's younger sister, got her ebullient luvvy character from her late, but always-the-star Mother, Vera.
And as I said that I immediately thought of my dad. And how alike we are He has done stupid and brave things. He's done loads and done nothing. Has failed and then opened doors which were very stuck or slammed in his face.
I am him in a skirt.

As Mrs Nof rested after her exertions a picture of me spread in my head and I liked the picture I saw.
As someone once told me "You're not a cleaner". And he was right, by gum.
I shall comb the sky!

Sweet

I got some nice things today.

Two mirrors and a small cupboard, which of course came from a charity shop.
But the best thing I received today was from a friend, a new padlock for my old bike. He not only bought it but delivered it in person.
But it isn't the 'item' which is of value it's his thoughtfulness.
Priceless.

Good Things Come Slowly

Pizzas
Re-vamps
Wisdom

Thoughts on a Hot Wednesday

*As my Toad rises I peep into the room of scattered paper and see not much more needs to be done. And for a moment my heart is set alight.

*I interacted with two women today.
One was brutish, the other generous. The brute works in the chemist where I pick up my prescription and the generous one is a receptionist at the doctor's surgery. Both women are of a certain age, both are dealing with people and both had dyed hair but only one treated me well. The receptionist smiled, her eyes meeting mine with genuine interest, the crucifix wearing shop assistant barely acknowledged me preferring to grunt her way around a sentence when asking if I paid for my drugs.
I wondered as I looked at her swaying Jesus whether she had any idea of the impression she makes. I doubt it. I also wondered what sort of Christian she was. Her crucifix was huge.

*Feeling in a very womanly mood I bought yet another lipstick. This one is called 'Dreamer' and it's made by Rimmel. It's pink and suits me very well. When I got home I immediately lavished it upon my lips and smiled in the mirror. Sideways.

*Did twenty abdo pull-ups with my machine. And as I looked at a cobweb I wondered where it was all leading....
Will I be entering body building comps? Probably not. Like my soft flesh too much. Just a little tightening will suffice.

*My Toad has just beeped. Time now to ease the little fella out of his tin:)

Interior Designer

The work goes on:(
I am not in the least bothered about the mess but I am following Johnnie around with a bin bag:)

As the tin of 'chocolate dream' stands in the corner I'm trying to conjure up ideas about soft furnishings. A little fern green perhaps, with possibly splashes of burn umber and sunflower yellow. And although I like blue I think it will jar me slightly so autumnal colours it will be. Curtains are blighters. As we have two windows I'll be out looking out some sweet but not too chintzy drapes in green I think...

Our suite is bad.
So bad in fact that recently I covered the back of the settee with a tartan dog blanket. The miaows coming from Monty now have a decidedly Scottish tone:) So that's more expenditure, we won't be getting into debt with furniture people though but I may buy some new loose covers. Or, and this excites me more, I might get some material and cover just the cushions of the furniture...:(
Bugger. Maybe it just a needs a good wash.

Oh dear what a to-do and all because I'm 53:(

On the menu today:
Sodding fish cakes.

My One And Only Tea Break

And I'm only taking it because I need to get dinner ready. The potatoes are simmering and a variety of salad ingredients are waiting to be sliced and chopped. The baked bird is now cold and sitting in a dish looking very browned off.

I've been working up quite an unladylike glow with all the pulling and peeling of ancient wallpaper but it'll look much better by Friday. At least I hope so. We've found something strange under the many layers of pink, green and yellow wallpapers. We found laminated wood panels. At least I think that's what they're called. And although they don't quite fit in with the regalness of the Horsehound palace they do lend a certain warmth to the old gaffe. I may leave them above the fireplace, just as a feature you understand...Johnnie suggested erecting some Stag antlers but I said that would be too common.

Now I must poke my head into the front room because I hear stomping feet upon the silver ladder. I think Johnnie is getting shirty:)

There'll be no glamour in the HoHo bungalow today because Glo and her half-decent other half will be attempting a major make-over. i.e. ditching the lemon in favour of some 'chocolate dream'.

The decorating of the front room has been put off for like eight years but now the time has come for a change.
So after a light breakfast we'll be dragging the steamer from the loft and dissolving away my rather loved wallpaper :(

Of course there'll be other stuff to deal with first, stuff like phone calls, letter type things and my beauty regime but then it's hard work all the way all day :(

Food wise?
I'll roast the bird I should have roasted yesterday and do something with a can of peaches.
There will be lots and lots of tea breaks where I will sit on the windowsill swinging my pins wondering when John will ever finish!

No, seriously, I am not the type of gal who barks out orders whilst husband sweats, I'll do my bit.
I rather like going up ladders...

More later...Probably during a tea break:)

No roast today.
Instead crackers, hummus and Pimms!
Oh, and a bit of stripping...
All will be revealed tomorrow.

Feel the Burn Queenie

I've bought an 'Abdotrim' exerciser:)