Henry was upstairs when I arrived.
"Hello Angela darling, you alright?"
"Yes thank you Henry"
And then I ran into the kitchen and was met by the usual.
And then Henry left and I was pleased.
I soldiered on.
The doorbell rang at 11 and so I left my half eaten banana by the kettle and opened the door.
A man and a woman stood on the step, I knew immediately that they were religious folk on account of the man's bad suit and the woman's beard.
As always I was polite and listened without fidgeting as Janet spoke for a long time about Adam and Eve and how hard life is. Paul didn't say much he couldn't. Janet was the mover and shaker.
As the wind whipped up their leaflets and hair, I stood in the hallway looking immaculate as always, and the witnesses eyes beamed as they described the new world which was a-coming. Much better than the one we're currently in.
"We used to do cleaning" Janet said "We know how hard and thankless it is"
I bit my tongue for three seconds then said. "It is hard yes, but I laugh a lot too, and that's what counts"
Smiles all round...
And then a woman's loud brutish voice from over the road broke into all our revelries, and that was that. Paul said something about getting on with tasks, I raised my eyebrows and smiled.
Janet hugged her leaflets to her mighty bosoms, thanked me for my time and smile, and walked back to the Kingdom Hall.
I think they'll be back...
Wednesday, 30 September 2009
Tuesday, 29 September 2009
Brown and The Bakewells
I love good speeches and Mr Brown gave a good one.
His lovely wife Sarah introduced him calling him her 'hero'.
Oh dear.
But I suppose to Mrs Brown he is. Gordon has always struck me as bit testy and tetchy, but he no doubt has his good points.
His speech went down well with the faithful but it was his decision to rid the country of hereditary peers which received the most cheers. Blah blah class war blah blah. And I thought Labour had grown up.
The thing which made me put down my rolling pin was when he talked about the introduction of a National Care Service. I thought 'hey ho Gordo could be on a winner here'. But we'll have to wait and see if this new urgent and much needed scheme, to help elderly people with Alzheimers or demenitia remain in their own homes, is radical enough to win a fourth term for Labour. It just might.
The apple pies were now done by now and I had some pastry left over so I rustled up a dozen Bakewell maids.
Minestrone done also, and I have to say it looks so inviting in my giant brown flowered pan.
Now I stop for coffee and to listen to the post-speech comments.
His lovely wife Sarah introduced him calling him her 'hero'.
Oh dear.
But I suppose to Mrs Brown he is. Gordon has always struck me as bit testy and tetchy, but he no doubt has his good points.
His speech went down well with the faithful but it was his decision to rid the country of hereditary peers which received the most cheers. Blah blah class war blah blah. And I thought Labour had grown up.
The thing which made me put down my rolling pin was when he talked about the introduction of a National Care Service. I thought 'hey ho Gordo could be on a winner here'. But we'll have to wait and see if this new urgent and much needed scheme, to help elderly people with Alzheimers or demenitia remain in their own homes, is radical enough to win a fourth term for Labour. It just might.
The apple pies were now done by now and I had some pastry left over so I rustled up a dozen Bakewell maids.
Minestrone done also, and I have to say it looks so inviting in my giant brown flowered pan.
Now I stop for coffee and to listen to the post-speech comments.
Pastry part 2. And Mr Roux and The blood thirsty kids.
Yes pastry needs to relax because then it won't shrink so much.
And the handling of raw pastry is another vital skill that needs to be mastered. If you're rough and treat it without consideration you'll end up with pastry that's fit only for the bin. So gently gather it in your hands and touch it only as much as you need to. Be kind to it, don't take out your aggression on half a pound of shortcrust, take it out on your bread dough because bread dough needs to be pounded.
When I was little in 1972, I was terrible at pastry, it not only looked terrible it tasted terrible. Weekend after weekend I made pale looking apple pies so in the end I drifted towards trifles. With trifles I only needed to use my artistic skills, I didn't need to weigh flour and marg and get oven temperatures correct. I'd happily spend half an hour creating a strawberry trifle with slices of shop Swiss roll, tinned strawberries and ever so slightly scorched custard. The topping would be whipped double cream then I'd let fly with the hundreds and thousands. Which although looked pretty, tended to melt leaving rivers of chemical colourants all over the cream:(
Tasted nice though.
Now my trifles are much more splendid. But we won't go into that now.
I've been enthralled by the latest series of Masterchef on BBC2. A group of young chefs are fighting to work for Michel Roux Jnr. I'm fascinated by their preference for serving up raw meat. Each chef has dished up chicken, quail, venison and all of it has been raw. Not decently rare mind you, but bloodily raw. I am amazed at how professionals can continually make such blunders. It's no good the plate of food looking stunning if the customer/guest/friend throws up at the sight of uncooked flesh. Ghastly.
This afternoon as I watch Mr Brown fight for his political life I'll be making some Minestrone soup and garlic bread. And also two apple pies for the old dears in London. I'll freeze them (the pies that is)) because I won't be going to London till Thursday and there's nothing worse than less than perfect pies:)
And the handling of raw pastry is another vital skill that needs to be mastered. If you're rough and treat it without consideration you'll end up with pastry that's fit only for the bin. So gently gather it in your hands and touch it only as much as you need to. Be kind to it, don't take out your aggression on half a pound of shortcrust, take it out on your bread dough because bread dough needs to be pounded.
When I was little in 1972, I was terrible at pastry, it not only looked terrible it tasted terrible. Weekend after weekend I made pale looking apple pies so in the end I drifted towards trifles. With trifles I only needed to use my artistic skills, I didn't need to weigh flour and marg and get oven temperatures correct. I'd happily spend half an hour creating a strawberry trifle with slices of shop Swiss roll, tinned strawberries and ever so slightly scorched custard. The topping would be whipped double cream then I'd let fly with the hundreds and thousands. Which although looked pretty, tended to melt leaving rivers of chemical colourants all over the cream:(
Tasted nice though.
Now my trifles are much more splendid. But we won't go into that now.
I've been enthralled by the latest series of Masterchef on BBC2. A group of young chefs are fighting to work for Michel Roux Jnr. I'm fascinated by their preference for serving up raw meat. Each chef has dished up chicken, quail, venison and all of it has been raw. Not decently rare mind you, but bloodily raw. I am amazed at how professionals can continually make such blunders. It's no good the plate of food looking stunning if the customer/guest/friend throws up at the sight of uncooked flesh. Ghastly.
This afternoon as I watch Mr Brown fight for his political life I'll be making some Minestrone soup and garlic bread. And also two apple pies for the old dears in London. I'll freeze them (the pies that is)) because I won't be going to London till Thursday and there's nothing worse than less than perfect pies:)
Chicken and Mushroom Pie
I made a pie yesterday and it was sublime.
The pastry was crisp, golden and flaked away and the meat and mushrooms were enveloped in a creamy white sauce. All together a simple stunning little pie.
Recently queerer gear has taken over the kitchen, queerer gear like curries, risottos and Mexican wraps and as much as I love that gear, I've never lost the my love for quaint old fashioned food, like pies.
Only the other day I made another pie, this time an apple one. I didn't use Bramleys, instead I filled the buttery pastry shell with apples given to me by a mate. Were they cookers or eaters? I don't know, all I do know is that they made a great pie. It was lovely served warm but even better served cold. No ice cream or cream of any sort accompanied it, just a slice on its own on a white plate.
I have a thing about pies.
Pastry is notoriously difficult to make but not if you're patient and kind and have a window open. Coolness is the buzz word when making pastry. Hands, water and implemanats should be cold cold cold. And rest is essential too. After making the pastry, let it relax...
More later......
The pastry was crisp, golden and flaked away and the meat and mushrooms were enveloped in a creamy white sauce. All together a simple stunning little pie.
Recently queerer gear has taken over the kitchen, queerer gear like curries, risottos and Mexican wraps and as much as I love that gear, I've never lost the my love for quaint old fashioned food, like pies.
Only the other day I made another pie, this time an apple one. I didn't use Bramleys, instead I filled the buttery pastry shell with apples given to me by a mate. Were they cookers or eaters? I don't know, all I do know is that they made a great pie. It was lovely served warm but even better served cold. No ice cream or cream of any sort accompanied it, just a slice on its own on a white plate.
I have a thing about pies.
Pastry is notoriously difficult to make but not if you're patient and kind and have a window open. Coolness is the buzz word when making pastry. Hands, water and implemanats should be cold cold cold. And rest is essential too. After making the pastry, let it relax...
More later......
Monday, 28 September 2009
Red All Over
Henry was in a bloody state this morning.
Literally.
Hanging from his ear were three sheets of blood soaked kitchen towel and clamped to his chest was his red stained shirt.
"What on earth have you done now?" I said
"Dunno darling, did it just now, I think I shaved off a spot"
So after putting away his lettuce and cucumber I nursed the old boy as best I could.
And he liked it.
"Look at this shirt" I laughed "It's stained with all your blood, you'd better take it off"
As as Henry unbuttoned his shirt, I wetted a paper towel.
"Keep still while I check your ear" I said, patting the paper over his crinkled and sliced old ear, I then soaked up some more blood from his neck and chest.
"Ooh that feels good Angie, but I think some blood fell on me penis"
"Oh do leave off Henry" I pleaded
He smiled and blushed.
Then with all the flamboyance of a bad male stripper from Rhyl the shirt came off.
"I'd better get another" he said lifting his mighty frame from the stool.
"Good idea"
And as Hot Henry tottered upstairs I looked around...
A box of assorted dinner plates were on the worktop.
Half a bottle of Californian red wine stood next to three rotting bananas and a bag of mixed nuts.
And then I glanced into the garden...A new boxed up electric oven with gas hob was sitting by the peanut bin. Oh God. He's got a new flipping cooker. I see casseroles before my eyes.
"How's this? Henry said parking his arse back on the poor stool.
"You look good in blue dear" I smooched, hoping he'd soon be going to work.
"Look at these" He said whipping out a pair of blackened white cotton gloves from his bag.
"We have to wear these at Lodge meetings" he said seriously, swinging them back and forth like a couple of old bells "But they need a wash now, wash them for me will you darling?"
"Only if I can try them on first"
They didn't fit well. And as I waved my hands about in a ridiculous manner, Henry gabbled on about aprons, legs and The Architect of The Universe.
"I'll pop them in with the rest of the laundry" I said as Henry picked up his bag and limped to the front door.
But I'm so glad I didn't.
Because his white dress shirt has turned baby pink:(
I left a polite note saying there'd been a minor cock-up on the laundry front.
I hope he forgives me.
Literally.
Hanging from his ear were three sheets of blood soaked kitchen towel and clamped to his chest was his red stained shirt.
"What on earth have you done now?" I said
"Dunno darling, did it just now, I think I shaved off a spot"
So after putting away his lettuce and cucumber I nursed the old boy as best I could.
And he liked it.
"Look at this shirt" I laughed "It's stained with all your blood, you'd better take it off"
As as Henry unbuttoned his shirt, I wetted a paper towel.
"Keep still while I check your ear" I said, patting the paper over his crinkled and sliced old ear, I then soaked up some more blood from his neck and chest.
"Ooh that feels good Angie, but I think some blood fell on me penis"
"Oh do leave off Henry" I pleaded
He smiled and blushed.
Then with all the flamboyance of a bad male stripper from Rhyl the shirt came off.
"I'd better get another" he said lifting his mighty frame from the stool.
"Good idea"
And as Hot Henry tottered upstairs I looked around...
A box of assorted dinner plates were on the worktop.
Half a bottle of Californian red wine stood next to three rotting bananas and a bag of mixed nuts.
And then I glanced into the garden...A new boxed up electric oven with gas hob was sitting by the peanut bin. Oh God. He's got a new flipping cooker. I see casseroles before my eyes.
"How's this? Henry said parking his arse back on the poor stool.
"You look good in blue dear" I smooched, hoping he'd soon be going to work.
"Look at these" He said whipping out a pair of blackened white cotton gloves from his bag.
"We have to wear these at Lodge meetings" he said seriously, swinging them back and forth like a couple of old bells "But they need a wash now, wash them for me will you darling?"
"Only if I can try them on first"
They didn't fit well. And as I waved my hands about in a ridiculous manner, Henry gabbled on about aprons, legs and The Architect of The Universe.
"I'll pop them in with the rest of the laundry" I said as Henry picked up his bag and limped to the front door.
But I'm so glad I didn't.
Because his white dress shirt has turned baby pink:(
I left a polite note saying there'd been a minor cock-up on the laundry front.
I hope he forgives me.
Saturday, 26 September 2009
Friday, 25 September 2009
My Little Aleks
Aleks has arrived.
And he is gorgeous;)
He's a little white boy, quite chubby and cute and he's all mine.
I haven't put him in his spruced up garage yet because I want to keep oggling and coochy coochying him.
I spruced up the garage much earlier and with the utmost vigour, shovelling yukky muck into endless bin bags, it really is amazing what a little person can do when she's fired up. Anyway the spiders, bless them, wondered what the hell was happening as they dashed from one pile of rubbish to the other. I didn't kill a single one. I even saved a three worms which were tunnelling their way into a mound of rotting soil by scooping it up and chucking it round the conifers.
No animals were hurt in the tarting up of this garage.
Anyway back to Aleks...He entered my life just after 4 this afternoon, the charming man who delivered my baby handed me three keys and said something about WD 40. I was barely listening, so just thanked him excessively and waved him off.
And as the sun started to fall behind the houses opposite I was out there fussing.
He already has three nice cushions, two decorated with birds of paradise and one with a fat striped cat. A delicate posy of custard yellow flowers sits on the dashboard along with a shining golden ceramic puss cat.
I need to buys loads of stuff now. In fact I've already made a list:
De-Icer. It'll be getting nippy soon. Already nippy up north I hear. So expect they have already engaged their Icers.
Tin of sweets. But not Werther's Originals because they're for old people.
Sat Nav. I might go to Asda in Shoebury.
Flask. For soup in case I go on a journey of more than an hour.
Torch. Not sure what for but it sounds good.
Scraping tools. For at the station when I return from London. I see people doing it come November.
Krook Lok. Because I don't want to lose him. Not now. Not after I've waited so long to get hold of him.
Nodding cat/dog/doll. Because I like 'em.
Cross of St George sticker. Over me pipe.
Packets of sweets. But not hard boiled ones because they hurt.
Air Freshener. But not a tree one.
Words of Wisdom hanging from the mirror. But not Desiderata.
Notebook and pen. I might get the urge to jot down some erotica in a jam.
Sweets. Suckable ones, preferably mint, but never Everton ones.
Resident banana.
Fluorescent jacket. In case I need to stand on a corner at night.
And he is gorgeous;)
He's a little white boy, quite chubby and cute and he's all mine.
I haven't put him in his spruced up garage yet because I want to keep oggling and coochy coochying him.
I spruced up the garage much earlier and with the utmost vigour, shovelling yukky muck into endless bin bags, it really is amazing what a little person can do when she's fired up. Anyway the spiders, bless them, wondered what the hell was happening as they dashed from one pile of rubbish to the other. I didn't kill a single one. I even saved a three worms which were tunnelling their way into a mound of rotting soil by scooping it up and chucking it round the conifers.
No animals were hurt in the tarting up of this garage.
Anyway back to Aleks...He entered my life just after 4 this afternoon, the charming man who delivered my baby handed me three keys and said something about WD 40. I was barely listening, so just thanked him excessively and waved him off.
And as the sun started to fall behind the houses opposite I was out there fussing.
He already has three nice cushions, two decorated with birds of paradise and one with a fat striped cat. A delicate posy of custard yellow flowers sits on the dashboard along with a shining golden ceramic puss cat.
I need to buys loads of stuff now. In fact I've already made a list:
De-Icer. It'll be getting nippy soon. Already nippy up north I hear. So expect they have already engaged their Icers.
Tin of sweets. But not Werther's Originals because they're for old people.
Sat Nav. I might go to Asda in Shoebury.
Flask. For soup in case I go on a journey of more than an hour.
Torch. Not sure what for but it sounds good.
Scraping tools. For at the station when I return from London. I see people doing it come November.
Krook Lok. Because I don't want to lose him. Not now. Not after I've waited so long to get hold of him.
Nodding cat/dog/doll. Because I like 'em.
Cross of St George sticker. Over me pipe.
Packets of sweets. But not hard boiled ones because they hurt.
Air Freshener. But not a tree one.
Words of Wisdom hanging from the mirror. But not Desiderata.
Notebook and pen. I might get the urge to jot down some erotica in a jam.
Sweets. Suckable ones, preferably mint, but never Everton ones.
Resident banana.
Fluorescent jacket. In case I need to stand on a corner at night.
The Artist Returns
Just put together the most sublime outfit.
Long grey skirt.
Red paisley blouse.
An oval silver grey pendant choker with a long black and clear beaded necklace.
Perfect for cleaning.
Perfect for salad assembling.
And perfect for a sunny Friday.
I shall dance along the road if that's alright with you...
Long grey skirt.
Red paisley blouse.
An oval silver grey pendant choker with a long black and clear beaded necklace.
Perfect for cleaning.
Perfect for salad assembling.
And perfect for a sunny Friday.
I shall dance along the road if that's alright with you...
Thursday, 24 September 2009
Handyman
My garage is coming along nicely.
Thanks to the very generous help of a friend.
Thanks Sweetie.
It's amazing how much ghastly stuff accumulates when the garage is used as a general dumping ground.
I stood in amazement as layer upon layer of damp festering junk revealed snippets of past lives, past endeavours and past extravagances.
Did I really use that awful white plastic table? And what on earth was I thinking when I bought the fish thing? And hidden under a rolled up beige shag pile carpet was a huge bag of long green metal rods! No idea what they were used for but I know where they're going. Down the dump. A tin of aqua paint caught my eye along with one of those horrid Hover mowers and to add joy to the nail breaking work, I came across a big bag of soil...Why did I do that? Why did I put litre upon litre of garden soil in a big blue sack? Have no idea what to do with it. Maybe I could throw it around the conifers or better still, the neighbours.
As me and Handy Andy dragged out the rotting remnants I spotted another large carrier bag chock-a-block with rolls of yellow and blue wallpaper. After studying the paper I realized that when I bought it I must have been one sad old trout with no sense of style and no sense of measurement. Unlike now of course where I'm a radiantly happy old trout with tons of panache and a calculator.
We pressed on and as Handy Andy raked up tons of coloured foam from a disintegrating sun lounger I stopped and looked at the sky.
How queer I thought, to be working up a sweat in a messy garden on a sweet September day. And as my strong-as-an-ox co-worker forced a legless table into the bin I comforted myself with the fact that one day the neglected un-loved garage will be as capacious as my heart and my little Aleks will be safely tucked inside.
Tomorrow is back to work day.
But afterwards, after a decent sandwich, I shall continue the great clean up but sadly without the assistance of Handy Andy. I see myself in sturdy shoes stomping on everything wooden and frail, gathering up dank odds and ends and loading them into black bin bags and then I'll go in with my ancient red broom to relocate the spiders.
And if all goes to plan, the brilliant cobweb free garage will then be fit for two cars.
I can't wait:)
On the menu tonight:
Crumbs.
John is working late so I'll starve:(
Thanks to the very generous help of a friend.
Thanks Sweetie.
It's amazing how much ghastly stuff accumulates when the garage is used as a general dumping ground.
I stood in amazement as layer upon layer of damp festering junk revealed snippets of past lives, past endeavours and past extravagances.
Did I really use that awful white plastic table? And what on earth was I thinking when I bought the fish thing? And hidden under a rolled up beige shag pile carpet was a huge bag of long green metal rods! No idea what they were used for but I know where they're going. Down the dump. A tin of aqua paint caught my eye along with one of those horrid Hover mowers and to add joy to the nail breaking work, I came across a big bag of soil...Why did I do that? Why did I put litre upon litre of garden soil in a big blue sack? Have no idea what to do with it. Maybe I could throw it around the conifers or better still, the neighbours.
As me and Handy Andy dragged out the rotting remnants I spotted another large carrier bag chock-a-block with rolls of yellow and blue wallpaper. After studying the paper I realized that when I bought it I must have been one sad old trout with no sense of style and no sense of measurement. Unlike now of course where I'm a radiantly happy old trout with tons of panache and a calculator.
We pressed on and as Handy Andy raked up tons of coloured foam from a disintegrating sun lounger I stopped and looked at the sky.
How queer I thought, to be working up a sweat in a messy garden on a sweet September day. And as my strong-as-an-ox co-worker forced a legless table into the bin I comforted myself with the fact that one day the neglected un-loved garage will be as capacious as my heart and my little Aleks will be safely tucked inside.
Tomorrow is back to work day.
But afterwards, after a decent sandwich, I shall continue the great clean up but sadly without the assistance of Handy Andy. I see myself in sturdy shoes stomping on everything wooden and frail, gathering up dank odds and ends and loading them into black bin bags and then I'll go in with my ancient red broom to relocate the spiders.
And if all goes to plan, the brilliant cobweb free garage will then be fit for two cars.
I can't wait:)
On the menu tonight:
Crumbs.
John is working late so I'll starve:(
Seasons of Mist and Mellow Fruitfulness?
And so what am I doing on this mellow Autumnal day?
Shifting a load of junk from the garage in readiness for MY NEW OLD CAR!
What I should be doing is resting or making a few mandarin fancies or slavering perfumed creams over my hilly bits but no, I've been out there shovelling bits of chairs, iron rods, broken lawnmowers and acres and acres of plastic sheeting just so 'Aleks' won't have to sit out in the cold...Yes, I've named the car Aleks, after the founder of Compare the Meerkat.com.
There is no hope for me:)
Shifting a load of junk from the garage in readiness for MY NEW OLD CAR!
What I should be doing is resting or making a few mandarin fancies or slavering perfumed creams over my hilly bits but no, I've been out there shovelling bits of chairs, iron rods, broken lawnmowers and acres and acres of plastic sheeting just so 'Aleks' won't have to sit out in the cold...Yes, I've named the car Aleks, after the founder of Compare the Meerkat.com.
There is no hope for me:)
Wednesday, 23 September 2009
Blazing Underground: Poem
A blazing in my underground
shoots razor lights through the dark
their crystal sweetness
and shocking force
rockets the blandness of sadness
away
And all on a deep dark night
when babies sleep in fluff
and cats lie in the cinders
my arms stretch out
my heart screams up to
pinch the stars
alight
The blazing in my underground
coils and tightens till
my blood needs good release
and turning deaf
and turning blind
I give in and slip and slide
And all on a deep dark night
when single people in seaside towns
turn to radio four at nine
when noisy boys in a shed in Leeds
play war games with their neighbours
my hands reach down
The blazing in my underground
uncovers treasures in the dark
small hot pearls
simply strung by a far away man
fall through my hands
washing my fingers
like devilled Christmas toys.
Angela Norris
shoots razor lights through the dark
their crystal sweetness
and shocking force
rockets the blandness of sadness
away
And all on a deep dark night
when babies sleep in fluff
and cats lie in the cinders
my arms stretch out
my heart screams up to
pinch the stars
alight
The blazing in my underground
coils and tightens till
my blood needs good release
and turning deaf
and turning blind
I give in and slip and slide
And all on a deep dark night
when single people in seaside towns
turn to radio four at nine
when noisy boys in a shed in Leeds
play war games with their neighbours
my hands reach down
The blazing in my underground
uncovers treasures in the dark
small hot pearls
simply strung by a far away man
fall through my hands
washing my fingers
like devilled Christmas toys.
Angela Norris
Chaos at Henry's
Henry phoned yesterday afternoon and was mightily upset because on Monday I'd left a note for Walter and not one for him.
And so I listened to his all-over-the-place rant whilst surfing t.v channels. He ended by saying he would leave the choice of scrubbing brush up to me:(
He also asked if I'd iron his silly frilly white shirt today on account of him attending a Masonic do on Saturday.
The rooms were like I'd never been there.
The kids room was so utterly depressing that I wondered if her mother had ever asked her to put anything in its rightful place. The kid has not been taught well.
The living room wasn't like I'd left it on Monday...
Books, (ok, I approve) were on the mantel piece alongside dvd's, ashtrays and the remains of last night's Chinese takeaway. What on earth was I do to with 15 Prawn crackers?
A beer bottle was in the grate alongside shredded newspapers and a partly peeled orange. Thankfully there weren't any signs of excessive sexual activity. That was to come...
Kitchen.
Oh my God.
How it breaks my heart.
I never know quite where to start in the kitchen but today was a corker. Cartons of congealed sweet and sour sauce were on the toaster, vodka bottles stood idly by the washing up liquid and the left out butter had all but melted.
His dining table was strewn with letters, fruit pips, demands, holiday brochures, a belt, three mugs, ashtrays, broken torch, spanners and velvet bow tie.
But I swept it all aside in a matter of minutes and went upstairs...
Walter's room was ok.
A few smelly shoes under the bed.
Two photos of a family nature (people of various sizes and ages sitting round a table) propped up against his mirror.
And a box of 'men's intimate items' rested against a library book of naval Battles.
A lad's room.
So I dashed away with my duster making sure I didn't interfere too much with his valiant attempt to make his tiny room a home from home.
I left a note for Henry urging him to replenish his store cupboard.
I left a note for Walter saying I'd ironed his rather gorgeous black shirt.
Then I came home.
Home to fish paste sandwiches, attentive puss and order.
And so I listened to his all-over-the-place rant whilst surfing t.v channels. He ended by saying he would leave the choice of scrubbing brush up to me:(
He also asked if I'd iron his silly frilly white shirt today on account of him attending a Masonic do on Saturday.
The rooms were like I'd never been there.
The kids room was so utterly depressing that I wondered if her mother had ever asked her to put anything in its rightful place. The kid has not been taught well.
The living room wasn't like I'd left it on Monday...
Books, (ok, I approve) were on the mantel piece alongside dvd's, ashtrays and the remains of last night's Chinese takeaway. What on earth was I do to with 15 Prawn crackers?
A beer bottle was in the grate alongside shredded newspapers and a partly peeled orange. Thankfully there weren't any signs of excessive sexual activity. That was to come...
Kitchen.
Oh my God.
How it breaks my heart.
I never know quite where to start in the kitchen but today was a corker. Cartons of congealed sweet and sour sauce were on the toaster, vodka bottles stood idly by the washing up liquid and the left out butter had all but melted.
His dining table was strewn with letters, fruit pips, demands, holiday brochures, a belt, three mugs, ashtrays, broken torch, spanners and velvet bow tie.
But I swept it all aside in a matter of minutes and went upstairs...
Walter's room was ok.
A few smelly shoes under the bed.
Two photos of a family nature (people of various sizes and ages sitting round a table) propped up against his mirror.
And a box of 'men's intimate items' rested against a library book of naval Battles.
A lad's room.
So I dashed away with my duster making sure I didn't interfere too much with his valiant attempt to make his tiny room a home from home.
I left a note for Henry urging him to replenish his store cupboard.
I left a note for Walter saying I'd ironed his rather gorgeous black shirt.
Then I came home.
Home to fish paste sandwiches, attentive puss and order.
Tuesday, 22 September 2009
Chatting Like A Parrot
Decided to pop out after promising myself I wouldn't.
Down to see the refurbished charity shop in Mansted Gardens and a pleased-as-punch Joan. What a laugh we had.
As I staggered from rack to shelf to dump bin and then back to rack, old Joan, and she is old, shouted to me about: Men. Elastic. Thongs. Holidays with husbands. Boredom. Vicars and excessive weight in the hip area.
Laugh? My head fell upon her mighty shoulders and we laughed like a couple of drunks. And then I handed over my purchase. One seriously bright red jumper. Price £1:25
We then giggled about all things red.
After paying for the jumper she tried to persuade me to buy some of the stuff which was in the window but I said she couldn't have any more of my money on account of my needing to buy a lettuce for John...
She laughed like a drain then grabbed me, squeezing my shoulders till I thought I heard them crack.
She's lovely is Joan...
I wonder when her day off is:(
I then bought the lettuce of love and walked home very slowly in stunning midday sunlight.
Down to see the refurbished charity shop in Mansted Gardens and a pleased-as-punch Joan. What a laugh we had.
As I staggered from rack to shelf to dump bin and then back to rack, old Joan, and she is old, shouted to me about: Men. Elastic. Thongs. Holidays with husbands. Boredom. Vicars and excessive weight in the hip area.
Laugh? My head fell upon her mighty shoulders and we laughed like a couple of drunks. And then I handed over my purchase. One seriously bright red jumper. Price £1:25
We then giggled about all things red.
After paying for the jumper she tried to persuade me to buy some of the stuff which was in the window but I said she couldn't have any more of my money on account of my needing to buy a lettuce for John...
She laughed like a drain then grabbed me, squeezing my shoulders till I thought I heard them crack.
She's lovely is Joan...
I wonder when her day off is:(
I then bought the lettuce of love and walked home very slowly in stunning midday sunlight.
Monday, 21 September 2009
Whizz Whizz
I flew round and round Henry's like a demented sparrow. Not even stopping for my usual banana break. And as my little feet crushed the pedals on our Honda Civic, I thought this time next week my size fours will be resting daintily on the pedals of my Nissan Micra.
On the menu tonight:
Beef pie
curried beans
potatoes
*
Glossy butterscotch bananas and ice cream
Now a tea and lipstick break:)
On the menu tonight:
Beef pie
curried beans
potatoes
*
Glossy butterscotch bananas and ice cream
Now a tea and lipstick break:)
Saturday, 19 September 2009
Secondhand Glo Burns Rubber
I'VE GOT MY VERY OWN........................................CAR!
A WHITE NISSAN MICRA.
WHEN MR. WHITTINGHAM SUGGESTED I TAKE IT FOR A 'LITTLE RUN' I SPLUTTERED LIKE A GIRL.
"BUT I'M WEARING HEELS".
AND THEN BLASTED DOWN THE PAGELSHAM ROAD ALMOST REACHING 40 M.P.H.
GOD I LOOKED COOL!
I'M SOOOOOO HAPPY!
Thursday, 17 September 2009
London and The Village of Silverydew
Mum and dad flicked and skidded from one topic of conversation to the other and being an obedient kid I gobbled it all up.
Lunch today though was quite atrocious.
Some microwaved chicken with strings of asparagus and a pitiful handful of small crustified potatoes. And there wasn't even a pud to ease away the pain!
But I munched away because it would have been rude to leave the carefully thrown together fare.
We then went shopping.
After trying on three dresses which were all too small:( I plumped for a slightly arty-farty affair in mauve. The gorgeous thick woolled dress is shortish so I've decided to wear thick industrial strength tights with it which will in turn look fabulous with knee length boots in coal black! Me must find some...
The dress cost not a lot because it isn't in tip top condition, but I'll bring it back to life with the addition of gaily coloured beads and as the beads bounce so will I.
We then popped into a chemist for creams and lotions and as we looked at red bottles and silver tubs I wondered what I'd look like when I'm mums age. I know I won't wear an anorak. Nor will I go out without my lips licked with coral lipstick and my eyes will always be swept over with earth brown shadow. Maybe blue. But I can't see myself being a plain old lady. I think I'll wear wild scarves and talk to men on trains.
On the train home I didn't look at anyone or take much notice of the passing Essex countryside much preferring to go into the world of 'The Little White Horse'. And as I travelled the railways I also travelled through Maria Merryweather's world. Maria, a young imperfect girl whose eagerness for knowledge, love and everything else and who risked her life to save a trapped hare, had me almost crying.
Elizabeth Goudge is a storyteller second to none.
And then home.
Home to Monty the cat, lovely emails and a slice of fudge cake.
I think Maria would approve...
Lunch today though was quite atrocious.
Some microwaved chicken with strings of asparagus and a pitiful handful of small crustified potatoes. And there wasn't even a pud to ease away the pain!
But I munched away because it would have been rude to leave the carefully thrown together fare.
We then went shopping.
After trying on three dresses which were all too small:( I plumped for a slightly arty-farty affair in mauve. The gorgeous thick woolled dress is shortish so I've decided to wear thick industrial strength tights with it which will in turn look fabulous with knee length boots in coal black! Me must find some...
The dress cost not a lot because it isn't in tip top condition, but I'll bring it back to life with the addition of gaily coloured beads and as the beads bounce so will I.
We then popped into a chemist for creams and lotions and as we looked at red bottles and silver tubs I wondered what I'd look like when I'm mums age. I know I won't wear an anorak. Nor will I go out without my lips licked with coral lipstick and my eyes will always be swept over with earth brown shadow. Maybe blue. But I can't see myself being a plain old lady. I think I'll wear wild scarves and talk to men on trains.
On the train home I didn't look at anyone or take much notice of the passing Essex countryside much preferring to go into the world of 'The Little White Horse'. And as I travelled the railways I also travelled through Maria Merryweather's world. Maria, a young imperfect girl whose eagerness for knowledge, love and everything else and who risked her life to save a trapped hare, had me almost crying.
Elizabeth Goudge is a storyteller second to none.
And then home.
Home to Monty the cat, lovely emails and a slice of fudge cake.
I think Maria would approve...
Wednesday, 16 September 2009
Dear Angela...
I received a letter today from my 70 year old Auntie Ivy.
I haven't seen her for thirty years and to hold her perfectly typed letter in my hands was a tender moment for me. Like I said before in a previous post I always liked Ivy, she was and I'm glad to say still is, a feisty sharp woman. I can tell by the short sharp sentences which are laden with wit and wisdom. Her body she said was quite old but in her head she was still 'fortyish'.
I liked that.
She enthused about the old days when me mum and dad used to visit her large house in Clapham Junction.
She ran a fraught house packed to the ceiling with kids and tropical fish. One of her husbands wore a bow tie and ate only eggs and bacon and rice pudding. They had the kind of home which made you want to run up and down the stairs barefooted, everything was chaotic and I never wanted to leave.
She loved leopard print cushions, several Martinis, several foreign holidays, leather pouffes, fur coats, and had a pine breakfast bar before pine breakfast bars were fashionable. She also hung 'The Green Lady' over the huge fireplace.
She laughed a great deal and also cried a great deal, she went through two or three husbands and several houses. But whatever the emotional weather she always looked glamorous.
She was a strict mother who angered her step-children to such a degree that one day after school, they slashed all her clothes with the kitchen scissors and emptied talcum powder over the black satin sheets.
They were severely chastised.
This letter from Ivy came about as a direct result of the arrival at mum and dad's door of a man called David who purported to be dad's nephew. I'm very pleased he did arrive though, because, as a result, I've re-discovered my slightly scary Auntie.
And she writes well does Ivy, and I will take a great deal of pleasure in corresponding with her.
I hope to meet her one day, but I won't press it.
I daren't.
I haven't seen her for thirty years and to hold her perfectly typed letter in my hands was a tender moment for me. Like I said before in a previous post I always liked Ivy, she was and I'm glad to say still is, a feisty sharp woman. I can tell by the short sharp sentences which are laden with wit and wisdom. Her body she said was quite old but in her head she was still 'fortyish'.
I liked that.
She enthused about the old days when me mum and dad used to visit her large house in Clapham Junction.
She ran a fraught house packed to the ceiling with kids and tropical fish. One of her husbands wore a bow tie and ate only eggs and bacon and rice pudding. They had the kind of home which made you want to run up and down the stairs barefooted, everything was chaotic and I never wanted to leave.
She loved leopard print cushions, several Martinis, several foreign holidays, leather pouffes, fur coats, and had a pine breakfast bar before pine breakfast bars were fashionable. She also hung 'The Green Lady' over the huge fireplace.
She laughed a great deal and also cried a great deal, she went through two or three husbands and several houses. But whatever the emotional weather she always looked glamorous.
She was a strict mother who angered her step-children to such a degree that one day after school, they slashed all her clothes with the kitchen scissors and emptied talcum powder over the black satin sheets.
They were severely chastised.
This letter from Ivy came about as a direct result of the arrival at mum and dad's door of a man called David who purported to be dad's nephew. I'm very pleased he did arrive though, because, as a result, I've re-discovered my slightly scary Auntie.
And she writes well does Ivy, and I will take a great deal of pleasure in corresponding with her.
I hope to meet her one day, but I won't press it.
I daren't.
From One Old Romantic to Another
I like quotes.
And am always looking for new ones.
The following two were sent to me by my Number One Fan, the very funny and warm-hearted Nof.
"Players in the universal game join you from time to time.
These souls are drawn to you by you and you are drawn to them by them.
It is a mutually creative experience expressing the choices and desires of both.
And am always looking for new ones.
The following two were sent to me by my Number One Fan, the very funny and warm-hearted Nof.
"Players in the universal game join you from time to time.
These souls are drawn to you by you and you are drawn to them by them.
It is a mutually creative experience expressing the choices and desires of both.
No one comes to you by accident.
There is no such thing as coincidence
Nothing occurs at random
Life is not a product of chance
Events, like people, are drawn to you, by you for your own purpose."
Neale Donald Walsch
Neale Donald Walsch
" The essence of love is freedom.
Anyone who says they love you, and that they are looking out for you, will grant you freedom. It is as simple as that. You do not have to look further or deeper for more sophisticated understanding.
Anyone who says they love you, and that they are looking out for you, will grant you freedom. It is as simple as that. You do not have to look further or deeper for more sophisticated understanding.
There are only two energies at the core of human experience : love and fear.
Love grants freedom, fear takes it away.
Love opens up, fear closes down.
Love invites full expression, fear punishes it.
By this measure you can know whether someone is loving you or fearing you. Don't look to what they say. Look to what they do.
Love opens up, fear closes down.
Love invites full expression, fear punishes it.
By this measure you can know whether someone is loving you or fearing you. Don't look to what they say. Look to what they do.
Love invites you always to break the bonds of ignorance.
To ask any question. To seek any answer. To share any thought. To support any system. To worship any God. To live your truth. Love invites you always to live your truth. That's how you can know it's love."
Neale Donald Walsch
"Quotes are small pearls you hold gently in your palm, taking them out when needs be..."
Angela Norris
To ask any question. To seek any answer. To share any thought. To support any system. To worship any God. To live your truth. Love invites you always to live your truth. That's how you can know it's love."
Neale Donald Walsch
"Quotes are small pearls you hold gently in your palm, taking them out when needs be..."
Angela Norris
Monday, 14 September 2009
More popcorn please....
The Vault of Horror, 1973.
What a silly film.
But I liked it enormously.
A positive galaxy of British stars lined up to give excellent performances. Especially Tom Baker and Terry-Thomas.
Each of the stories were memorable on account of not only the appalling sets but for the first rate acting ability of its stars. The scariest story was the first one, it was also the bloodiest in more ways than one.
The enigmatic Daniel Massey arrived in town to find his (on and off screen) sister the extraordinarily creepy Anna Massey. He found her and gave her the bad news about their father. Cut to a dire restaurant where the 'diners' looked thoroughly washed out and fed up. So Mr Massey left only to foolishly return later that night. Silly boy.
The restaurant was a place where the local vampire community hung out, so supper that dark chilly night, was Mr Massey.
You know what the blighters did, they, that's Dracula's cousins, only hung him up by his feet and attached a tap to his jugular.
I loved that bit.
No Bloody Mary's for me tonight if you don't mind. Make mine a Pimm's sweetie...
The other stories verged on the ridiculous but I lapped it up.
There was the one about the manic husband (Terry-Thomas) who wanted his home kept ship shape but whose new wife the very cute Glynis Johns was disaster on two legs. However hard she tried she messed up big time. In the merciful end she stuck a hammer in his head, then chopped the moaner into bite sized pieces and stuffed and pressed them into Kilner Jars. (see great pic above)
Neat now eh Terry darling?
The whole film was delightful nonsense from start to finish, and was just the thing for a sleepy Sunday afternoon on the settee. The excellent Milton Subotsky wrote the script along with Al Feldstein and William Gains.
Dependable Roy Ward Baker directed no doubt with a wry grin.
Great British stuff.
On the menu tonight:
Chicken Pie
Alright darling......?
Sunday, 13 September 2009
Ollie from Witham
The X Factor had me in stitches as usual.
Out trotted the hopeless most of which I can't even remember but
a pretty, if tired looking girl, with a foreign accent and long hair, had my vote. Not for her singing voice but for her gentleness, sincerity and audacity. What she hears when she sings in the bathroom is not what we heard. But I liked her immediately.
A lad from Witham in Essex called Ollie also had my vote. He slivered out onto the stage like he owned it and gave us a knock-out, show-off, star-in-waiting performance.
Voice was cool and great and when he danced so did I...
He slid that stage like his feet were creamed.
Out trotted the hopeless most of which I can't even remember but
a pretty, if tired looking girl, with a foreign accent and long hair, had my vote. Not for her singing voice but for her gentleness, sincerity and audacity. What she hears when she sings in the bathroom is not what we heard. But I liked her immediately.
A lad from Witham in Essex called Ollie also had my vote. He slivered out onto the stage like he owned it and gave us a knock-out, show-off, star-in-waiting performance.
Voice was cool and great and when he danced so did I...
He slid that stage like his feet were creamed.
Saturday, 12 September 2009
Sooooooo Saturday
Made Chicken balls late last night.
They were not in the least like the Chicken balls we get from the Lim Lam. The Lim Lam balls are roundish with odd shaped nobulars sticking out hither and thither. My balls were longish and flattish with only the occasional protruding nobular.
Tasted great though!
Today is Burger day.
I'll shape some minced beef into man-sized patties and slap them on the griddle, hoping against hope to get that flame grilled, burnt round the edges look that is so appealing to me. Being a bit health conscious I'll drain them off on a slip of paper towel.
They'll then go in the bun along with torn lettuce leaves, chilli and tomato relish, sliced cheddar and delicate onion bracelets.
They will be mountainous.
And so will I if I carry on like this:)
But it's Saturday and I love Saturdays.
So much good stuff occurs on a Saturday that I'm going plum crazy thinking about it.
Some time later on today I will again gabble incessantly to the old dears in London. Apparently according to Mums early morning phone call, dad has developed a thing for Almond tarts.
Bugger.
That means another trip to the shop. I wonder if useless Somerfield has any ground almonds. I doubt it. All they sell is 78p a tin Coke.
So in the lingo of the young folk, I soooooo don't need that.
Cheerio:)
Friday, 11 September 2009
The Why Oh Why Factor
This morning Henry and I did a duet.
Sitting on kitchen stools we sang "Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life".
Our whistling was perfect too.
We spoke in deep deep depth about:
Love. His for me.
Rubber.
Insomnia.
Older than me women. Like that Simpkins sort up the road.
Haircuts. His
Love.
Lips. Mine.
Carrot Cake. One for him, one for the kid and one for Walter.
Walter's new job.
Sticky mirrors.
Hearing Aids.
Midwifery jokes.
Plums. His. Shrivelled. Oh God...
Love.
Socks. His. Candy striped and with sandals.
Funeral arrangements. His.
Joyous occasions.
Funeral non-arrangements. Mine.
Manic Depressive Episodes.
The X Factor.
Love.
Then he went to work.
And so after adding a woman's touch to Walter's rather bare room I went into Henry's shower and stuck a large message on the tiles.
WARNING!
HOT WATER CAN WRINKLE YOUR EXTREMETIES.
That should raise a smile:)
Then I left and after loading up the car with groceries from a supermarket I came home and er...did this:)
Happy weekend everyone.
Sitting on kitchen stools we sang "Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life".
Our whistling was perfect too.
We spoke in deep deep depth about:
Love. His for me.
Rubber.
Insomnia.
Older than me women. Like that Simpkins sort up the road.
Haircuts. His
Love.
Lips. Mine.
Carrot Cake. One for him, one for the kid and one for Walter.
Walter's new job.
Sticky mirrors.
Hearing Aids.
Midwifery jokes.
Plums. His. Shrivelled. Oh God...
Love.
Socks. His. Candy striped and with sandals.
Funeral arrangements. His.
Joyous occasions.
Funeral non-arrangements. Mine.
Manic Depressive Episodes.
The X Factor.
Love.
Then he went to work.
And so after adding a woman's touch to Walter's rather bare room I went into Henry's shower and stuck a large message on the tiles.
WARNING!
HOT WATER CAN WRINKLE YOUR EXTREMETIES.
That should raise a smile:)
Then I left and after loading up the car with groceries from a supermarket I came home and er...did this:)
Happy weekend everyone.
Cake Crazy
Yesterday I made a Carrot cake.
Next week a sensual 8in Mocha Gateau encrusted with Cadbury's Buttons will land on my rickety kitchen table.
And on the cards for next weekend is Orange Marshmallow cake. This beauty really tickles me, the thought of pulling a steaming cake from the oven and immediately sticking snipped marshmallows on top makes me giggle. And I'm not one to giggle. So this cake must be really something.
More about Marshmallow cake next week...
I like cakes.
My kitchen bookshelf is stuffed with books about sweet things, I just can't get excited or too involved with vegetables. I'd rather lose myself in buttercream than in boiled parsnips. There's something very soothing about cake. Take yesterday's Carrot cake for example. I kept looking at it as it sat on the cooling rack, I marvelled at its size and colour, its simplicity and unworldliness, It was nothing less than pure love.
Onions don't do that.
On a more mechanical artless level...
I sold my old old bike last night to a rough middle aged couple.
She wore a thin brown mac over a long thick skirt and had a trailing flowers tattoo on her ankle. He was way too old for his commando outfit. His bare muscular arms reminding me of Popeye. After squabbling about her weight they managed to stuff the bike into their car and as I waved it goodbye I felt like a very silly woman.
It's just a piece of metal I said heartlessly staring at my creased cash, I then sipped a nice cup of tea thinking about what I was gonna buy:)
On the menu tonight:
Something saucy
Next week a sensual 8in Mocha Gateau encrusted with Cadbury's Buttons will land on my rickety kitchen table.
And on the cards for next weekend is Orange Marshmallow cake. This beauty really tickles me, the thought of pulling a steaming cake from the oven and immediately sticking snipped marshmallows on top makes me giggle. And I'm not one to giggle. So this cake must be really something.
More about Marshmallow cake next week...
I like cakes.
My kitchen bookshelf is stuffed with books about sweet things, I just can't get excited or too involved with vegetables. I'd rather lose myself in buttercream than in boiled parsnips. There's something very soothing about cake. Take yesterday's Carrot cake for example. I kept looking at it as it sat on the cooling rack, I marvelled at its size and colour, its simplicity and unworldliness, It was nothing less than pure love.
Onions don't do that.
On a more mechanical artless level...
I sold my old old bike last night to a rough middle aged couple.
She wore a thin brown mac over a long thick skirt and had a trailing flowers tattoo on her ankle. He was way too old for his commando outfit. His bare muscular arms reminding me of Popeye. After squabbling about her weight they managed to stuff the bike into their car and as I waved it goodbye I felt like a very silly woman.
It's just a piece of metal I said heartlessly staring at my creased cash, I then sipped a nice cup of tea thinking about what I was gonna buy:)
On the menu tonight:
Something saucy
Thursday, 10 September 2009
Sweet
I wish I could have caught hold of yesterday and set it in amber.
So good were the feelings that I thought I must have ingested an illegal substance.
But I don't do illegal.
I just had one of those sublime days where everything I did, said, felt and received was perfect.
And to gild my beautiful sweet lilly... my beloved England won and how....
So good were the feelings that I thought I must have ingested an illegal substance.
But I don't do illegal.
I just had one of those sublime days where everything I did, said, felt and received was perfect.
And to gild my beautiful sweet lilly... my beloved England won and how....
Wednesday, 9 September 2009
Tuesday, 8 September 2009
Thoughts Before My Haircut...
On the menu tonight:
Chicken Schnitzels (my own recipe)
Mixed Vegetable sauce (my own recipe)
and
Spaghetti
Very much doubt if there'll be room for pud. And what would I choose anyway? Not another Banoffee pie that's for sure because although it was a stunner it was also very moreish. And I can't be having that.
So no pud today.
I'm desperately excited about England's game tomorrow night, I expect the Croats to put up a fantastic fight, and why not? They want glory, fame and dosh just as much as we do, only we want it more. I don't know much about anything but what I do know is that if my beloved England squad reach the World Cup finals next year, this blog will explode.
Monty knocked over the clothes horse. It went bang and he scarpered under the bed. Call yourself a killer?
My lilac halter neck dress made me walk differently today. I toddled and wiggled instead of walking sensibly. The heat must have affected me.
Must dash because Lisa will be here quite soon to snip at my hair.
I like Lisa, she's alright.
Chicken Schnitzels (my own recipe)
Mixed Vegetable sauce (my own recipe)
and
Spaghetti
Very much doubt if there'll be room for pud. And what would I choose anyway? Not another Banoffee pie that's for sure because although it was a stunner it was also very moreish. And I can't be having that.
So no pud today.
I'm desperately excited about England's game tomorrow night, I expect the Croats to put up a fantastic fight, and why not? They want glory, fame and dosh just as much as we do, only we want it more. I don't know much about anything but what I do know is that if my beloved England squad reach the World Cup finals next year, this blog will explode.
Monty knocked over the clothes horse. It went bang and he scarpered under the bed. Call yourself a killer?
My lilac halter neck dress made me walk differently today. I toddled and wiggled instead of walking sensibly. The heat must have affected me.
Must dash because Lisa will be here quite soon to snip at my hair.
I like Lisa, she's alright.
The Queen Drops Her Frock
After the surprise of finding a young man in my other kitchen yesterday I'm resigned to the fact that my 'working' life might not be the same again. And that'll be ok providing blustering foot-in-mouth Henry keeps his nose out of my affairs and his hands out of my pocket. And I've no doubt whatsoever that quiet monkey-loving Walter will do the same.
So that's the story so far...
Today I have a day away from the castle so the Queen will run around and grow and be free.
And it looks as if I'll be running around with a bare back too, on account of a fleeting day of Indian summer.
Whatever would the other Queen say?
She'd probably be pea-green with envy. I mean, could she, in her most craziest of dreams, ever enjoy such freedom, the freedom to ditch her crown and baubles and run off with the butler to knock back cocktails in a lay-by?
Goodbye...
So that's the story so far...
Today I have a day away from the castle so the Queen will run around and grow and be free.
And it looks as if I'll be running around with a bare back too, on account of a fleeting day of Indian summer.
Whatever would the other Queen say?
She'd probably be pea-green with envy. I mean, could she, in her most craziest of dreams, ever enjoy such freedom, the freedom to ditch her crown and baubles and run off with the butler to knock back cocktails in a lay-by?
Goodbye...
Monday, 7 September 2009
The Lodger
9 a.m.
"Hello Ma'am" said Walter
And then he offered me a cup of tea.
"Do you like it white or darker?" he asked
"Darker" I said loading my bag onto the busy worktop
"I won't get in your way Ma'am" said Walter
"No, you won't" I said
The 28 year old, tall, dark haired Zimbabwean with tattooed arms and gentle manner kept out of my way as I went about my work. But he talked incessantly. About his family back in Zimbabwe, his yearning for work, the English weather, police and animals. Apparently he is an animal lover and had to leave behind a dozen cats, dogs and one monkey when he came here.
"I miss my animals" he said looking out into the garden. I felt for the stranger and so I listened graciously as the he spoke eloquently about all manner of things.
Then Henry came down.
"How are you Angie darling?" he asked
I felt like smashing his face in.
So as I usually do when I'm annoyed, I gave a one syllable answer.
"Fine"
He rattled on to Walter about work and stuff then asked again.
"You alright Angie?"
"Yes, I'm fine thanks Henry".
"Christ" he said "I'm getting gamma rays, I'd better be going"
"Yes you'd better" I said turning my back on him
When he left Walter laughed warily and said
"You have a healthy relationship with Henry I see"
I laughed and went upstairs to collect the fallen pants.
The morning went by quickly and Walter kept to his word by not getting under my feet. Every time I went into the kitchen however he talked and talked and talked. I didn't mind, I have to say, he seems to be a well educated, well brought up young chap who suggested I take a break.
"I'm okay" I said, swinging the hoover around like a perfect dance partner.
Later on as I was leaving he said "It's good to meet you"
I agreed.
On the menu tonight: Beef pie, beans and potatoes followed by strawberries and ice cream.
"Hello Ma'am" said Walter
And then he offered me a cup of tea.
"Do you like it white or darker?" he asked
"Darker" I said loading my bag onto the busy worktop
"I won't get in your way Ma'am" said Walter
"No, you won't" I said
The 28 year old, tall, dark haired Zimbabwean with tattooed arms and gentle manner kept out of my way as I went about my work. But he talked incessantly. About his family back in Zimbabwe, his yearning for work, the English weather, police and animals. Apparently he is an animal lover and had to leave behind a dozen cats, dogs and one monkey when he came here.
"I miss my animals" he said looking out into the garden. I felt for the stranger and so I listened graciously as the he spoke eloquently about all manner of things.
Then Henry came down.
"How are you Angie darling?" he asked
I felt like smashing his face in.
So as I usually do when I'm annoyed, I gave a one syllable answer.
"Fine"
He rattled on to Walter about work and stuff then asked again.
"You alright Angie?"
"Yes, I'm fine thanks Henry".
"Christ" he said "I'm getting gamma rays, I'd better be going"
"Yes you'd better" I said turning my back on him
When he left Walter laughed warily and said
"You have a healthy relationship with Henry I see"
I laughed and went upstairs to collect the fallen pants.
The morning went by quickly and Walter kept to his word by not getting under my feet. Every time I went into the kitchen however he talked and talked and talked. I didn't mind, I have to say, he seems to be a well educated, well brought up young chap who suggested I take a break.
"I'm okay" I said, swinging the hoover around like a perfect dance partner.
Later on as I was leaving he said "It's good to meet you"
I agreed.
On the menu tonight: Beef pie, beans and potatoes followed by strawberries and ice cream.
Sunday, 6 September 2009
Mini Rant
Just had a call from Henry.
A lodger is moving in next week and as he'll be 'looking after' his own tiny room we will have to 're-negotiate.'
What?
How can I re-negotiate a pittance?
Henry is coming dangerously close to losing my services.
And Sunday was going so well...
I refuse to go to bed angry so I'll fantasize about being taken away from this crap life. That should make the corners of my mouth curl a little.
So as my heavy chest goes up and down, and the heart within it pounds I'll hatch an escape plan.
God, why are wealthy people so tight?
And poor people like me so generous?
I think I'll have a word with him tomorrow...
Fuck You Henry.
A lodger is moving in next week and as he'll be 'looking after' his own tiny room we will have to 're-negotiate.'
What?
How can I re-negotiate a pittance?
Henry is coming dangerously close to losing my services.
And Sunday was going so well...
I refuse to go to bed angry so I'll fantasize about being taken away from this crap life. That should make the corners of my mouth curl a little.
So as my heavy chest goes up and down, and the heart within it pounds I'll hatch an escape plan.
God, why are wealthy people so tight?
And poor people like me so generous?
I think I'll have a word with him tomorrow...
Fuck You Henry.
Sunday Menu and Other Nonsense
Roast Beef. A decent sized roast
Yorkshire pudding. Large but not excessively so
Roast potatoes. Only three.
Glazed whole carrots. Lots and whoppers.
Peas. What can I say about peas?
Gravy and mustard. Thin and Thick
For pud...
Banoffee Pie. 7 inches of pleasure.
Making the Banoffee Pie was fun because I've never made one before and getting to grips with cocoa, bananas, biscuits, butter and cream so early on a Sunday morning was silly and childlike and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Especially smashing up the digestives in a Sainsbury's carrier bag. Loved that bit!
For tea I expect it'll be either be beefy sandwiches or a Chinese!
Which reminds me of a restaurant I had the pleasure of visiting.
It's on Southend seafront and called 'The Great Wall' and I can clearly remember looking out to sea through vast windows whilst showing off my chopstick skills. I of course wore red as a sign of respect.
And now I'm wondering if there's a Chinese lady somewhere, right now, reminiscing about the time she had a plate of Fish and Chips whilst on vacation in Scarborough or somewhere...talking of which I had a lovely piece of Roe on Saturday from Munch Kings, a little establishment near the car wash.
I must toddle off now on account of me beef needing to be tended to, which reminds me I'm having my hair done Tuesday.
Yorkshire pudding. Large but not excessively so
Roast potatoes. Only three.
Glazed whole carrots. Lots and whoppers.
Peas. What can I say about peas?
Gravy and mustard. Thin and Thick
For pud...
Banoffee Pie. 7 inches of pleasure.
Making the Banoffee Pie was fun because I've never made one before and getting to grips with cocoa, bananas, biscuits, butter and cream so early on a Sunday morning was silly and childlike and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Especially smashing up the digestives in a Sainsbury's carrier bag. Loved that bit!
For tea I expect it'll be either be beefy sandwiches or a Chinese!
Which reminds me of a restaurant I had the pleasure of visiting.
It's on Southend seafront and called 'The Great Wall' and I can clearly remember looking out to sea through vast windows whilst showing off my chopstick skills. I of course wore red as a sign of respect.
And now I'm wondering if there's a Chinese lady somewhere, right now, reminiscing about the time she had a plate of Fish and Chips whilst on vacation in Scarborough or somewhere...talking of which I had a lovely piece of Roe on Saturday from Munch Kings, a little establishment near the car wash.
I must toddle off now on account of me beef needing to be tended to, which reminds me I'm having my hair done Tuesday.
Saturday, 5 September 2009
Saturday Rocks.
Today.
Not only am I doing things for our soldiers in Afghanistan but I'm getting kitted out for my other boys.
My beloved England are doffing up the Slovenians today so I'll be, in spirit at least, joining Becks on the hallowed Wembley turf. I know, I know, I'm a bit of a drama Queen and all that, but days like this are few and far between so I'm making the most of it.
The X Factor is on too, so far I've seen a couple of good acts, one is a man called Danyl, the other, a girl called Rozelle. Big showman type artistes who immediately brightened up the 'comedy' show. And it is you know, it is a comedy show, well in the early stages at least, the bad singers are brought to slaughter for our entertainment and most of the poor blighters haven't a clue. But in amongst the devastated rejects are some real entertainers, last week a girl group who I can't remember the name of did a Britney song and did it fantastically well too. What is their name? Blast it. Anyway they were good and I liked them a lot.
Yesterday was cool, did a grand job at Henry's and after a late night microwaved Szechzuan Chicken I spent a little while on my hands and knees looking for an earring.
Not only am I doing things for our soldiers in Afghanistan but I'm getting kitted out for my other boys.
My beloved England are doffing up the Slovenians today so I'll be, in spirit at least, joining Becks on the hallowed Wembley turf. I know, I know, I'm a bit of a drama Queen and all that, but days like this are few and far between so I'm making the most of it.
The X Factor is on too, so far I've seen a couple of good acts, one is a man called Danyl, the other, a girl called Rozelle. Big showman type artistes who immediately brightened up the 'comedy' show. And it is you know, it is a comedy show, well in the early stages at least, the bad singers are brought to slaughter for our entertainment and most of the poor blighters haven't a clue. But in amongst the devastated rejects are some real entertainers, last week a girl group who I can't remember the name of did a Britney song and did it fantastically well too. What is their name? Blast it. Anyway they were good and I liked them a lot.
Yesterday was cool, did a grand job at Henry's and after a late night microwaved Szechzuan Chicken I spent a little while on my hands and knees looking for an earring.
Friday, 4 September 2009
A Regular Man. Poem
Impenetrable he thought he was till
his armour of years was shot through and through
Inviolable he thought he was till
his staid old heart was poked and taunted
Impervious to love he thought he was till
his face got pale and he wept
Razed to the dust on a day like no other
the big man swallowed some truth
and it tore round his soul like a little child in the sea
Overcome with shock he become transformed
his armour of years turned invisible
his armour of years was shot through and through
Inviolable he thought he was till
his staid old heart was poked and taunted
Impervious to love he thought he was till
his face got pale and he wept
Razed to the dust on a day like no other
the big man swallowed some truth
and it tore round his soul like a little child in the sea
Overcome with shock he become transformed
his armour of years turned invisible
Thursday, 3 September 2009
Wednesday, 2 September 2009
For my friend
This poem was inspired by a conversation I had about love and fear and what we do about the two.
Saddling up, she hitched her skirts higher and slashed the earth with hooves of love
'No-one' she whispered to me 'will do the riding for me'
And so as the falling sun steeped its ailing warmth into loveless cracks and solid boundaries
the trembling woman thrashed
her journey was begun
its end perilous in its uncertainty
but still she rode for all her life.
Angie.
Saddling up, she hitched her skirts higher and slashed the earth with hooves of love
'No-one' she whispered to me 'will do the riding for me'
And so as the falling sun steeped its ailing warmth into loveless cracks and solid boundaries
the trembling woman thrashed
her journey was begun
its end perilous in its uncertainty
but still she rode for all her life.
Angie.
What Day Is It.? What Time Is It?
As usual I've got it all wrong.
England are not playing Slovenia tonight, they're playing on Saturday 5th. And England's game with Croatia is on Wednesday 9th. Ooops!
Anyway back to happier things.
Shopping.
I bought what I need to fix mum and dad's door, now all I need to do is put it all together. Woodwork isn't quite my thing but I'll have a go.
After buying the bits and bobs from gangly friendly Martin I strode in the weak sunshine to the charity shop by the chip shop and found a wonderful brown and orange knitted blanket, it has a homely homemade look to it. Two matching cushion cases came with it so that was nice. And all for £1. As I rifled through the jewellry box I found a kingfisher blue and silver bangle. And as I rolled it around my wrist deciding whether to buy it or not my bus pulled up outside so I threw 50p at the elderly lady who was manning the till saying 'Thank you sweetie I love it' and positively flew for the number 7 bus.
On board I paid a whopping £2:10 for a single ticket but then settled down nicely for the ten minute ride home. And then like a great silver bear, Joan, from my favourite charity shop down the road, dropped in beside me. She looked flushed and happy and I listened obediently as she told me about her new vicar and the hooha that accompanied his appointment.
She alighted the number 7 saying that her shop will re-open on the 17th (it's being refurbished) and that I must come down soon. I smiled and agreed because I like Joan and her shop.
Home.
Home to Monty. Dear old Monty. Drove me bonkers he did as I spread some fish paste on me crackers. But he soon settled as he licked my fingers. He also relished the remnants of Monday's trifle.
And as I sipped my tea I found out via teletext that there wasn't going to be a footie match tonight:( And I was so looking forward to seeing Capello's boys sort out the Slovenians. Blast.
So it's just me and the cat tonight.
But now I have woodwork to attend to. Should be fun:)
England are not playing Slovenia tonight, they're playing on Saturday 5th. And England's game with Croatia is on Wednesday 9th. Ooops!
Anyway back to happier things.
Shopping.
I bought what I need to fix mum and dad's door, now all I need to do is put it all together. Woodwork isn't quite my thing but I'll have a go.
After buying the bits and bobs from gangly friendly Martin I strode in the weak sunshine to the charity shop by the chip shop and found a wonderful brown and orange knitted blanket, it has a homely homemade look to it. Two matching cushion cases came with it so that was nice. And all for £1. As I rifled through the jewellry box I found a kingfisher blue and silver bangle. And as I rolled it around my wrist deciding whether to buy it or not my bus pulled up outside so I threw 50p at the elderly lady who was manning the till saying 'Thank you sweetie I love it' and positively flew for the number 7 bus.
On board I paid a whopping £2:10 for a single ticket but then settled down nicely for the ten minute ride home. And then like a great silver bear, Joan, from my favourite charity shop down the road, dropped in beside me. She looked flushed and happy and I listened obediently as she told me about her new vicar and the hooha that accompanied his appointment.
She alighted the number 7 saying that her shop will re-open on the 17th (it's being refurbished) and that I must come down soon. I smiled and agreed because I like Joan and her shop.
Home.
Home to Monty. Dear old Monty. Drove me bonkers he did as I spread some fish paste on me crackers. But he soon settled as he licked my fingers. He also relished the remnants of Monday's trifle.
And as I sipped my tea I found out via teletext that there wasn't going to be a footie match tonight:( And I was so looking forward to seeing Capello's boys sort out the Slovenians. Blast.
So it's just me and the cat tonight.
But now I have woodwork to attend to. Should be fun:)
I really don't have the time for a whacking great post so here's life stuff in bite sized pieces.
The circus was loud, dusty and steeped in controversy. Apparently the owner of the circus had to tell a Romanian worker to shove off on account of his cruelty to elephants. I felt uneasy when the animals 'performed' seeing magnificent creatures like tigers, elephants, horses and camels walking around and around and around for my 'entertainment' was uncomfortable. It is the only circus which has animals as actors and to be quite honest I hope it folds.
The clowns were ok, no custard pies or anything ancient like that, just spinning plates and tear stained faces. Just what hundreds of six year olds want to see.
However the juggler was great.
'Much too good for a circus' I shouted to Henry over the din, he, that's the juggler not Henry, threw batons high into the air, and made faces as he pretended to drop one into the sawdust. His handling of five balls was impressive especially as he was simultaneously grooving to 'Thriller'. What an actor this man was. His handling of fire encrusted sticks was quite breathtaking, he did what all good performers do and that was to engage. He smiled mercilessly, showing good teeth and as the sweat trickled down his make-up, he jumped and twirled and hit the deck in a faux fall. Loved him.
Then came the camels. A more miserable bunch of herberts I've yet to see. 'Like to see you on one of them' Henry said sucking on one of my cherry drops. 'Oh do shut up Henry or I'll kick your stick'.
The evening shrilled on...
All I can say about the circus is that it was the first one I've ever been to and it'll most certainly be the last.
And at a much later time than I'm used to I went to bed wearing one earring.
Today, after clearing up at Henry's, I'll pop up to Potters on the bus to see Martin and his sticky fixers then come home to a fish tea and watch my beloved England...
Life in the fast lane or what?:(
The circus was loud, dusty and steeped in controversy. Apparently the owner of the circus had to tell a Romanian worker to shove off on account of his cruelty to elephants. I felt uneasy when the animals 'performed' seeing magnificent creatures like tigers, elephants, horses and camels walking around and around and around for my 'entertainment' was uncomfortable. It is the only circus which has animals as actors and to be quite honest I hope it folds.
The clowns were ok, no custard pies or anything ancient like that, just spinning plates and tear stained faces. Just what hundreds of six year olds want to see.
However the juggler was great.
'Much too good for a circus' I shouted to Henry over the din, he, that's the juggler not Henry, threw batons high into the air, and made faces as he pretended to drop one into the sawdust. His handling of five balls was impressive especially as he was simultaneously grooving to 'Thriller'. What an actor this man was. His handling of fire encrusted sticks was quite breathtaking, he did what all good performers do and that was to engage. He smiled mercilessly, showing good teeth and as the sweat trickled down his make-up, he jumped and twirled and hit the deck in a faux fall. Loved him.
Then came the camels. A more miserable bunch of herberts I've yet to see. 'Like to see you on one of them' Henry said sucking on one of my cherry drops. 'Oh do shut up Henry or I'll kick your stick'.
The evening shrilled on...
All I can say about the circus is that it was the first one I've ever been to and it'll most certainly be the last.
And at a much later time than I'm used to I went to bed wearing one earring.
Today, after clearing up at Henry's, I'll pop up to Potters on the bus to see Martin and his sticky fixers then come home to a fish tea and watch my beloved England...
Life in the fast lane or what?:(
Tuesday, 1 September 2009
Thank God.
For the circus.
Dairylea cheese spread
and
Martin at Potters.
Firstly the circus. I am going to one tonight with Henry. He's asked me to wear something funny.
Now the cheese. It spoke to me as I trudged around Somerfield with a noisy cranky tummy. Not having had it for years, I took some home, and the tub now sits on a plate waiting for a little cracker. Yummy.
Martin.
Mum and dad's bathroom door needs fixing so I phoned my local hardware shop, Potters, and spoke to a cool man called Martin. I gabbled on about holes in doors and he told me about sticky fixers, both the inside and outside ones, I got flustered and said it was because I'm old. He said you don't sound old. I whispered into his ear that I'll be up his place tomorrow afternoon.
I expect we'll marry next spring:)
Now cheese and clothes:)
For the circus.
Dairylea cheese spread
and
Martin at Potters.
Firstly the circus. I am going to one tonight with Henry. He's asked me to wear something funny.
Now the cheese. It spoke to me as I trudged around Somerfield with a noisy cranky tummy. Not having had it for years, I took some home, and the tub now sits on a plate waiting for a little cracker. Yummy.
Martin.
Mum and dad's bathroom door needs fixing so I phoned my local hardware shop, Potters, and spoke to a cool man called Martin. I gabbled on about holes in doors and he told me about sticky fixers, both the inside and outside ones, I got flustered and said it was because I'm old. He said you don't sound old. I whispered into his ear that I'll be up his place tomorrow afternoon.
I expect we'll marry next spring:)
Now cheese and clothes:)
Two Great Things
1. Tomorrow 5:30 p.m
England v Slovenia at Wembley. I will watch it with Monty, he will no doubt be hurled around the blasted room every time the Slovenians get within gnats winkle of the England goal. I, however, will be calm because I just can't afford to get any more iller than I already am!
I dare say I'll rustle up a tasty tea time treat for me and the cat, some sort of fishy dish I expect and I wouldn't be surprised if, after the fish cake, I had a little tipple. Only a Pimm's mind you! Always thought solitary drinking smacks of incurable depression or rampant jolliness. Whatever. I will watch as my beloved boys swagger onto the hallowed turf to knock seven billion bells out of little, insignificant, but worryingly determined Slovenia :(
2. Saturday 9th September 8 p.m.
England take on Croatia at Wembley A feistier looking bunch of herberts I've yet to see. Don't trust them one bit. I think they could be dangerous, in a rowdy, boiled cabbage, European sort of way. Would much prefer to be doffing up the Germans or the bloody French. Know where you are with them, but these Croats/Croatians are bad news whichever way you say it. Bugger.
But all that isn't till Saturday when, after some Mexican chicken, I'll comfort myself by wrapping myself in the flag (see above pic).
Can't wait.......
England v Slovenia at Wembley. I will watch it with Monty, he will no doubt be hurled around the blasted room every time the Slovenians get within gnats winkle of the England goal. I, however, will be calm because I just can't afford to get any more iller than I already am!
I dare say I'll rustle up a tasty tea time treat for me and the cat, some sort of fishy dish I expect and I wouldn't be surprised if, after the fish cake, I had a little tipple. Only a Pimm's mind you! Always thought solitary drinking smacks of incurable depression or rampant jolliness. Whatever. I will watch as my beloved boys swagger onto the hallowed turf to knock seven billion bells out of little, insignificant, but worryingly determined Slovenia :(
2. Saturday 9th September 8 p.m.
England take on Croatia at Wembley A feistier looking bunch of herberts I've yet to see. Don't trust them one bit. I think they could be dangerous, in a rowdy, boiled cabbage, European sort of way. Would much prefer to be doffing up the Germans or the bloody French. Know where you are with them, but these Croats/Croatians are bad news whichever way you say it. Bugger.
But all that isn't till Saturday when, after some Mexican chicken, I'll comfort myself by wrapping myself in the flag (see above pic).
Can't wait.......
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