Glo in the Dark

I don't believe in ghosts.
Nor ghouls.
Nor any kind of ectoplasmic manifestations.
But I am going to a Hallowe'en party tonight.

And here I am in, I have to say, rather safe yet dramatic garb.

The séance will be held at Henry's draughty castle where table-tapping will be in a struggle with the dark forces of popular music. But youngsters must have their fun too.
I will, no doubt, during the evening, take a peek into the cats' room where I hope to find the two witches familiars in good health. I loathe seeing creatures of any form in distress. A held out hand will be offered as comfort.

Henry's living room is ribbed with beams untimely ripped from a lonely spinster's cottage who joined the heavenly choir many generations ago. And as I drink a toast to the old lady of this parish I will imagine her tutting in the corner...

My London Day

As the red buses stormed past me I could see, from my position on the kerb, a little head peering from the balcony of the block of flats opposite. It was dad. And I knew that when the lift reached the sixth floor he would turn his face to me and call through to mum "She's here".
And he did.
And the day went as usual, with a microwaved Chicken meal for me and sausage and mash for the old dears. But they're not old dears, not really. My parents could never be old, they are the original young things who burn not only their own candles at both ends but everyone elses. And the light they have always given off has shone like the torch of a rescuer to many in distress. Including me.

Dad was heavy lidded and spoke incessantly about his ailments, mum however, wasn't heavy lidded, having just had an early morning nap. And never speaks of her many ailments.
And so after our munchies Mum and I hit the shops where we bought yet more make-up, her opting for 'Petal' nail polish and me choosing 'Rosebud' lipstick. But it wasn't just Boots the chemist which coveted our money, the Hospice charity shop got some too.
Mum buying yet another murder novel and I another blasted jacket.

Back home to Viennese fancies, tea and conversations about work related issues, EastEnders and the leaving of 'Peggy Mitchell', the World Cup and our part in it, back pain, heartache and the state of British politics with Gordo at the helm.

When it got dark it was time for me to leave, so dad went through his list of what I might have forgotten..."Got your stuff, got your sweets, got your scarf and don't forget your train ticket".
"Yes on all counts" I said obediently and went to the station, passing the red buses and leaving dad on the balcony.

I've caught the Halloween Bug so I hope to make people go yuk!, eeeeek!, and oh my God you must be mental!
Yes m'dears my terrifying Spider brooch will, today, clamp it's l-o-n-g legs onto my right booby:)

And so as I crawl off to London I wish you all a very furry legged day..ha, ha, ha, ha....ha!

Just A Post To Soothe My Brittle Nerves

Feeling like my nerves were on the outside I did what I had to do and left Henry's early...

I've left some Italian style pork chops braising in the Slow-Cooker and a lengthy note telling Henry about: The wonky hoover. The wrong size duvet. A dejected uneaten salad and how not to wear his hair.

I fed and watered the cats and left their door open as arranged with Henry. And as I laid the table for tea little Miss Ginger made a much welcomed appearance in the living room. She held her nimble body low, her taut youthful tummy almost brushing the Titian red and old gold carpet. And then she spotted me, did a quick-as-lightning turn, and sped away, back to her sanctuary. The black boy was not available.
I adore them already.

As I write this this my ears are filled with Tamla Motown, my collar is crooked and a half-eaten strawberry yoghurt sits unloved amongst the pens and papers of a sad old writer.

Chops and Cats

I'm wallowing in a few silent minutes before the day known as "Fat Chop Wednesday" blasts off. How sweet it is just to sit here with my hair sticking up and Monty scratching my legs. What joy there is in the sight of a a bleeding calf.
Bless.

Ok, so today it's Italian style Pork Chops for King Henry and I dare say I'll whip up something dead glam with a tin of fruit salad and banana. But oh dear does he need to lose some blubber or what? The poor darling panted over the stool on Monday with droplets of sweat falling all over me best straw placemats. Horrible. If that had been me, I'd have nipped to one of the sparkling bathrooms and dunked me head in the sink instead of perching on a red velvet stool guzzling Merlot just before six.
I think he's a bonkers man with a death wish.

Today the new additions to the family should be free to roam the halls, so I will be stressed beyond belief on account of worrying about the gorgeous fur balls sneaking out through the dog flap in the utility room and out into the space known as the garden.
Why couldn't he get a hamster like everyone else.?
Bugger.

Jottings

After yesterday's tremendous Liver excitement I feel the need to calm down with a Fairy cake.
So a dozen Currant fancies are being baked.

An eclectic mix of clothes are strewn across the bed on account of me being invited to a Halloween party. Do I do glittery frock and risk looking like a frantic flickering tea light or do I wear black boots, black hot pants and a glow stick around my neck?

The weather is really good for late October, it being so mild I'm typing with bare legs.

Mouths To Feed

Henry has taken in two cats.
A ginger girl and a black boy. Both of course are divine. Both of course will be spoilt.

He needs to keep them isolated for a couple of days so at the moment they're in a tiny back bedroom.

I crept in there this morning and straight away little Miss Ginger made for my held out hands. As I patted her head I looked into her small blue eyes and wanted to put her up my jumper. So skinny is she that I wanted to warm the creature by nestling her amongst my sagging bosoms. But not wishing to frighten her I offered her some chicken biscuits instead...

Meanwhile black boy sat under the bed not moving a muscle or whisker. I think he has an attitude. But that's alright because I love cats especially one's with severe emotional difficulties.

Then after just a few moments in the cat's room I decided it would be best if I left them, so I did and got on with my tasks, which I have to say, where dead easy.
The morning flew by and by 12 all I had to do was say cheerio to the cats.
"Bye bye babies" I said crouching down with my head under the bed.
"What a lovely twit" They thought
"I'll be back later to cook your dad some liver, so I'll pop in then"
And with those mad words ringing in my ears I drove home.

Later that day I was indeed back at Henry's on account of me wanting to cook him and Walter a nice liver tea. My duties as of last week have changed. I now cook three hot meals for the men, but nothing for the kid. "She'll get her own darling" Henry said
So because liver turns into leather if you slow-cook it, I decided to fry it fresh and serve it up just before 6.
Henry and Walter were delirious. And you know what? So was I. Because I loved cooking this simple meal and making a bloody fuss over Henry's ten minute lateness.
I suppose I just like being surrounded by hot pans and warm men. But whatever it was, I glowed.

So the meal was fantastic and after I declined the offer of a glass of wine I made my way home. Again.
A little while ago Henry texted saying "Please don't leave us, I'll slip a little something in your hand in gratitude".
I don't think he meant money.
And that's why I like working for the tight arse, he makes me laugh and likes cats...

Mmmmm Tasty.....

To the right of the pigeon is a charming ceramic pig which Monty completely ignores. It's the fat breasted old bird he's interested in. This pic was taken on Saturday.

The Spotted Dick was sublime. Heavenly in fact. A real old time nursery pudding and one which took just over two hours to cook but was well worth the wait, m'dears.

The X Factor lacked lustre last night.

It was Big Band night yet I didn't see any proper bow ties, just undone ones. Nasty. And to add to my upset, Jamie Afro sang a U2 song. What was that all about? Olly from Witham gave the best performance, singing and dancing around the stage like a old pro. He dances like an electric eel. His hips going to places where hips have no right to go, a slippery agile fellow who looks faintly 1940's with his funny old man's haircut.
I like him.

The girls were so-so, Lucie giving a sweet performance and Rachel trying hard to impress and failing. The girl group who I can't remember the name of, were cool and hot and had some pizazz but John and Edward were ghastly visions in horrid sugary colours and their insane prancing made me doubt their sanity but they're only teenagers and seem, strangely enough, to be taking it all in their stride including the criticism.
Oh, but they are creepy.

Danyl was superb.
His black slicked down hair suited him very well and he slid back and forth pulling in the crowd with his showmanship. But there's something missing. A bit of humour perhaps. Although he's handsome and cocky and talented his arms don't quite reach into people's hearts. And that's where they have to be. No heart tweaking, no star.

All in all the show was a bit of a let down, but I suppose if every show was thunderously good it could become boring. A lot of ups and a few downs make for real life.
Only the mediocre are good all the time.




Cooking today is roast chicken and a host of vegetables followed by Spotted Dick which is steaming as I type.
"Columbo" is on this afternoon, it's the one about the sex therapist who shoots her lover in the chest in a red bedroom when she discovers he's been playing games with another lady.
Bang Bang.
Wonderful stuff.

Cooking Tonight...

Toulouse Sausage
Jacket Potato
Soured Cream
Sweetcorn
Salsa

Vanilla Ice Cream
Pecan and Butterscotch Sauce


Followed by...The X Factor...Does Saturday get any better than this?

A Man Up A Pole

Cleared my intertubes.

Haven't been able to phone anyone, blog or check my millions of emails. And all because of some worn out wire. Apparently.

The B.T. man arrived earlier than arranged so it's a good thing I'd had me lunch:) And I was just about to watch a recording of the final of Masterchef when ding dong there he stood. All five feet three of him. "Mrs Norris?" I sighed and dragged him in.
And after twiddling about on the floor with a medium sized box and a host of gadgets he said my problem was 29.5 meters away...
"What?" I asked like a girl
The problem was up the pole which was 29.5 meters away. So out he went and up he went and within ten minutes I was back on line.
And what a relief that was. I mean I was getting quite desperate, blogging to me is excellent therapy you see and I hadn't had anyone to yak to so I was going quite bonkers. Yakking to Henry isn't quite the same because he answers back!

Soooo.....
What have I been doing?
Having fun and working and sometimes managing to combine the two.

Tonight I'm cooking a Bouef en Daube. Which is simply beef braised very slowly in wine and stock with bacon, carrots and other good stuff.
I've opted for the Slow-Cooker method which means I won't need to keep peeping and checking.

Have a Spotted Dick planned for Sunday lunch, so looking forward to it. I might be cooking the de-luxe version which has ground almonds and raisins, but I expect I'll plump for the plain Dick.

Happy days!

I Love Joan

Because she let me have a beautiful honey pot for 20p.
And because she thought the weird orange candle holder was over-priced at £1 so halved it.
She then held up a pair of gaily spotted knickers and said "Interested, Mrs?"
She made me laugh about her efforts to diet, her out-of-control 'meringue hair' and my very short 'French' hair. "Say oui oui" she croaked (heavy smoker).

I listened as she spoke about plunging necklines and how good this plastic diamond necklace would look resting on a breastbone like mine... Ok, Joanie, sold to the little 'un...

And as I continued to lean over the worn glass topped counter looking at ear rings, disciple tea spoons and brooches from old ladies, I wondered about Joan and her life.
She's an Essex girl, born and bred who has big stiff hair and a penchant for cruises, chocolate cake and Christ.
And although she is a church goer she has never tried to lure me in through the big oak doors of her place of worship. She is far too canny a creature for that. But she has found her God and they are very happy together.
Other bits of her life revolve around her gentle second husband who eats too much and is an eBay addict but whose tenderness salves her wounds. Her first husband beat her.

So I shopped on.
The long powder pink silk dress in the dressing up box make me nearly fall over. I had to have it you see even though it's a tad too big. I imagined myself in this dress and the picture was great! So I bought it for 50p.
But the T-shirt oh dear.
What was I thinking?
Well it's a size 16! And I'm a 10. But it has pictures on it of blonde birds and words like girls, girls, girls, Hollywood, Broadway, Angels and Technicolour.
Sumfink funny going on here in the braincell dept.
"But it'll look good with jeans and a furry gilet" I said to Joan handing over a pittance.

And now I was all but done. And as I gathered up my treasures I told Joan I had to go and get some bananas because I'm on my own today.
She screeched, her wonderful generous face reddening up like an killer tomato and then she thundered towards me leaving the till unmanned.
"Gotta have a hug" she said as her size 18 swallowed up my 10. And then Liz, the woman out the back, laughed. And so did I.
And that is why I love Joan, not really because of 20p honey pots but because she makes me laugh.

Essex Gold for Silver Pixie

First the car...
Then the boots of lurve...
Now...
A Sony wireless!
Portable of course. Perfect for pocket. Handy for late nights when all the company I have is the kidcat.
Popped beside the milk jug, choccie cake or industrial hardware, this tiny, silvery, top of the range FM/AM radio is just what I needed.
But I'll only listen to one station. Essex Gold. It's all old on gold, a loud Essexy hark back to the greatest hits of all time.
And great ancient things is what I'm into today.

Yesterday as I was approaching the Harp House roundabout I had a turn, and not to the right either. No, I veered to the left and right into Argos's arms.

And ten minutes later me and my machine were on our way home to a cup of tea and a damp apple finger.

It's quite gorgeous and suits a pixie like me. And in some respects reminds me of myself.
Pocket sized. Silvery. Can be loud.

We Won...!!!!

As I sipped some very sweet tea my beloved England doffed up Belarus. And very impressive they were too. Although after Crouchy's first goal the team appeared to take it a little easy and that had me chewing the duvet (I was in bed you see). I always chew things like nails, cat tails and bedding when England get ahead because I'm frightened in case they er..get complacent. But I needn't have worried last night because the Belarusians were rubbish.

So Crouchy put us ahead and I was happy/ecstatic/worried. All I wanted to hear was the final whistle but that wasn't a-coming for about a long time...So I stared at the screen thinking ahead to next summer and South Africa. All the matches will be played during the day, mostly around meal times so that's nice. I already have an England bear in the car, and I'm pondering whether or not to stick a flag in the window. Probably will.

So back to the game and Beckham's Beard.. Er ok....Becks is one of those annoying people who can fiddle with his hair, tattoos, underpants and still look gorgeous. I am like that too. Only I don't do tatts.
He came on and kind of set the field alight with his magnificence and ball skills, I knew absolutely that when he passed to whoever, the ball was heading straight to the back of the net. And it did.. He is, I suppose, one of those wonderful rallying players who just by setting foot on the turf instils in his fellow team mates the will to win. I love him for that.

I loved the game last night. Thank you my darling England boys. By the way the duvet is dry now.

Alexander: Poem

ALEXANDER

As big gentle hands touch small quivering feet
the world and its people still rush by
his head empty, unaware
of the love that fills the room.

A skin as soft as nothing on earth
lies perfect on blankets made by man
but here looking up is love made flesh
waiting for adventures to begin.

And in the night when life takes a rest
the new boy certainly will not
for that is the time for operas and shanties
and he'll sing like trumpets and drums
he'll baa like the lamb and screech like the owl
his lungs yelling for joy.

And all his joy will resound around his kingdom
while big gentle hands kiss his feet...



Angela Norris

Sunshine with more than a hint of ice.
And so today on my travels into the Essex countryside I will wear umpteen layers and my new boots. But no socks.

But before I do all that I must say Happy Birthday to Jerry from the West coast. A fellow writer whose everyday activities are made bearable by his excursions into other lands. None of which are on any real map.
Keep going Jerry.

Which brings me on nicely to poetry.
I have an idea for a poem which, if I can drag myself away from mundane matters, ought to be worth reading.

Back to now. Today.
The sun is magnificent and graceful even when being shoved and nudged by clouds of cold-hearted warriors. Warriors? Yes I like that.

Wise Woman. Innocent Boy. And Henry.

When I went to Henry's today, what did I find on the settee? A rather solemn looking Walter.
'Oh no. he's not going to be here all day is he?' I thought.
"Hello Ang, I'm not feeling too good, so took the day off work"
Bad chicken? Dodgy crumble? Excessive vino? My mind was all over the place.
So I made him some tea and left him to day time t.v. while I got on with my work.

Then Henry came down.
And he was creepily quiet. Seems he had a meeting with a man and couldn't stay for our usual banter.
"Loved yesterday darling" he said making his way to the door.
I was all a flutter.
Two men. One prostrate in a little agony, the other running out on me.

But being the trouper I am, I carried on regardless.
After a couple of interrupted hours I finally got some satisfaction on the work front. I'd cleaned up a bit, done a some laundry and sprayed Henry's wine stained trousers with some pink stuff. Then tidied up the kid's clobber and piled umpteen body washes, facial things and hand creams all around her basin.
She really will have to leave.

Walter meanwhile stared at BBC 1:(

I knew that this morning's work would be horrid because 1. I was up till 10. 2. Henry and the kid are untidy and 3. My mind was so elsewhere.

But as the clock struck midday I was all but done. So I left a note for Henry detailing my attempts at stain removal and what to do with some frozen salmon.
I then drank the tea which Walter had so kindly made.

"I want a long term relationship" he said solemnly
I smiled and sipped.
"With whom?"

"The girl in the pub".

My God, how lonely is this boy?

I proffered some plain advice.
"As she's pulling your pint, tell her she looks stunning, then walk away"
"Yes ma'am, I'll try". His eyes falling to his flickering fingers
I smiled like a wise old lady, knowing that this slightly unworldly youth might have to be patient.

As I slammed the olde olde door I pondered love, blonde barmaids and the pulling power of a strong, handsome and kindly young man.
I think Walter will be fine.

Cigarettes, Sex and Red Wine with Chicken. Perfect.

What fantastic company Henry and Walter were.
They arrived on time, were real and proper gentlemen and even laughed like drains when I accidentally spilt red wine over Henry's trousers.

The lunch was a corker even if I do say so myself. Roast chicken with glazed carrots and peas, sage and onion stuffing, good thick gravy and redcurrant jelly. This simple meal was followed by the most perfectly baked apple and blackberry crumble and a big jug of custard. And more wine.

And as we tiddled our way into the front room I knew this was one of my better decisions. Henry is a star performer at the best of times but he truly shone this afternoon dishing out sharp banter with me, his partner in crime. He chuckled as he told John about how bad I am at: Dusting. Hair removal. Gardening and waste disposal. But it was I, he said, that had helped him through some of his darker days. I was, quite simply, almost the perfect cleaner.

And as I dabbed at his trouser leg I mumbled to him about how he'd promised to behave himself. To which he laughed and said "Just keep dabbing".

Walter, bless him, looked quite bewildered by the onslaught of these carry-on type innuendos and as I sipped my coffee I wondered how on earth he would cope with this type of total Britishness for ever more. Because for ever more he will stay. He will remain on this saintly soil propping up bars drinking wallop whilst chatting up girls in The Anchor pub. He will forever complain about the 'cold' weather whilst we all sit in shirt sleeves saying how mild it is for October.
He loved his lunch by the way and thanked me continuously for it, it was "Very tasty indeed ma'am" he said.
"Not at all like monkey meat"...:(

After pud Henry asked if he and Walter could go outside to smoke. I said "No, you will stay inside".
They were surprised by that.
But I wasn't going to have my guests, even one who smokes like a chimney, standing outside propped up against the wall like a couple of pissed gnomes. They were my guests after all and it was my place to make sure they were happy and comfortable. So I rummaged around for something they could use as an ashtray. I gave them a pretty pale yellow tea plate. "Thank you ma'am" said Walter.
And then puffed for three hours.

The banter went chaotic as Henry and I discussed slipping straps, duvets, slave labour, harvest festivals and the demise of the British Royal family. It descended into a darker place though when I croaked on about hellish neighbours and what I'd do if someone upset a daughter of mine. (Apparently one of Henry's neighbours is upsetting the kid...)
"Only one way darling" I said "To deal with bad neighbours, kill them".

"Blimey" Heaved Henry, shifting from one cheek t'other

"More tea dear ?" I asked, straightening my dress like a lady.
"Yes thank you darling".
He was sweating you see, and so clearly suffering from the after effects of a thoroughly decent South African wine.


Walter on the other hand was a picture of composure, looking very smart in his crisp snow white shirt and black trousers and as he and John discussed rugby, machine tools and jobs I made the tea. And as he sipped his sweet tea (good man) I think he was almost lost for words as John dropped in joke after joke showing off his skill as a stand-up comic.
But the one about the Essex girl was unforgivable.


My guests were fabulous company and they each said what a pleasure it really was being invited round for lunch. And me, I lapped it up, I loved fussing around the boys in my flowered pinny being the very epitome of a happy hostess. But I am also very selfish, so as I kissed the two men goodbye I was secretly planning...

I got a present today.
A set of car mats.
They are just what I wanted.
So thank you Mr Sweetie.

Unexpected gifts whether big or small always make me deliriously happy. Over the past six months I have been given Quince jelly, iced buns, gift vouchers, a bouquet of flowers, £20 pound notes, creme eggs, bike things, perfume and now car mats.
I like presents.

On the bill of fare tonight:
Sausages with loads and loads of fried onions in sesame seed buns served with chips* and sweetcorn. I'll lash some tomato and chilli relish on the bangers but not so much as to cause a catastrophe. There'll be no spicy droppings on my frontage.
For pud? Oh pud how you do so tease me...I fancy something lemony so I might whip up a microwaved lemon curd sponge, won't take a min to put together and only takes three and a half mins to cook. Whatever would Mrs Beeton say?
She'd probably think I was total evil.



*McCains Homefries. Sainsbury's chips are horrible!

So anyway.....

This blog has become like a reliable old friend.

Someone with whom I chat away the hours yacking on about work and clothes and chickens. Talking of birds, I think if this blog had a face it would have the face of a parrot. But back to friends, it's a friend because it takes all my ups and downs without question, absorbs womanly tears and then afterwards, after the tears, shares a laugh.
Parrot face is a decent old bird.

Her face is screamingly active with all the colours of a rainbow, and bobs up and down with either utter nonsense or profound posts about love, London and football. And it is a good face, an honest face which, depending on your mood, you'll either want to linger and kiss or tutt and click away.
But either way it can't be ignored.
I like her.

Henry and Walter Are Ravenous

Here I am.

As 'spritely' and as 'smashing' as always, according to Henry.

His blue eyes told of a bad night's kip, yet his conversation was as sharp as a butcher's knife.

And as we swallowed strong sweet tea we spoke about Walter's warning at work, Henry's new hair cut and this Sunday's lunch.
And how lunch at my house this Sunday is all Walter wants to talk about. He's obviously very keen to try my cooking and that's good because I love to cook. And I also love to fuss. So I'm looking forward to wiping din dins off the mouths of three gentlemen, well two, if you leave out Henry.

Yes, this Sunday I will be cooking for the boys.

I'll make sure my guests are well fed and watered and if that means buying extra potatoes and a few beers then that's what I'll do. The menu will be simple but expertly executed with all the flair and panache of a woman who loves to give. I will of course wear a flowered pinny because the thought of splattered fat on me gorgeous dress sends me head into a spin.
Shoes might be a problem because I won't want to wear flatties, so I'll slip into heels just for the occasion.
The table will be dressed with the Amish community in mind, with plain white crockery placed on small lace mats, shining odd glasses, old odd cutlery and a chicken and cock cruet set.


The idea came to me a fortnight ago as I leant over the sink with a parsnip.
'Wouldn't it be great fun if I glazed some root veg for the men folk'.
And so the very next day I invited Henry and Walter over for a Sunday roast.
And they've been banging on about it ever since.

No roasts today though.
Today is home-style cooking at it's very best.
Chicken casserole made with red wine, a lot of thyme and lemon stuffing and apricot jam.
Served with mashed potatoes and green beans.
For pud. A lolly.

Colour Cubes (Poem)

I have a way with words

each one a cube of colour and taste
from lion's brown to peacock's blue and from old England's green to Aunt Ethel's black
my cubes make sense to me

stacked in bright pillars inside my head
their light prises the dark
and along with the light
they smell divine
because
scented with meaning
and lingering all night
verses, posts become alight

But cubes are sharp and with edges that tear
and my mind is therefore affected
but to live damaged
with word-caused wounds and
volumes of sentences for friends
is a beautiful
colourful
existence.


Angela Norris

Snooker in the Rain

One thing is certain I will not be venturing out in the rain in my new coat, otherwise I'll end up looking like a rain soaked terrier.

Therefore today is all about watching snooker on the telly.

England are playing Ukraine in Ukraine on Saturday.
It's not on British T.V.
But their next match is.
Against Belarus.
It's on ITV next Wednesday.
Kick off 20:00 hrs.
Watch it.

I can be so butch.

Monday with Henry

He wanted to know why I wouldn't go to an Am Dram production with him on Saturday. 'You must have been joking' I said 'I don't have anything to do with actorly sorts.'

Henry was a bit pickled having been on the wine for three days but bless him it didn't stop him smoking five cigarettes in one hour. Puff puff puff...:( I wonder what his lungs look like.

'Cutting down on the sugar' he said as his rotund body shifted on the poor stool. 'And have you seen my gym stuff?'
'Ok darling and no darling'. Was my tired reply.

And as he yacked on the phone about: Councillors. The Square. Champagne. Fuses and redundancy I took myself out of the arena.



But what a weekend Henry's cleaner had.

Wore a killer dress drinking Pimm's. Gooey Pimm's. Yummy company.

Saw an old neighbour and hit him on the arm with my gloves.
"Didn't know you come here" he said eloquently
I smiled a knock-him-for-six smile.
"Sometimes. You're looking well. Gotta dash. See you in five years"

Chinese.
Bacon.
Wayward coat.
Late nights.


And then Monday came...
Drove Aleks to Henry's in the rain.
Tried to do a three point turn with the handbrake on.

And now Onken yogurt with cat love and cat hairs:)

Grand Simple Chairs

Must just have a word before I have a lie down.

I have four second-hand oak dining chairs.
Thanks to two men.
One, my very good friend, Mr Sweetie and two, my rather rushed husband who went to pick them up. This morning. Early.

They're in good condition, (that's the chairs, not the men) and were handmade by a furniture maker. And it shows. Their heaviness is a joy likewise their silk- like smoothness. Can wood be described as silk like and smooth? At any rate they're a delight to touch. In fact, I keep running my fingers along the back of the chairs wondering how many backs have rested against them.

They're standing around my very old kitchen table, which used to belong to my gran, and I have to say that although the table and chairs don't match, the chairs have added a bit of class to my stained, chipped and mismatched kitchen.
I like them very much.
So much so that I've opened up the table leaves to accommodate the four chairs, I thought that having just two looking at each other would be such a waste, so out came the leaves.

All I need now are more people.
And they will be coming next Sunday.
For lunch, dinner or whatever you want to call it.

Henry my employer and Walter his lodger have said yes to my invitation and so now menu wheels are spinning out of control in my giddy old head.
I know what Henry likes but he likes it to be in small portions. Ok, makes it easier and less costly for me. And I'll even give him one of my smaller plates.
I've asked Walter about his likes and dislikes and does he have any allergies. He said he eats anything and everything and has no allergies. He will have a bigger plate.
He is my kind of lad.

Now I must have a little kippette.

Autumn (Poem)

Autumn is very upon us
its gingery tingles though sharp and biting
do good
by covering over the dampness of sadness
like icing on a second rate bun

Things I've got a thing about

Biros- Big blue ones. Five in my bag. All Henry's. But I will lift other people's too

My neck- Obsessing about sagging. Covering up is not an option because folk get a shock when you drop your jumper. Bare it. Bugger it.

Blonde hair- It's a-coming. I feel it. I live in Essex and have finally caught the blonde bug. But my shoes are not white and I have not been dipped in Bisto. And I use words like 'hello' instead of 'hiya'.

The X Factor- Always look forward to it. Makes my night. I'm as high as a kite if a Chinese is on me lap too

Lip Gloss- Long stay. Might need to kiss someone after I've been out a while. Will probably be after sinking three Pimm's. By the way Pimm's now do a Winter version. Saw it today and immediately thought of Christmas

Dennis Quaid- In the re-make of 'Flight of The Phoenix'. Is he the world's most perfect man? He is in this film. He's a fractious handsome pilot hero with a great big chip on his shoulder because he was responsible for the deaths of like three passengers

You Tube- I search for records, play them loudly and can save them. It's great!



Went out today and...
had a McDonalds
bought a pair of leather boots
and a plastic purple handbag from Primark.



Men's Jeans- How well they sometimes fit

Anyway, this coat...
I wore it in the kitchen this afternoon.
OK?

I bought a coat yesterday.
It is a very silly coat which, if the snows come, will be absolutely useless, but it is me. And that is very important.
Me in camel cashmere is so last decade, but me in shaggy chocolate brown mohair is so 2009. So new Angela. It is not however the coat of a cleaner, but we'll scoot over that.

As soon as the beast touched my body I knew where it was heading. Home. I felt so deliciously decadent in it that I almost wore it home but with the unseasonally warm weather I saw sense and tucked it in a carrier bag.

It's strange isn't it how some things, whether they be coats, cups or people feel immediately right in your presence. And this little beauty certainly did.
It fits like it was made for me, will go with the rest of my odd clothes, and has luvvy written all over it. And it only cost £15.
I'll post a pic as soon as I can.

Even Though He Wakes Me At Four

Looking down into his eyes
my words
stop