Little Lisa

My hairdresser Lisa has left me looking very gamine and feeling flighty. The thirty eight year old Essex girl is a whizz with scissors and spray gun. I love her.
As the hair fell we chatted like a couple of parrots and when, after thirty minutes of snipping, she whipped the gown away from my shoulders, I put my specs back on and gasped! Losing just a couple of inches has made such a fabulous difference.
"You can wear your hair very short because you're elf like" Lisa said flicking my ends
"What?" I said, smiling like an idiot totally unable and unwilling to take my eyes away from the mirror
"Elf like, your face is elf like" she repeated.
"Whatever you say darling" I squealed
And so after dropping her a few quid she fled into the night to work her magic on another old girl's head.
And that's what a good hairdresser does. She works magic. Bless Little Lisa.

Carrying on from my earlier post...

I'm sure that...
A little while ago Susan Boyle looked into her plain polished mirror and saw a face with locked-up emotions, and a body devoid of any manic attention.
Now, on any old morning, Susan Boyle looks into all mirrors and sees a face transformed by girls in heels waving brushes of blusher over her plump cheeks. A lick of crimson and suddenly the church worker is no longer on her knees in the pews but high in the air on a chair in 'make-up'.

And then her coconut hair is fingered and coloured tenderly and is taken from its depressed state into the shine and crimped kingdom which is show business. Then the dresser pops in and peels off Susan's cracked and safe high street garb, pouring the new woman into smooth dresses with a smack of glitter. Praying will never be brighter.

Dreamer Boyle is now Susan Boyle. Singer.

The spinster is dead long live the single woman.



*I tried to post a picture of Susan but every time I clicked to save, I couldn't.
Now that's what I call fame...

Miss Boyle Number 9 In The Charts.

Wish I could hold on to Susan Boyle and say
"Worth the wait eh babe?"
"All those long days and nights holding everything in, standing in the cold looking, singing, into the bathroom mirror wishing people would take you and your voice in. Now you're naked, flying with new colours with nothing but the sound of Wild Horses beating in your head. Ride 'em babe"

Ssssh it's Sunday...

I was up early so decided to make the most of it.

Made a Currant Tea Loaf and assembled our chicken lunch whilst watching the very entertaining Keith Floyd on Sky3.
Lunch will be a simple roast chicken with honeyed carrots, peas, sage and onion stuffing and hedgehog potatoes, a spoonful of redcurrant jelly will be stirred into the gravy.
For pud? Not in the mood for a big fat pud so I'll serve the last of the Apple Fingers with some Vanilla Ice Cream.

Also been reading the cookery books I bought the other day.
And as the bird roasted and the bread baked I thought there's nothing more comforting than sitting in the kitchen with a friendly cook book and pot of tea. Oh, and resting your head on Monty's legs. He was strewn across the back of the armchair you see and didn't give a fig when I barged in!

Better sign off now, my timer has pinged!

In The Pink!

Pic taken today.

Here I am in one of my 'newest' frocks.
Soft and lush.
Perfect with booty wooties.
Bought in London for £8.



Update on the saga of King Henry And The Scullery Queen

Three men were in the kitchen when I arrived.
Henry, Walter and Walter's co-worker friend, Devon. They yakked about male things whilst I prodded the cats' tummies. Then the the two youngsters, that be Walt and Dev, left for the mesmerizing lights of Southend sea front. And I was left with the wheezing monarch.

The take-away was excellent, me plumping for Thai red chicken curry, Henry opting for pork balls and a little plain rice.
Red wine was offered but I declined seeing as I was driving. I satisfied myself with a decent cup of tea. Henry was good company, even managing to stop talking occasionally so as to get an idea of what was going on in the film..."No Way Out".
Kevin Costner's finest I think.

Anyway, we ate and chatted and glimpsed now and again at the movie then it was time for me to leave. So after declining his tender offer of the washing up gloves, I tootled off in Alex.
And a bit later as I chiselled orf my make-up I read Henry's text message which said I was 'great'.

And great I can sometimes be.
My greatness will manifest itself next Thursday when I go to the hospital with him for some heart check type stuff. My King is a little anxious. As I would be too. But with his "funny cleaner" in tow I think we'll make a day of it.

Smashing Day. Smashing Night?

Had a spiffing day at Henry's.
Made a beef stew:)
Relocated some skulls:)
Pondered jug positions:)
Filled his 'new' salt and pepper pots. These, light bulb style shakers, were bought by me in London yesterday. And they are absolutely brilliant. He was speechless...:)
Re-arranged blobs of cream on his grape and apple jelly. Kind of got shoved about a bit in transit:(
Sorted out Blackie and Goldilocks's bathroom issues:(

Then after the briefest of chinwags, Henry was on his way. And within a few moments, so was I.
And the charity shop was my first port of call.

The Scottish woman guarded the till as I did catapults of joy at finding a 'Willow' pattern teapot. Been on the lookout for ages, so I was happy.
Also bought a shirt for Mr Horsehound and a pair of brown checked Culottes for myself!

Home to a light-barely-enough-to-keep-a-budgie alive lunch and an ecstatic Monty, well maybe not ecstatic exactly, he just ran ran up and down the hall then sat by his bowl. He only wants me for fish:(

After a brisk rub down with a flannel I'm shimmying down to Henry's tonight for a movie and balls night. I supply the movie. He supplies the balls. Chicken balls. With a lot of sauce. Of course!

Heaven

*Marshmallows. Biting one in half, then sticking the ends on the ends of my pinkies and playing puppets.

*Cabbage. All kinds but preferably white with pork belly. Red tends to stain pig flesh. Nasty.

*Uniforms. But not the postman's. Or the bin men. Prefer men of violence.

*Male Hairy arms and gorilla legs. What is it with me and hair? By the way I'm getting mine seen to next week That's my head hair not my leg hair. (I do sometimes sport Gorilla legs but that tends to be when I'm sulking.)


*Haldiram's Khatta Meetha. Whilst surfing the intertubes late at night. Exotic, sweet and full of chemicals but such a spiffing chum in your nightie.

*Ginger Wine. In a pint glass. I don't frink.

*Old people. With a full deck and funky hair. Saw a sharp old girl on the telly with razored red hair. Loved it.

*Roomy knickers. But only on days when I'm spitting feathers. Happy days calls for little 'uns.

*Cold sausages. Eaten quickly standing up. Because there's something very sensuous about holding onto a banger when really you should be engrossed in honourable works like polishing.

*Balaclavas. On bushy chested men men clutching a bag of marshmallows whilst also gripping a bottle of Ginger wine and large white cabbage.
Now That's Heaven...

Glo Goes Home

So good to see the sun. So I put on my dark glasses and tootled to Sainsburys. After seeing to Henry of course!
He was in bed when I arrived so I did my stern mother act and told him to move his arse.
"Can't do that darling" he piped up, his head barely visible under the duvet
I stood on his discarded trousers and repeated the order.
"Be down in a minute then" he whimpered
"Good that's what I want to hear" I said throwing back the grey curtains.
"Don't go in the bathroom Angie darling, will you?"
I shot a glance at the en suite door and knowing what he meant said softly "No, I won't" and came downstairs.

A little later...
After I'd fed Blackie and Goldilocks I fed the birds then I pulled the skin off some chicken thighs and tossed some tasty ingredients into the slow-cooker.
It was as I was staring at some fungi on a slice of bread that Henry presented himself.
"So what's new and exciting Angie darling?
I have to give him credit, he's on his last legs yet still manages to make inconsequential light hearted banter with his cleaner.
"Going to Sainsbury's soon so I won't be hanging around here larking about with you. Tea?"
He made a comment and the tea was made.

And so it went on. Way too long again. And even though he's as tight as my taps he's got something I like. And that is a never-say-die attitude. Kind of reminds me of my parents. A bit. In some ways. They too detest dealing with health issues, they too think they will live forever. They too see everything as a challenge. They too rib me rotten. He thinks the sun shines out of all his orifices, so does daddy, mum's a bit more humble though.

Anyway we talked on our stools taking the mick out of each other and then I said I was going on account of me having loads to do elsewhere.
He didn't like it. But I rose and put on my black mac anyway, leaving him looking glorious in his big white shirt and beige trousers.
"What time you going to the docs" I asked, hand on the door knob.
"Just after five" Henry sulked
"Ring me if you get in trouble, don't if you don't".
"Alright darling" he laughed

And so I got to the front door and looking back, saw this giant of a man perched on his throne looking like a lost, scared and unloved King.

My God I've had quite a day.
Started off peaceful and full of promise. A little baking, a little t.v. and a little creative writing. Then I went out only to come back exhausted and fractious.

But I talked with a chum tonight and suddenly all was right and bright in my world. Thanks Sweetie.
So now it's getting late and this old cake baker is ready to fall into the welcoming arms of old Morpheus. I'll give way to him of course, surrendering my sinking body to him knowing that in the purple black of night time his strength will render me speechless.
I'll sleep with him.

Thank God for words.

Tears and Fears

Henry was sweating. In the dark. God it was dark in his room.
His face a huge mound of pain and perspiration. He thinks a pacemaker is on the cards. I think so too.
We sat in the kitchen and talked and joked about chests and death and Christmas and sex. And after literally wiping his brow with a cool kitchen towel I cooked some food, just some eggs and little bacon but how he woofed it down. Tea was sunk by the gallon and the talk continued.
He thinks I should move in with him, just to keep the cats happy. I slapped his hand and rattled on about storms and poetry and bad light.

After two hours of chit chat he wanted to change the wall light bulbs in the front room, so up on to the settee I clambered. And what a difference it's made. Not only have I binned the dreadful shades but the new bulbs have shone a sweeter light onto the beams. Much better. Much brighter. Henry was ecstatic as perspiration poured from his forehead down into the creases on his face. For a minute I was worried, I thought he might collapse, but after a further swipe from a wet cloth he cheered up and grabbed my hands.
"Come and live with me" he said.
I know I'm a caring person who can cook but I think he's taking his love of Apple fingers way too seriously.

During one of our quiet moments, I boxed with Blackie and came away with a ladder in me tights, and Henry sat looking at me like he'd never seen me before, meanwhile Goldilocks sat looking out of the now net free windows completely unaware of the intense situation which was unravelling.

"You can have the downstairs room Angie" he said as I studied the hole in the tights "I'll even throw in a Teasmade".

I laughed, said no, and poked him with a teaspoon.

And how the wind howled and roared whilst the crashing rain ruined my nice clean windows but
after saying bye bye to the cats I said bye bye to Henry. And left him shining brilliantly in his well lit room.

Day Off?

The Iraq war Inquiry was on t.v and I'd just put a large Apple Tray Bake in the oven and then Henry phoned.
He was crying. He saw his doctor earlier this morning and what the doctor said upset him. So in a minute I'll pop along with some cake and a shoulder.
And as I sit here in my coat I'm wondering what will greet me when I tiptoe into Henry's kitchen. A bunch of happy cats and a dried up Henry I hope.

2012. What A Disaster!

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!

Even snuggling down into the ten quid seats didn't quite manage to squeeze a smile out of me. For why?
Because the blockbuster of the year, of the century and in the entire history of motion pictures was crap. It was as a load of bad screaming nonsense. It probably cost billions of dollars to make but even the deadly overdose of CGI didn't make it a classy portrayal of Armageddon. It just made the end of the world look very silly indeed.

A script so poor as to be laughable, acting so dire it made me want to hit someone and a storyline so ridiculous I violently poked Henry's ribs at least a dozen times. He, the poor old lamb, wedged himself into his end seat feeding his tum with the entire contents of bag of peppermint Aero balls but from the ooohs and oh no's I figured he kinda liked the action movie.
I allowed some Butterkist popcorn to agitate my teeth whist my neck and brain ached.

The computer generated nonsense was extreme, I've certainly never seen anything like it, and although it brought yelps from some the audience, it left me wondering why the makers of this film sacrificed a good story for over the top graphics. It was all too much.

Henry sneezed when the President got smashed to smithereens by the Washington monument I offered a tissue and wondered what the hell Danny Glover was thinking when he was offered the role..."Hmmm multi dollars for shitty film, yes please..."
Meanwhile as a silly dog ran through Tsuanamis and even sillier old men shouted from shacks in Yellowstone Park I decided to go a bit lower on account of my neck.

As the great and the good floated around in a Chinese Ark at the base of Mount Everest I opened the marshmallows. What I wondered would the superb Irwin Allen thought of this spectacle. He of course being the maker of The Poseidon Adventure and The Towering Inferno. These were proper disaster movies. No computer generated scenes, just fantastic characters with great lines. Still, tastes change and if you look at TPA now it looks a bit dated and safe but it didn't need to rely on such extraordinary bangs to keep you watching. The brilliant cast did that.

So to sum up.
2012 was hokum at it's most hilarious.

Falling buildings, castles, hanging giraffes from helicopters, Old Tibetan lamas sitting about wisely, dysfunctional American families coming together, billionaire Russians saving themselves, the cosmetically enhanced wife of the aforementioned Russian drowning to death but managing to save the puppy. Collapsing motorways swallowing up cities, age old mountains crumbling like am oxo cube and cathedrals landing on the heads of foreigners at prayer.

Utter nonsense.

But I had a thoroughly good time with Henry.
Him moaning about the price of chocolate and his wish that we get stuck in the lift.
Me freezing in my outfit outside the Odeon late at night waiting for criminalised Walter to pick us up.

Could a woman ask for more?:)

Sunday Waffle

Last night we had something new...

As we gobbled up Olly on The X Factor we dined on the most magnificent take away. This treat consisted of the usual suspects (sweet and sour with the trimmings) as well as Red Thai Chicken Curry. Oh dear, Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Good food has the capacity to stop the flow of chatter and to relax one. And we were certainly relaxed.

Olly glided on the stage, his liquid hips sending moi into a most unladylike position..Me ankles scattered the cushions. So love that boy. Essex lad you know. And how do I get to Witham? His voice isn't the best in the competition but he has something which is essential if you want to reach the top. Charm. Olly's a charmer. Very likeable, extremely moreish and the type of guy you could introduce to your gran. Love him wildly!

The other contestants did reasonable versions of George Michael tunes, but the group known as Jedward were hideously hilarious and I won't be surprised if they make the final. Their crazed prancing hides a talent for tunelessness. The Dublin schoolboys can't sing a note and move and dance like a pair of clockwork puppies.

Danyl, with his new haircut was, as always, superb, but as he goes for the big money notes I get a glimpse of his tonsils. What a gob! I feel that he takes himself a trifle too seriously, he has a fine register but I can't see him on MTV.

The Dagenham babe, Miss Solomon was just ok. Like her enormously but the over the top giggling does my head in. As you all know I hate giggling women. Week after week we see the same performance, she doesn't offer up any surprises and if she's to become a star she's gotta shock.

Little Lloyd, who in my opinion should be playing 'puter games instead of singing on the telly, murdered his song and should therefore be sent packing back to the valleys. Cute blond kid with awesome blue eyes who would be very at home in a boy band. Standing alone, never.

The last singer was Joe and he rocked everyone's boat. A little Geordie lad with huge teeth, reminds me of one of my old lovers, Mr Donny Osmond. Joe has a great set of pearly whites and I feel, along with the judges, that he would be more at home in musical theatre. Pop Idol he isn't.

After the excitement of a night in, I went to bed with me ear plugs and dreamt of me curry.


There'll be more titillation tonight on account of me being taken.

To the pictures.

To see Earth's destruction in '2012'.

Hubby will be shoved aside in favour of Henry.

And if he lets me down, his feet won't touch Mother Earth...

Glo Does A Bit Of Shopping

A silly purple corduroy hat with a jockey type brim.
Pulling a face now...
Never known what type of hat suits me. And I've worn loads over the years. Berets, faux tiger, faux mink and genuine sheepskin. Once I even plonked a shiny black helmet style hat on my head. Very 1960's. Very not me. See above! But enormous fun, for like five minutes! The hats I've worn most have been berets. Tile Red, Nutmeg brown, Navy blue and one, a black one, even sported a tassle. Bought that in a queer shop in Portobello Road many moons ago. So used to love going 'down the lane' with mum when I was a greasy teenager picking up all sorts of treasures. Christ, I'm still doing it...
Anyway that's enough about head gear.


A belted, black, three quarter length mac. This surprised me because I'm not a black lover. But this slightly military style jacket felt good when I scrambled into it. It has a good belt which shows off my waist and a good clean cut collar which will make me look sinister as I slink up to London on the 10:12.


A pair of dark grey woollen roomy trousers. Very Oxford Bags. But I'll need to take them up tiny bit on account of my short legs. But they fit like a dream elsewhere. Not a great trouser wearer, I much prefer a dress or skirt, but I can see myself wearing these smashing pants with a white shirt tied at the waist, severe shoes and an explosion of long beaded necklaces. I may look a little like Burlington Bertie but a cigarette holder will not be held between my red lips. I am not a gay drama queen.

A Betty Barclay jumper. Shades of grey and black in angora with delicate inoffensive sequins scattered here there and almost everywhere. Feels butter soft against my cheek and will go with almost everything in the wardrobe.

Now I'm going to put my hat on. This way that way this way that way...!

Friday Nonsense

*Spent a silly amount of time talking to Henry's two cats, Blackie and and the newly named Goldilocks. Blackie was all over me, Goldie however just swept by heading straight to the cod in jelly.

*Henry has savagely trimmed his beard he now resembles Magwitch rather than Father Christmas.

*Received a snow scene Christmas card from the Avon lady. Written inside were the joyous words: From your Avon lady. No kisses. And that's a relief because she's a bit butch mate.

*Cooking Latimer Beef tonight. Another wonderful recipe from my favourite cookery writer, the one and only Mary Berry. Bless her spoons.

*Still on the food theme. Just whizzed up a Microwaveable Marble pudding. Marble on account of it looking like an accident in a paint factory. Squiggles of strawberry, chocolate and vanilla run riot in the blue and white pudding bowl. Will nuke it for 3 mins a bit later.

* Going to the pics at the weekend to see '2012'. Love disaster movies because it gives me the chance to sit with my size 4's curled up under my size 0 bottom. Too much information? Possibly.

*Life After Death was the tea break topic at Henry's today. 'Did he have a budgie love?' And 'Is there anyone here who's lost someone called grandad?' Apparently a few years ago Henry had the vicar in on account of feeling the music room was occupied by a spirit.
"Phooey" I said.
Later on saying a chirpy understanding "Hi there" to the ghost sitting on the drumkit.
Just in case...

*If I was a dessert I'd be a trifle. Layers of loveliness, very sweet and a bit old fashioned. What would you be?

*Top of my list of must haves is a soft pink hat with sparkly bits. Impending Old Age? No. I've always liked dressing up.

*Monty likes lamb chops on the floor.

On a lighter note:
I'm so pleased it's the weekend. Time to renew the leaking batteries with a pink cat woollie and bag of popcorn. :)



Have a great weekend everyone!

Witches food, Cycles and The Queen

By the tills in the supermarkets are magazines urging us to buy loads of exotica for Christmas. Exotica like Pomegranates, Mangos, Lychees and Passionfruit. Well blow that. I don't need to make fancy things to create a stir. My *Hexanschaum does that. A simple dessert which is easy to make and meltingly lovely to eat.

Stew some Cox's Orange Pippins till tender, then pulp in blender with some canned apricots. Put in bowl and stir in a little sugar. Whisk some egg whites and sugar until you have a mound of stiff meringue and carefully fold into fruit. Mix slowly with a large spoon till a perfect foam is made.
Spoon into glasses and pop an apricot on top, rounded side uppermost. Arrange flaked almonds around the apricot creating a sunflower effect. Stunning.

*Hexanschaum means Witches Foam. It's an Austrian dish.


Tonight I'll be cooking Lamb Chops with boiled spuds, glazed sweet potatoes and green beans. Followed of course by the Hexanschaum
Hearty yet simples fare on account of my delicate state of health.

Fifty plus with a dodgy shoulder and unbalanced system. And it's all got too much lately what with one thing and another and I'm so sick of it. But tomorrow the unwell cleaner will pop to work to see the unwell Henry, who had to have a doctor in today on account of his innards.
Bless him, he really is in a terrible state, and I sympathise and empathise because I'm a wreck also.

But here's something to cheer us all up...A smashing new series starting on Ch4 on 29th Nov. It's all about the life and times of her Majesty the Queen. I can't wait.
Way to go Betty...

Now as my shoulder burns and my cycle skids orf the track... I must slip away and make myself a cup of tea.

God Bless You All...

Poems 2

~A Long Time Coming~

A love of love is no cure for our pains
hands out-stretched
two hearts in tune
is by far the best cure

*************************************

~Unwanted Child~

Treasure was found by the seaside boy
in soft waves just below the pier
sifting damp sand with blackened fingers
he stuffed his real jewels away

*
Hopping home in between the punters
his cache of solid gold rattled
he was rich now richer than a star
and he'd never cry again

*
Bitten nails, a little while later, fingered his almighty find
shards of azure glass and globes of brassy bronze
fed the seaside boys mind
slices of rocks and glitterball shells
took away his common-place
and with all this wealth and with all this authority
he'd be a pocket-sized King

Kings don't get booted from the hearth.


*****************************************************************

Glo Is All Action

Action, action it's the only way.
Only way to what you may ask.
Why, it's the only way to get anything done. Silly.

So this afternoon I:

Cleared away the very last of the old tomato plants.

Put Jessamy the Gnome on the doorstep so he can be a beacon of happiness for all my visitors.

Put together a sausage casserole, a dish of colcannon and individual strawberry trifles for tonight's tea.

Nailed a blue sleeping bag to the warped door frame at the rear of the garage. The door disintegrated a couple of years ago and you know how it is, broken things just never seem to get fixed. But seeing as Winter is approaching I thought now would be a good time to do something. So with my cheapo hammer and couple of very long nails I made a rather good makeshift door from a bright blue sleeping bag (£1 from you know where...)

*************************************************************************************

I'm still smarting from England's diabolical match against Brazil. No idea what the boys were doing but all credit to Mr Capello for having the audacity to try out 'unknowns' against the biggest team on planet earth.
I did feel however that although they sort of won they also got away with a lot, I think the ref was very biased. For example...When one of the Brazilians clobbered Rooney I naturally assumed he'd be sent packing or at least get booked, but no. Nothing. Zilch. I tutted in girly fashion but continued cooking.
The match was supposed to be a 'friendly' didn't look very chummy to me matey. My blood was up from the beginning I can tell you...
Heaven knows what state I'll be in next summer.
But next summer is a long way off.
And I can't be getting overwrought and brittle on account of what occurrences will be occurring next year, after all I'm still dealing with this summer's tomatoes...:(

But for now I'm all done with being Action Girl, I now need to raise my legs.

Cheerio!

Love part 3

England take on Brazil tomorrow and I can't wait!

I love what Mr Cappelo has done for team England, he is, I think, a man not to be messed with. No more out-of-puff pasty faced primadonnas struggling to play a decent game Now they're leaner, fitter and play consistently good games, giving little fans like me, hope for a dazzling golden future.
And by dazzling golden future I mean getting their hands on The World Cup.

I feel more hopeful now under Mr Capello's stern leadership than at any other time.

Tomorrow can't come quickly enough....

Love part 2

There was a kebab in the cat's bowl.

I didn't know how to control my anger, disbelief or sadness.
So I just threw it away, washed the bowl and re-filled it with Felix Tuna.
The house is in meltdown.

I fussed over the cats talking to them like they understood what I was saying, but I suppose all I wanted was for the poor things to feel wanted.
After doing my sickening mummy act I set about my chores, doing a little of this and a little of that, the house wasn't in too bad a state because the daughter is away again.
And then as I was seeing to the grate, King Henry appeared at the foot of the stairs. Wary felicitations were thrown my way and so off to the kitchen we went. He sat on his stool and stared into the garden.
"What's new and exciting Angie?"
"Going to the dentist" I said
No laugh.
"How are you? I asked knowing damn well how he was. He was awful.
"I'm having tests in the hospital"
I sighed and felt pity for the old chap so naturally I held out the hand of tea. But he declined my offer and instead told me about these gruesome tests which will take place next Tuesday.
He is in a state and no mistake.
According to him all manner of horrible diseases might be lurking in his intestines/gut/bowels, throat and chest.
I listened patiently as he spoke about tubes and needles because I'm good at that, and because I'm not really rude, not even when someone like Henry annoys/upsets and puzzles me big time.
It struck me that even though his body is crying out for care, his eyes looked brilliantly blue, they were liquidy, almost star bright. So there must be a small fire smouldering inside that huge frame of his. A determined, vicious, raging flame which although being dampened by almost continuous alcohol, refuses to go out.


"What was a kebab doing in Blackie's bowl?" I asked
"It was Walter's, he left it last night and I thought the cats might like the meat...."

As the rain thrashed the windows I thought I was going blind. Because what I was hearing was so nonsensical it made me feel a bit sick in the head and my eyes went a bit funny.
The cats are in the hands of bonkers people. Cat lovers indeed.

"No Henry they didn't like it, I've binned it, you have enough Felix for a couple of days and I'll bring some in on Monday. Meanwhile you get to Macro and stock up."
"Ok, I'll do that..."

Anyway, he went out shortly after, and I quickly skipped over what was left of the job and just after 11:30 I sat with Blackie on my lap.
"Yes that's right Blackboy you lick me, and don't fret too much because I'll be here again on Monday.
And I will you know.
Not because of silly Henry or dopey Walter or the precious kid but because someone has to look out for the pussies.

And it's nice having some extra cash on Friday...

Love

Yesterday was a wet dark day but mum and dad beat the gloom.

Mum stooped when scooping out my chicken chow mein and dad tutted whilst shoving his gammon steak around the plate. I sat looking at the crinkled carpet.
But I wouldn't have it any other way.

And then me and mum went out, damp arm in damp arm, and the shops were mightily pleased.
Mum spending a few quid on eye cream, foot cream and double cream. I plumping for hand cream, hair cream and a grey woollen dress.

We were silly old girls. Especially when trying on hats in H&M.

We walked as if joined at the hips and it felt lovely. Our unbreakable bond broke for a second when we went into the Hospice shop, she buying a crime novel and I, the aforementioned grey frock. We sneaked a couple of biscuits from our pockets to our mouths.
It's strange how good food and rummaging silences us.

Later on, we sat around happy, dopey and chatty, like people in love.

What Time Is It?

Awake at 4. Shut up. Too woozey too snoozey.
Awake at 5:15 Go away. Maybe it was the beef.
Awake at 6. Can't stand it. Flickering eyelids. What's that noise? Hate that
Awake at 7. Because of Monty's needs. Love him hopelessly. But not now Mont, ok?

Yeah now loser, feed me or I'll claw your coat.

Up 7:03
Fawned over his Lordship, made horrible milky tea, looked at weather, looked at eyes, hung over computer.

Day trip to London to see the old dears. Who will no doubt look far worse then me because they're up at 3...:)

Back of the Net. Sweet!

I don't tend to look ahead too much but I am now. Looking ahead a few days to next Saturday the 14th when my beloved England get to kick a ball into the back of the Brazilian net:)
The cutesy laddish knockabout is being held at the Khalifi International Stadium in Doha, Qatar.
HAVE YOU GOT THAT?

I'm wondering where Mr Capello will position Becks, will he be on the field for the full 90 or will he be languishing on the bench for half the blooming match. I just don't know. Talking of things I don't know...I don't know whether or not Cheryl should have married Ashley Cole. But back to reality...

This football lovers erotic dream will be shown on ITV, but I don't know at what time. An evening kick off might clash with another spectacularly favourite Saturday night event...The X Factor. Hmmm! I am hoping that the game takes place roundabout lunch time so I can oggle the footie all afternoon whilst I roast some pork ribs, then, at 8 p.m., flash my magnificent teeth at Dermot O'Leary:)

But before all that nonsense I need to:
Polish my Abdotrim torture machine:(
Learn "You must be joking Ref" in a foreign language:)
Go to the dentist:(



On a lighter note:
I can stretch my legs back over my head so they touch the headboard. Found this out a week last Monday after Googling 'yoga positions for the over 50's'.

Pie Pie Baby

In my earlier post I mentioned PIE.
I love PIES.
Not shop ones of course, they shouldn't even be called PIES. And I know what I'm talking about because I had one once. It was a chicken one which, when studied closely, had a sliver of white meat drowning in a glutinous sauce. Disgraceful. Findus made the offending item and I was very poor and stupid when I ate it.
I now make my own pies.

Such as the one which will grace the old wooden table round about 8.

It isn't grand and doesn't contain anything fancy yet it's good enough to give to friends on a special occasion. I don't have many friends and tonight isn't a special occasion but I'll go to the same trouble as if I had three chums paying a visit. Three? :(

A good PIE is only as good as its pastry and my pastry is excellent, or so I'm told. I do however play around with it a bit. I can't just create the PIE and bake it, no, I always feel the need to decorate the thing with ropes, balls and leaves made from the remaindered pastry.
Tonight's PIE has a nautical theme, bearing something resembling a twisted rope and a queer anchor. I am not a sculptor, of that you can rest assured...

See above pic which is of a slightly scorched PIE with an Iron Balls theme

But in the innards of the pastry lies a lot of tasty ingredients.
See below.

250g/8oz Steak Mince
1 large chopped onion
2 grated carrots
a finely chopped leek, a little of the green suffices
1 grated potato, Roosters are fab
1 crumbled oxo cube, 2 would be ok
A very generous splash of Mushroom ketchup or Worcestershire sauce
lots of black pepper
a little Muscovado sugar
a teaspoon of salt
Water

Mix up and lay in pastry case. Top with pastry lid. Decorate if you must. Brush with beaten egg yolk or milk. Bake for about 45 minutes in a moderate oven until very golden and the seams seem to be coming open. That's alright.
Serve with whatever you like. Buttery milky mash is fine, so are plain boiled potatoes, but my favourite is chips. Chips and Heinz Curried Beans.

Talking of beans I have a Beans recipe which is a real winner for weekday lunchtimes. Always serve this with garlic bread and a beer. Lovely.

Pork Ring with Barbeque Beans

240g Smoked Pork Sausage in a vacuum pack. Something like Mattesons or someone like that.
A little oil
2 chopped onions
1 chopped green pepper, or any colour really, but green goes better
2x 15 oz cans Baked Beans, Heinz of course are good but so are Sainsbury's own make, but NOT their Basics range please.
3oz dark soft brown sugar
a ten second shake of Worcestershire sauce
1 teaspoon of French Mustard, English is too violent
3 tablespoons Tomato Ketchup, not Lidl's

Cook Sausage like it says on the packet
Cook onion and green pepper for about 10 minutes till soft and silly. Then add all the other ingredients and simmer for 5 minutes.

Take sausage out of plastic wrapper and cut into slices preferably obliquely, looks nicer. Heat for another minute or two till thoroughly hot through.
Pour into a warm bowl to serve or dish up straight onto plates.

This is the kind of dish I cook when I wear industrial strength underwear.



On a lighter note:
Got a recipe book by Margeurite Patten. Very good book. But what is it about 'Chicken Cream' which makes me yukky up?

P.S.
You won't die if you eat PIE

Chilly Glo Does Mille Feuille

It was crackingly cold when I sipped my tea at 6.
"Crumbs" I thought "What's an old arthritic gal to do?"
"Layer up babe"...Said the voice in my head
So when I manage to drag myself out onto the harsh, merciless streets of olde Ashingdon village I'll resemble a Mille Feuille.
A many-layered sweet thing oozing unctiousness. Which is gorgeous to hold in your hands but is apt to crumble all over the shop if bitten badly. Can be expensive.


By the way the Sausage thing I made last night was fabulous.
A few good Cumberland sausages braised for ever in Oxtail soup, red onions and carrots.
To accompany the Sausage Saxony I cooked some Colcannon and instead of serving straight from the pan, I baked it for a while till a slight tan crust formed. Knockout!

Tonight is Pie night.
More about Pie later...

Bette's Bag

After the trauma of being dissed by Henry I went to the charity shop where I bought a large brown square shallow dish and two handbags.

The dish is like nothing I've ever seen before. No makers marks anywhere, it's just a dish for putting things in or on. At the moment it's empty and sitting on my large, loved, stained and damaged pine coffee table. I expect it'll end up in the kitchen being used as a serving dish for Nasi Gorenge, Poppodoms or Chocolate Fairy Cakes. Which reminds me I absolutely must buy a three tiered cake stand otherwise I'll be unhappy for the rest of my days. Little cakes must sit on a cake stand otherwise what's the point?

Now the handbags.
One handbag is very small, black and stiff with a snappy kerchunck fastening, it reminds me of the type of bag my favourite actress Miss Bette Davis might have used when thinking about killing off a film husband.

"With all my heart I still love the man I killed..." (The Letter 1940)

The other is square and inky blue in colour and made of divine silk. It doesn't do up with a bang, it does up with a black knobbly thing which reminds me of a Walnut Whirl

Both handbags have a slight decadence about them. And I like that. And it's funny, nay chilling, because only the other day I was thinking that I'd like a tiny black bag for when I go to sultry places like the odd shaped pub up the road and a sweet little bag with oriental overtones for when I go to other pubs. Probably out a bit, Pagelsham way, where I pass a lot of greenery and massive farms.

There now isn't that odd?
Is it as simples as that? That all I have to do is think of something and a little while later, probably no more than a week, I actually get it....Hmm interesting. So...

I'd like:
A Willow Pattern Tea Pot.
A Box of Chocolates
A Three Tiered Cake Stand


On a lighter note: I'm braising pork sausages and veggies in oxtail soup and if I don't eat them soon I'm a gonna faint.

Henry Needs Help

Henry was in bed when I arrived this morning so I went about my tasks quietly.

I was in Walter's room when I heard Henry go downstairs to the kitchen and start making phone calls.
"Yeah mate, I'm tickety boo" I heard him say and a few minutes later he went out.
He never spoke to me.
He knew I was there on account of my rather smashing coat, gloves and scarf being on the settee. The worktop also showed I was there, for it bore a tub of veg and a pound of stewing beef. But he never called up to me. No sir. Not a word came my way.
And you know what? I didn't care. Not really. Couldn't afford to. Because in my past I've wasted too much time, care and niceness on ne'er do wells. Not doing it any more darling.

Henry is a queer character of that there is no doubt, he is a man of many faces in fact.
But I've always known that.
And although he can be great fun to be with he has a razor side, a bitterness and impatience I don't like. He has a million friends and no friends. He's deluded and tinkers around with grandiose ideas and plans, and the spectacle is quite embarrassing. But he can be warm and funny even though it is the humour of the playground and lavatory.

Money is an issue with him.
He never has any or so he says. Has had to lay people off. Meanwhile spending bucketloads on his feckless teenage daughter and bottles of wine.
Skint indeed...

Sex too is an issue with him.
He wants it but never gets it.
Apparently he has a hundred woman after him but no-one comes comes close to me. I'm flattered by that of course...
But oh my dear Henry, always saying that I wasn't his first choice to take to the 'event' kind of insults me, if you know what I mean. So your romantic dreams of a quick shag will remain just that. A dream.

There are some people who can't be helped, I learnt that from my time with the Samaritans, and Henry is one of them. He will make out he's taking on board all you are saying but really he just wants to talk about himself. So we do, at least, have one thing in common!
And it must be awful for him having a selfish wayward child, extreme money worries and a stunning cleaner who he can't get hold of, but all that ain't my problem honeybun. And I can't allow it to be.

All I want is for him be gone when I arrive, to shut up about money and go back to A.A. for some bloody help.

Don't Mess With Me

I am not in the mood for any nonsense from Henry today.
If he gives me grief I'll tell him to find another cleaner/cook/shit picker upper/beauty.

I received an email last night from a man.
Not a real man of course, this one merely runs the Southend Poetry group. Anyway the email was just to tell all recipients that a Poetry Workshop is being held next Saturday afternoon by poet, Tim Cunningham.
I'm tempted to re-schedule my dental appointment in the hope of learning something. The only thing is I don't want to mix with lack lustre 'poets' who write about boats. And who'll gravitate towards Mr Cunningham with their abysmal efforts on how wonderful the fucking Norfolk Broads are.
And memories of my disastrous night earlier this year with the Southend 'Poetry' Group, is turning everything black and putting me off.
So maybe I'll give it a miss.

Back to my real real love...
I'm trying out a new sausage recipe today. So as I pat the cats and rush round like a very frustrated woman I'll have that to keep me company.

Glo Spits Feathers

I awaited Henry's promised phone call to tell me when to arrive at the castle but it never came.

So being a somewhat feisty midget I phoned him but got no reply. My blood was up. I therefore telephoned Walter who informed me of his Majesty's state...
The bounder was collapsed in the regal bedroom. Bugger.
Did I let that put me off? Not likely. I slid into Aleks and tootled to the foot of Henry's ramparts.

'Twas true Henry was indeed knackered. With a confused Walter moping around the disaster area aka the kitchen.
After a brief chat with the lodger I tidied up...Yes I did. Can you Adam and Eve it? Saturday night, dressed to kill, rumbling tum and my host lost to the world. And I'll have to dump the empties on Monday.

After a very short while Walter departed, leaving me with two scaredy cats and no dinner. I was not a happy lady.
But even though I was not a happy lady I decided to wait for the kingly presence to become apparent.
Yeah right!
He never showed. What a rotter.

I couldn't bear the humiliation any more so after writing a rather terse note I buggered off. Back to my cat and nightie.

Half way through my televisual surfing the bounder texted. He was contrite and ever so slightly self-pitying. I on the other hand was none of those things. I listened patiently and then said goodnight. After leaving a flea in his shell like.

Today is Sunday, and after the enormous disappointment of last night I feel in no mood to mess with a roast, so it's a chicken curry made by me for me.
Happy days.

Pink

Must just have a word.

Staggered out his morning to buy cat stuff and on the way home popped into the charity shop where I bought...

Pink Suede Sling Back High Heels by Faith
and
a Pair of Pin Striped Stirrup Trousers from who knows where and who cares!

Last night went out for dinner to my favourite Indian restaurant wearing my 'new' Pink Silk dress. It moulded itself to my body making me feel a million. And the next time I wear it I will feel like two million because I'll wear my matching Pink Faith Shoes.
Happy Nights...


Tonight I'm going to Henry's for a movie and Chinese take away. I won't be drinking alcohol so I'll be able to roar down to the castle in Aleks. Who, by the way, has a small orange puss cat sort of stapled to the dashboard.

Have a great weekend everyone.

On a lighter note.
I fancy a pickled onion.

Bloody Men Drivers!

Henry was incandescent this morning. Walter has been a naughty boy. In fact Walter has been an idiot.
He got nicked yesterday for using a mobile phone whilst driving and driving a car without insurance. It was Henry's car.
At one point I thought Henry was going to explode. Methinks Walter's stupid ways might result in Walter getting his arse kicked out the castle.
Henry isn't blameless in all this of course, but I did the right and proper thing and kept quiet. I thought Walter was a good lad if a bit naiive but to yak whilst driving is anathema to me. Won't do it. Couldn't do it. I need all my faculties when in charge of a big petrol laden machine. And if I'm chatting away like a parrot then I'm not in possession of the machine. Am I?

So as Henry read yellow police papers he gulped his tea and cursed.
My God his blood was up.

But after an hour of blood red fuming he went to work only to come back 30 minutes later, he'd forgotten a form. So more tea was made and more venom spat on Walter's name.
The poor bugger, that's Henry, tried to rustle up some sex talk but it was a little limp and not up to his usual high standard. But the tea was good and the occasional sound of a few lamb chops spitting in the slow cooker cheered him no end.
"That sounds good Angie darling"
"You've got that to look forward to tonight" I beamed, wilting with hunger.
"Better get to it before that bloody Walter" Henry said tapping papers with his yellow fag stained fingers.
And with that he lifted his ten ton mug, drained it dry and left me.


On a lighter note.
I've just had a pork pie.

Load of Grub With Nowhere To Go

Time 07:16 and I've just prepared a load of vegetables, peeked in fridge at defrosted lamb chops and piled up my basket with culinary odds and ends. Then I remembered that Henry is attending a 'do' tonight...Hope it's not a sit down dinner type thing.
Ooops!
At least bone breakingly thin Walter will enjoy a good tuck in tonight...

Spun around in Aleks today getting leeks, chickens and custard.
And as I dawdled from here to there I felt the first twiddly excitement of Christmas.
But I will not do what I always do, which is leave everything to the last merry second. No, this year I'll be very organized...
From next week on I'll be stashing away flour for cakes and pastries. Nuts, dried fruits and chocolate for cakes and pastries and butter, lard and Muscovado sugar for er..cakes and pastries!
Fatty Christmas everyone!

On the meat front I'll try to pop some pork, lamb and beef in the freezer. Got some new booze fuelled recipes I want to try, so will need to lay down some beer, wine and cider on the bottom shelf of the knick-knack bookcase. This knick knack bookcase was in the conservatory but it's in the kitchen now behind an old armchair. This thick-armed beige armchair was given to me some 15 years ago by Lucille, a tall, talkative, religious lady who lived over the way with her shrub loving non-speaking husband Kevin who had an allotment near the railway.
Away from the shrubs and potatoes he was not a happy man.

I expect I'll be up the loft come mid December looking for the feet of the plastic Christmas tree.

Now I must get Aleks out and lay down some rubber mats.

What A Difference A Sailor Makes

Last night I sat up in bed with Monty and watched Gene Hackman playing an Admiral. Lots of shooting, lots of bad guys and lots of sexy fighter planes.
I flew with them.
Fell asleep a bit late but woke feeling refreshed.
So...
Another day. Another start. So Glo is off out. Not to work and not to London, just out. Will probably buy stuff.
I have a feeling today is going to be ok :)

He Tried, Bless Him

Henry knew there was something up so went to town on the wisdom.

He also tried to make me laugh and for that he gains extra points. But he was never going to succeed in bringing me out of my shell. And so he continued joshing about Bill Clinton, the lack of romance in today's horrible society and how prevalent easy sluttish sex is. I sipped my weak tea clamping my dead eyes on his, and he laughed. Laughed about his conquests as a young man, his hard mattress and his lumbar support chair. And as I looked at his easy, booze-fuelled blue eyes I wondered what he'd do if I jumped on him. Probably die happy. But that will never happen because I don't like his nose.


After a while Henry left for work and I concocted a chicken casserole leaving it in the slow- cooker, which I hope will continue to slow-cook because the Electricity men were banging on the door earlier saying the power will be switched off 'later'. Bugger.
But anyway I made it and hopefully Henry and Walter will come home to a nice dinner.

*********************************************************************************

I've just put a bouquet of lillies and roses in my bedroom and closed the door on account of not wanting Monty to crunch the petals. Cats and flowers don't mix. But oh this bouquet is something else. Lillies and I'm not sure if I've spelt that right, anyway these lillies are quite simply stunning. They're open now and showing colours like lilac and the sweetest pink, their elegant petals spiked and looking like sugar coated daggers. The pink roses are small in comparison but are equally beautiful, well maybe not...
I've never been given Lillies before but I might just start buying the occasional bunch from now on. I do have a bunch of artificial ones in the front room, but they're orange and don't quite have the same heavenly impact as the pinks. But they look good sitting on the windowsill gazing out onto the road and all the slow paced people.

************************************************************************************

I have to go now.
More tomorrow.

A Mild Rant

I think my poetry is wasted on these pages so from now on they'll be for my eyes only. Just like in the old days when I would deal with my creativity by filling notebooks.
Deal with? Creativity shouldn't be something I deal with, I should look upon it as a great gift. But that's another post...
As you can see I am not in the best of moods so I'm going to leave this now and go to work. Nothing like physical work to bring the artist down to earth.

Rock Sense: POEM

I swam through waves of dishonour to sleep with you
the slime getting caught in my hair
and then it scaled my face and I lost my sight
and yet still I swam to you

Over the end and at the edge of the pier
splinters ran through my feet
and when waving people ran for the guard
still I sat for you

White birds blasted,
their freedom cocky and sure,
and they screeched and laughed at the flightless sea lover
and as I chewed I spewed
my fingers bleeding
turning the blue sea mauve

Sucking over the wounds I trawled the shore
beating some pebbles to death

I was watched by British fools out for the day
stolid homely husbands complete in cheap clothes
putting up with dear wifey for the day

I swam through waves of dishonour because I liked your body and temper
but then waves travelled
taking me down
till I hit my head on some rock sense
and my eyes were bleached open
but smarted in agony
at a love deaded by drowning



Angela Norris

Had a dinner party last night.
Well maybe not exactly a dinner party more like a few old duffers slouching around my old oak table woofing down Toad-in-the-Hole!

Went down well though I have to say, the sausages were super, very meaty with lots of cracked black pepper, the batter which held the snorkers rose beautifully, reminding me of something Greek or something. But this was English food at its plainest tastiest best.

As for the veggies, I plumped for steamed Sweetheart cabbage, which I dressed with pepper, salt and butter and jacket potatoes oozing with more butter. Now the wet accompaniment was a big jug of Rich Onion sauce. I really went to town on this, sweating lots of onions in, yes you've guessed it, butter..Then adding some flour to make a roux. I then poured in water, an oxo cube, oregano, Worcestershire sauce and a huge dollop of tomato ketchup. It brewed for half an hour while I prepared PUD.

As you know I love puds, and I especially love pudding-up friends. So I served my chums sliced bananas on mounds of Cornish Ice Cream with lashings of Butterscotch sauce* and Shortbread fingers.
They were silenced...
I was ecstatic.
Nothing pleases me more than feeding six or four or even just two, because I'm in my element when fussing.

Awful weather today isn't it? Still it is November so what do we expect. Had a natter with the man from SpecSavers and an appointment has been made for next month. Not for Specs but to see if I can carry Contact lenses. I'm really quite excited about this having been a four eyes for forty years, should be quite an eye-opening experience (Sorry, couldn't resist). Anyway the appointment is made.





Butterscotch Sauce Recipe

4oz butter
2oz light brown sugar
2oz dark brown sugar
4tsps cornflour
300ml Single cream


Melt the butter and sugars together over a very low heat.
Whisk the cornflour into the Single cream.
Very very slowly add to melted sugars and butter and then stir like the clappers till smooth and velvety.
Jug up and serve straight away.

Shock: Poem

You shocked me with your vigour
unleashing in me passions only the unloved feel
yes you shocked me

And on the afternoon when every weather came
you tinkered with me
lifting up my stone white body with your manic mechanical hands
you tinkered with me
pulling away and peeling off layers of unused flesh
you kept bits, mementos for yourself
leaving me formless battered
without shape
I'd become unstructured

And all through an evening once
your excesses thrilled me open
and breaching me apart
I cried with lust like in a movie
drip drop drip drop drip drop
yes your excesses unwrapped me
allowing out and laying bare
all what was hidden

And then on an ordinary day I was abandoned
And so I wrote my own obituary
...She lived
and died of shock





Angela Norris

Mischief Night

There are no bite marks on my neck, no grave dust in my hair, no diabolical remnants of any kind. Yet last night's party was a thriller.

Walter drove me to Henry's castle and we were met at the drawbridge by a few freaked out dressed up kids who had to leave immediately to meet up with more friends.
"You all look fantastic darlings" I said as Henry's daughter kindly did up a swinging hook and eye on the back of my skirt.
"Thank you sweetie" I beamed and with that they shot out into the night to collect other young things.

Henry was in the kitchen propped up on his red stool with nothing but a giant plastic skull for company. And so after a few limp jokes about brains and bones I said hello to the incoming cats...
"Want to keep them in the their room Angie for the night, I don't want them frightened" And so I took bowls of chickeny biscuits into the aforementioned room and the cats followed...

The kitchen counters were awash with a lot of green creepy hats and other silly stuff and bags of cheesy nibbles lay unopened by the microwave. I took over and opened up not only cheesy nibbles but bags of nuts as well.

"You look absolutely stunning darling"
"Thank you Henry" I smiled, brushing my black painted nails over the huge grey plastic tombstone which rested by the Slow-Cooker.

Meanwhile Walter sat in his jacket nursing the left side of his face. He'd been to the dentist that very morning and had had two teeth ripped out.
"Can't eat or drink for a little while Ang, and I'm in pain quite a lot". His South African accent somehow making me feel even more sorry for the lanky lad.
"Well Walter, you'll just have to watch as I eat Henry's nuts and drink whatever it is he's dragged up from the cellar."
He attempted a smile.
And so the night went on.

A lot of tall well fed youngsters started enjoying themselves roundabout 8, and by enjoying themselves I mean listening to loud modern music whilst drinking 42% booze. This lethal drink was pink and in a strange square shaped bottle and it was drunk in 'shots' and smelled horrible. "Might do for the drains" I thought as I sipped a good Merlot.

But the young people were decent and in fine form and were no trouble at all, the only extreme noise was when a lad fell up the stairs. "Sort it Walter" barked Henry.
And he did.

I wafted around the kitchen now and again opening bags of sweeties whilst looking out into the eerily beautiful garden. The very late night darkness bringing a meditational quality to the shrubs and pergolas and a heavenly silence to the bird feeders. I wondered where the pigeons, starlings and tits were. Probably nestling with their families in their twig-filled homes.

"Want to watch The X Factor Angie?" asked Henry sipping
"Okay, yes, Let's see how Olly the Essex boy gets on" And with that I hoisted myself up onto the red stool whilst Walter switched on the telly.

The opening credits were interrupted by gals and guys pouring into the kitchen asking for a variety of things. Corkscrew (of course) paper towels (oh no) straws. (ok) and bicycle pump. Right.....
But we, the oldies, just carried on doing what people over 50 do, watching the telly and flicking peanuts at the plasticised skull. Yes that did occur and it kind of took our minds off of the popular television show. Laugh? I nearly fell orf me stool and down onto the quarry tiled floor but luckily Henry's giant hands caught me and so I only suffered humiliation instead of mutilation.
We drank on...

But by now the beautiful young things, who were quite cute in their ghostly get-ups, were getting rather rowdy so we locked the door so no-one could disturb us.
The only thing bothering us was the weather, how the wind roared and boiled, whooshing up banana skins on the lawn, but we were happy and a bit drunk so we didn't give a hoot.


I did though, during one of my not so squiffy moments, take a peek into the cats' room, the sweet cherubs were under the bed with some socks, so that was ok.

Raucous noise was thudding into the olde walls so Henry, Walter and I talked loud utter nonsense, the conversations veering from talk about Henry's hips to why I like hairy men. And from why Folkstone is a good place to go and why Duvets are the worst thing to happen to the proud British Housekeeper.
We all had something worth saying only trouble was it was all silly wine filled gibberish of which I am now thoroughly ashamed. I will not go to a B&B with his Majesty and Walter will not be buying his own sheets.

But by, oh very late o'clock, the nuts and wine were gone and so was I, so a very sober Walter drove me home. And I thanked him profusely as all tipsy girls do and tiptoed up me path to bed.

When I squinted at me merry reflection I saw not one bite mark, nor any sign of extra curricular activity, I just saw a flushed sweet lady with her spider choker a bit awry...