Not in the mood for excessively jolly posts, so for a while I'll be writing about food.

Borrowed a book from H's. Mrs Beeton's Cookery Book. Loads of recipes requiring calve's brains, pig's trotters and 'Moka' icing. Interesting read though.
According to Mrs B the mistress of the house should look after the servants, good ones are, after all, hard to find.
Crusty old biddy was Mrs B but knew a thing or two about broths and breakfasts.
I like her.


Being thrown around the kitchen tonight:
Fruity Indian chicken, Peshwari naans and plain rice. For pud: the last remaining dollops of Sunday's exceedingly flavoursome Black Forrest style trifle. Made using plain sponge filled with morello cherry jam, canned black cherries thickened and laced with a little almond essence and cornflour, then covered with chocolate custard and whipped cream. Disregarded any ornamentation, something this good didn't need it.
God I love to cook!

Mr H. is on lates for the rest of the week so, come 7ish, Monty and I will crash out with snacks, excellent movies and Boots 99p blue moisturiser.
Avon's wickedly expensive 'Reversalist' cream is for flaky peri-menopausal women who see a twenty pound note and think they're on a good income.
Boots bargain liquid is for women who accept they're creeping towards the grave and who, with pints of fizzing joy, secrete £5 notes in their draws.

:)