SAMPLER

Avoiding puddles, I made for the pub
its dark crevices perfect for reflection
hunching my shoulders so no-one would see me
I drinked out back to my youth

Don't sit down in the water dad said
moments later my Woolworth knickers were wet
Come home now said mum
and pulling her arm from its bony socket we ran

Some strangled tune from a speaker hurt my head
and some noisy bitches with no style
croaked like strapped witches at the stake
and as a cockful of lads out on the pull
eyed their funereal garb
I wondered how they could desire a whore in widow's weeds

Tizer, burnt toast and a gas ring on low
was all I had at seven
a dad so thin and unbeatable
ringed certs in the morning paper
a mum with unloved hair and nobody
threw our stuff into a brown torn suitcase
we left the mice to the fat in the frying pan
their footmarks a dead infested give away

Had I been there an hour or was I there at all
was feeling gutted reason to wield a hammer
or was I being a fool
the cackling bleach heads with their sallow faced herberts in tow
pulled on the door allowing some freshness in
I gulped
its coldness smacking me awake
Fuck this I thought I'm going home
but being morose and being alone
instilled in moi a deadly peace
so I bit the glass once more


I got the bus and caught the train and counted out my wages
bought a coat and saved for shoes and scribbled in my diary
being overwhelmed at a party being smitten by Tony and being in awe of a poet called Blake
I shivered in the flat by my one bar fire planning to be the best


Drink, and you don't mind puddles
what's a splashed stocking when you're on your way home?

'Home is where the heart is' someone stitched upon a sampler
I know because its hanging on my hollow wall
the constant plume of scorching kettle steam
can't fade its colourful stitched sentiments
nor tear out its simple truth
I love you you stupid sampler

Just returned from a glorious shopping trip to Sainsbury's.
Nothing fancy was bought just fabulous humdrum in the shape of cabbage, brioche and chickens.

The drive home was splendid, calm roads, loads of sunshine and a quick pop to the garage for juice.
Came in to find Monty snoozing on the armchair. Sorry matey if I disturbed you. Shut up loser or I'll put hairs in your milk.
After having half a pint of tea I walked around the garden, planning. This harebrained idea of me knocking up a bird sanctuary is giving me much to think about. For example...Why?

Well, I love birds and I like feeding them and watching them so I thought I'd do something with the patch of badly kept garden by the conservatory! At the moment it's running wild with an odd assortment of stuff I've grown, some of the stuff even flowers, but it's not giving me satisfaction and to feel satisfied in whatever you do is essential, otherwise what's the point?

So the idea of having a space which is home to a few bird feeders and bird houses is titillating me. But what to do first? That's the question.
As soon as the weather calms down a bit I'll pop out and buy some shears and start tidying up the old conifer in the corner. It's a lovely old chap but his bits are hanging down and old chaps with drooping bits are so annoying. So, the first job is to slice at bits thereby making a clear space so I can see what's what.

Next, getting shot of the old plants, love them to bits but when your time is up it's up and so they have to go to make way for bird tables and and baths. I'll need to cover the ground with something or other, and not being a gardener I'll need to go online to find out what to get. Bit of plastic I should think. Anyway, these are jobs for when Spring is around the corner.



Doings today:
Making Fruity Indian chicken with a cucumber relish and spicy rice. To dip and scoop...Garlic and coriander naans.

Football Focus. What on earth has happened to Portsmouth?
What will Mr Cappelo do about Wayne Bridge and John Terry?
And have England's World Cup chances been blown by the carrying ons of Mr Terry? Nope.


Going through my Humax collection:)
Films to watch? Oh yeah. Denzel, Arnie. Harrison.
'On Expenses' to watch.
Masterchef. Love it.
American Idol. Talented young people, some with enormous egos, others very likeable.


I'm exhausted already!

I'm not working for Henry any more.

Last night and this afternoon were horrific for me.

All I want to do is go to Sainsbury's, watch films and plan my bird haven.

Honoured

Holding his sorcerer's gaze I anointed him
the old purple pencil, bitten by thought, tapped out, on his head of bone and fur, a love song
a love song.

Offering up a scruff to grab, the young cat embraced my leg
and paws like needles stabbed
and his eyes, his eyes, like emeralds in water filled cases, rolled.



Angela Norris

Oh It's Just Tuesday

Apart from writing a poem or two, transforming Henry's bedroom and sorting through online recipes I've had very little to do...

The poems I've penned lately have pleased me. Coming as they do out of the blue and without any effort on my part.
My creative angels have been whipping their wings till they bleed. Bless you and thank you darlings, your super human efforts have made me believe in myself once again.

Making H's room fit for humans has been pleasurable. The carpet looks fab and today I bought a pair of second hand crushed velvet type curtains in a sweet shade of peach, they will be hung tomorrow. Rumours abound that Henry is being let out of hospital tonight, but he's been saying this for a week. We shall see.

And leafing through recipes on the look out for something divine has proved fruitful. Found a few things which sent my taste buds wild. Apricot Brioche Tart being one of them. Possibly have it the weekend.

Talking of food...
Cooking tonight. Minestrone soup and garlic bread followed by Lemon Puddle pudding and cream. Haven't made this for yonks, so am looking forward to splitting the feather light sponge and finding a sweet sharp lemony custard hiding underneath. Yummy!

An Interesting Day

Chicken legs out of freezer
Chicken legs in.
Henry possibly vacating hospital bed.
Maybe not.
Multitude of new keys.
No locks.
Pile of washing.
No powder.
Cat hairs.
Broken hoover.

Carpet man.
Need to take doors off.
Colin flew in as Superman.
Doors came off.
Carpet went down.
So did tea.
Carpet man left wishing me luck:(
Colin shared his beef sandwich.
Colin got a friend.

Cats snuggled.
I re-arranged knick knacks.
Colin removed locks.
Put new completely unnecessary ones in.
Keys a-plenty.
Talked about work, slavery and peanuts.

Henry phoned.
Haughty spoilt brat gibberish.
My voice was very raised.
Henry might come home.
Henry might die.
Not coming home.
Will be home today, could be midnight.
Food required likewise bed.
Goodbye Henry.

Colin and I looked at massive amount of remaindered carpet.
Hmmm I said
Colin concurred.
Carpet made its way to my car.

Left for home with Colin and carpet.
Dropped him off in a layby
Carpet still lounging on back seat of Alex:)

I want to do something wicked.
Goodbye.

Ita And The Man With Tanned Hands

His gate swung
its creaking hinges a melody to the girl over the way
and watching from a distance
she wished

Tiptoeing over glades
she ran swiftly to her love
blades of grass
under her soft shoes
falling like lovers in raptures

In a room in his cottage
the man with tanned hands
etched,
sketched her name
using old tools handed down

Ita, Ita he mouthed as he brushed dust
away
away from her blessed name
holding warm metal
he branded her name into his heart


Stopping at his faded door
Ita took a special breath
the breath of one in so much love
it could be her last
and she wouldn't mind
to die in love is to die alive...


Angela Norris

Friday. The Early Part

The sun is over there.
Just hanging over the neighbours bedroom window.
It's smooth mellow light is peeking through my blinds.
Quite orange but not acidic, more honey like.
I like it.
Sky as clear as the whites of my eyes.




Went to the hospital this morning to listen to Henry as he argued with two frazzled people. I kept out of it as much as I could.

Later, say mid morning, I popped to his home to find a sink load of dishes, two cats looking out into the garden and a pigeon on the feeder. After feeding the cats and bird I did a little tidying and left. I was there just thirty minutes.

Decided to go to the charity shop where I bought an unused (still had the store packaging inside) black embroidered Suzy Smith shoulder bag, a soft pale pink gilet and a small glass milk jug. Total monies spent: £3 Always feel warm and pleased after spending small amounts of cash on wonderful simple things.

Walked home with the sun in my eyes.
Looked into people gardens but didn't look at their windows. The council men are doing something with tarmac in Brays Lane. Only hope they don't set up a temporary traffic lights/contraflow system because I don't like them one jot. Always give me a feeling of 'oooh I'd better hurry up, the lights might change and I might meet an inpatient male driver head on'

Arrived home some ten minutes later, fried two eggs and watched 'Jesse James' (recorded on Humax) starring Tyrone Power and Henry Fonda. Fantastic film. Amazing colours, crisp script and beautiful performances from the two leads.

Tonight is a big night if you're a soap fan. EastEnders is going LIVE! I'm wondering what's going through the minds of the actors right now...Unbearable excitement and an diabolical surge of adrenaline.
This must be what actors go in the profession for....

On the menu tonight:
Tea and biscuits.

I envied the clouds today
going nowhere
lumbering like great steel boots
against a silk papered wall
they dug their heels in.



I wrote this travelling on a train. I often scribble down verses when being taken from here to there, I must find the trains roar relaxing.

Here's another hotch potch of words I wrote recently.





Oh come on
come to me
raise my roof
knocking it heavenwards
smudge those poetical moonbeams as they dilly dally
dislocate old planets from their comfortable existence
rip the lights from stars
just for me

Oh pop up
pop to me
make my laugh
wake some dead
wake them
and watch with me as they scurry from their dust
bones long since unloved
bones now dancing to the tune of a flesh and blood woman
giggle as skeletons dance to hip hop pop pop
just for me

Oh play for me
play pleeze
dressed for roles
we're so good at
you remove my manners
and I catch my hair in your zip


Oh come on
come with me
ride the gambler's horse bareback
steering the stumbling beast
into territories dark,
we'll hit fences and stoop to lick our blood
but we'll push on from steeple to steeple
even writing the route as we go
and our bravery will take us where we want to be
Oh come on
come on
ride with me

My new telly is great!

32 perfect inches in silver and black now rests upon a two tier stand which, funnily enough, has just enough room for one of my cats...Lovely!

When the boys left I spent a very pleasing hour or so checking the 'guide' on the Humax so as to make sure I don't miss anything super duper. Already found oodles of stuff to record, so my little fingers have been busy. I love this new machine and have navigated my way around it's many features very easily. Is it possible to fall in love with a piece of kit?


Now back to the t.v.
It's kind of high up, making me feel as if I'm in a hushed cinema, and so all I needed this afternoon as I watched 'Crimson Tide' on dvd was a bag of sweets and an arm around me. But I made do with Monty and a plate of Shortbread Fingers.



Thanks Sweetie x

I'm Ready

After two early morning calls from H. I hatched a plan.
The plan being to ignore everything he says.

Speaking to his secretary I discovered he's enraging everyone, not just me. He has a talent for disaster. We will, that's the secretary and me, oh and another employee who 'won't be Henry's bitch' go for an audience tomorrow morning, where we might be able to salvage some kind of sense from this sea of insanity.
All the secretary wants to do is her job.
All the other people want to do is what was in the job spec.
All I want to do is polish the silver and feed the cats.

On a lighter better note, I recorded Aliens last night on my new Humax machine and this morning, after pulverising two slices of indecently good marmalade toast, I watched a bit of it. Can life get any better than toast and ugly monsters...Yes it can. Steak and chips, new telly and colonial marines.

Come on t.v. delivery man. Got a whole load of aliens to shoot.

A Beautiful Day

Sky, clear.
Temperature up a tad so no need for a scarf.
A pleasant breezy stroll along the road to the hospital.
Then I saw Henry.
Barking orders like a mad man, his son, with red rimmed eyes, looked on as I again fell out with his father.
So I came home, made a pot of tea and pressed buttons on my new Humax. Have it sussed already. Will record Aliens tonight and keep it forever.

Tomorrow my new 32 inch telly will be delivered. I've never had one that big so when the delivery man leaves I'll eye it up and down and round and about. Only hope it has enough depth to hold one ceramic cat! * There isn't much room around the fire...

As I'm on my own tonight I'm not sure what to eat, probably plump for a plate of cream cheesed crackers and the wispy bits at the bottom of the Rice Cracker bag:)

* A menace of ceramic cats now hold centre stage around my electric fire. Decided that having pussies scattered here there and everywhere made the room look a little messykins. I will post a picture as soon as I can, probably at the weekend.

Sky has pulled its curtains.
Temperature has dropped enough for me to put a shawl around my shoulders.
Now to the kitchen for crackers, then the front room to play with my Humax. It isn't just boys who like toys!

A beautiful day.

Just popping in to wish Man Utd lots of luck in their match against AC Milan tonight. Beckham, a rather old boy now, must have his very old heart strings in all sorts of tangles. Being one of Man U's greatest players he's now up front for Milan. He must be in a an awful tizz. There's a great picture of him on the BBC's sports page, and I have to say he's looking more and more like Errol Flynn.

Anyway Good Luck chucks.

This is not good.

This blog is supposed to be about love, love of food, footie and and other good stuff so from now on that's what it will be.
All this tripe about Henry's pains and the subsequent fall out I will keep to myself.. I will not continue to splash his rotting innards in the faces of my public. I will post only good things which emanate from the castle...

My hair is turning a bit wild, might give Lisa a call see if she can nip my wispy bits.

Made a corker of a cake this morning, the aroma of baked goods is comforting especially when it's tipping it down outside. A brave pigeon clung to the sturdy feeder as enormous gusts of winds rocketed bits and bobs all around the garden. I looked and saw a mess. My mind, in an attempt to save itself, took off to the spring and summer imagining a trim lawn, flowery pots, salmon sandwiches and a bare midriff. Fine days can't come quickly enough for me.

Should be getting a new video machine today. A Humax it's called. Have a bit of an idea how it works, what I know for certain is that I'll be able to record films and store them in a neat order to watch on a day such as this. No need for me to bend and search for dusty tapes, all my favs will be in/on the Humax.
And then come Thursday, a new t.v is being delivered. It's a lot bigger than our current one and will no doubt have me sitting closed kneed, calves parted, staring at it like a simpleton.
I do so love my movies.

Talking of which. Watched 'Vacancy' a couple of weeks ago. Not the sort of film I'd have on whilst baking a cake but fair enough when eating rice crackers on a Saturday night.
Story about a couple who rent a motel room where snuff movies are made. They being the next 'stars' of course. Compelling and a bit sickening. But one to watch again? Nah.

Been devouring 'Great Offices of State' on BBC4. This is worth the licence fee.

This is good.

Aye It's Grim Down South

Yesterday mum had a procedure done on her left eye, if she'd ignored it, she'd have lost her sight.

Walter has been evicted for God knows what reason. I pleaded his case but H was having none of it.
Henry has riled me and others beyond belief. He's talking utter gibberish most of the time. He doesn't see the need for me to 'do' his house while he's in hospital. 'But we'll come to an arrangement over the cats'... Bollocks.
I will feed them and see to their lavatorial issues for nothing. It's not all about money Henry.

There's a carrot cake baking. So that's good.

It's been a gruelling few days what with one thing and another, so tomorrow I'm going to have fun.
On with the fab clothes and then a leap onto the train to London. Where I will no doubt be overwhelmed by a Waitrose curry and dad's lamentations about the weather. I hope to grab some goodies in the shape of either bags, dresses or ornaments but whatever I do or buy I must blast away the greyness of recent events.


And now a little nonsense...

Things I can't do without:

Bowls.
Got them all lined up on the kitchen windowsill. Why I didn't think of doing this before I'll never know.

Lipstick.
Got them all lying down on the dressing table. One day I'll find the perfect shade of pink.

'Columbo'.
Had him this afternoon stalking a murderer. An exquisite actor who will, by many, only be remembered for his performances in the mac. Not me though, Falk is fabulous in 'Wings of Desire'.

Double Cream.
Essential for trifles of all colours and tastes. Black cherry for the mum and dad tomorrow.

Recipe books.
Newest to the collection, Hamlyn Chinese Cookery. Simples and great food photography.

Me time.
Shortbread fingers, tea, hand cream.

Stiletto shoes.
'New' ones bought recently, very 1930's. Two tones of brown. Elegant, and with the right shade of stocking, will send me over the edge.

My Morning , My E-Love

Potted about at H's, not much to do.
His son came in a little while after I arrived, he'd come for dad's slippers. According to him his dad was caught smoking in the ward! He'd also pinned a note onto one of the patients. God knows what hell the man is going through, but whatever it is it must be sorted out sooner rather than later.

Anyway the highlight of my morning was when Blackie and Ging sprawled themselves across my lap. They were lit by a brilliant strip of sunshine which beamed through the large window their sleek bodies warm, and without fault, shone like nothing on earth. So perfect did they look that I wanted to lick their heads but instead I let my fingers roam around their necks. The purring was thunderous.

After bagging up some of the son's clothes I bagged up my rubber gloves and pinny and left. When I was outside locking up they both appeared on the windowsill, their small heads on their thin bodies left me weak with love. I really am an idiot.

Cooking tonight Pork Chops Italienne. No idea about pud probably something chocolately.

Here is a poem I posted then deleted, won't go into why I deleted it suffice to say I can sometimes be a wee bit fractious.








Here I am
deep down in love
its magic flouting all the rules of life
yet no-one to witness it you see

Looking for sense
I try on a new dress
its perfect folds annoying my heart and mind
no-one to ruin it you see

Waiting for words
I hear not one from you
your distant e-love leaves me e-sick
no-one to wipe it you see

My Day Off

At 10 a.m. I was listening to Woman's Hour and making fish cakes, by 11 I was dealing with an hysterical daughter and sublimely cool son. Henry had discharged himself from hospital.
Henry had called as I was shaping the cakes his voice was high pitched, his words nonsensical. He wanted his bed moved and cupboards shifted. I got dressed and drove there to find his eldest daughter on the drive crying, her baby yelling, the only island of calm being Henry's son, J.

His son, J, told me that Henry had been caught smoking, had reacted violently when confronted by nurses, who had, in turn, called the security people. He later walked out after calling both his daughters very early in the morning. His son had hopped on a train from London to deal with dad.

"What can I do?" I asked
"Watch him please while we go to see his G.P."

And so they left, I meanwhile went inside and found H. in bed, purple, spitting and talking about Asian prostitutes.

I looked at him not really knowing what to do, I have to admit I was a bit worried, I wondered what I'd do if he fell out of bed or became 'difficult'. I needn't have worried though because he soon fell asleep leaving me to watch the cats and wait for his family to return.

After 30 minutes of wandering from room to room they returned, his daughter with baby in tow, began crying again, more in anger than sadness. Her dad was the kind of person, she said, who wouldn't listen to anyone, who always thinks he's right and who is a compulsive liar.
His son, still the epitome of cool, suggested that dad might need to see a psychiatric nurse. I tentatively agreed.

Henry has been all over the place these past couple of months, drinking himself into a stupor and losing days and nights like they're nothing thereby isolating himself from everyone around him.
His violent outbursts when anyone suggests he sees a doctor or speaks to a counsellor are becoming more frequent. It has got to the stage where people just stay away.

A cup of coffee was made by me as his son phoned the hospital to see if he could take dad back to resume his treatment. They said yes. Then we heard a thud, it was Henry making his way to the kitchen where he calmly told us to go because he had to grab a shower and get to work.
What followed was so painful. His daughter ran out crying, his son remained calm whilst gently urging his dad to go back to hospital. But Henry was having none of it.

I left the kitchen to sit with the girl who spoke incessantly about her father. Then the youngest girl arrived saying she was having no more to do with him. Meanwhile J. persisted in trying to get his dad to see sense. He didn't. Instead Henry went upstairs to bed.

So the four left behind swapped stories of our dealings with the NHS and difficult relations. Then the door bell rang, it was Henry's G.P. he'd come round to have a word...

After telling Henry that he might die if he didn't get treatment, Henry reluctantly agreed to go to hospital. A huge commotion then occurred as Henry came downstairs demanding clean socks, pants and his briefcase... I packed it all up, wished them well and watched out the window as Henry climbed into the daughter's car wearing only his pyjamas.

After a few minutes I too left.
It had been quite a morning and I was mentally exhausted.

I hope with all my heart that Henry behaves properly and does what he's told because if he creates trouble he'll have his choices made for him and that will be much worse than being on an oxygen machine.

Now I'll finish the fish cakes.

The Show Doesn't Go On

The cats were pleased to see me and my basket.
Colin the put-upon painter laid down his brush and tried to get the 'new' dryer to work.
I made pork chops Italienne for Walt.
Just another morning at Henry's.

He is still undergoing tests and no-one is being told anything least of all me. I spoke with him on the phone and he made no sense at all, I think he must be on some super painkillers or something of that ilk because his speech was slurred and rambling.
No-one except me, John and his children have visited him, a man can be in no sorrier state than to be devoid of true friendship.

Pottering around his house in silence save for the occasional bump and thump from Colin upstairs feels very unreal.
No blaring radio or filthy banter and suddenly the cold creaking castle lies still and colourless without its main character.

I Have Henry's Socks In My Handbag.

After messing about with Walter's sausages I rang the hospital and found out that H had been moved to a respiratory ward so after eating another part of the pig (bacon sarnie) I tootled up there.
He was on the edge of the bed in a flashy blue backless number, red in cheek with some plastic tubing in his nostrils.
"Hello Angie" he snorkled
"Hello you" I grinned
And so we sat... Me watching as he ate two of the oranges I'd brought him.
"Thank you darling, I can't find my glasses and these socks are no good..." The rest of the conversation went very much along those lines. He doesn't like the doctors or the people around him, he distrusts the food and he wants to come home.
"I'll get myself out of here" he said worryingly
"No don't do that Henry" I said sipping on the insipid tea nursie had brought.
He went on and on in a frantic manner, talking nonsense about carpets, boilers, new sofas, parties, lime green paint and his glasses. I felt like a member of a crowd who had gathered to hear the rantings and preachings of a town centre preacher. Only this preacher used expletives.

After an hour his daughter arrived and both she and I were asked to leave for a bit whilst a scan was taken of something or other. A little while later we were back by his side and he was attempting to peel yet another orange.
After some chit chat about the daughters work and weekend she left, leaving me with dad.
"I'm feeling a bit knackered now" said H
"And that's my cue to hop it is it?" I piped up, in as cheery a fashion as I could muster. It had been a hardish two hours with him and for him, but I think a little good came out of it.

On the drive home I hoped that after this scare Henry would finally see sense and stop smoking and limit his drinking to a glass or two of wine, because if he doesn't one day his body will do what so many have done, refuse to work for him...

He can be a cantankerous man with a brattish cruel streak, a man who is impatient not only with himself but with everyone and the whole damn world. But he can also be funny and helpful and has just about the most infectious, rudest, and out and out exhausting sense of humour of anyone I've ever met. All in all he's an almighty pain, but a pain I can deal with, providing there are islands of relief, such as text free weekends and call free nights!

Tomorrow after some much needed fun shopping John and I will visit him and I will take along a pair of glasses I found behind his bar and another pair of socks because the ones he's wearing feel 'awkward'...

Cooking tonight: Not a clue.

After yesterday's hullaballoo all I want to do is shop! But that will have to wait till tomorrow, when I will cut a classy swathe all the way to the 99p shop!

But today, what about today? Well, after a little breakfast I'll gather some sausages, veg and a mini trifle and tootle down to Henry's where I expect to be met by cowboy Colin the painter, who yesterday said there was 'a place in heaven for me'.
I tutted and made a bacon sandwich.

I won't be doing much today though, this is more of a mercy mission for the sake of Walter, the poor beanpole hasn't a lot to eat so I'll brew up a casserole for him.
After doing that I'll check the cats, try to get Colin to move the new dryer for me, look at bulging bin bags and then have a cuppa whilst phoning the hospital.

If all goes well I'll be scooting up there this afternoon to check upon the man who would be an M.P. if he could. Local politics is/was his life and the burly cheese eater is aching to get back in the blue fold. Got to get his red face sorted first methinks...

Bugger

Oh my God what a day.

Never thought I'd be so pleased to walk into my chilly room.

My day off was kind of planned, look at a few books, watch a movie and generally chill out, but at nine fifteen this morning Henry phoned from the doctor's car park saying he was unwell and that he had to go to hospital.
After arranging to meet him back at his home I drove down there hoping for the best. He arrived some forty minutes later having decided to drive around town for a little bit. In the meantime frantic calls and texts were being sent and received, some from his youngest daughter, others from his secretary, but Henry being the arse he is left us all in the dark.

So as I talked to the painter who had come to do the bedroom, Henry called saying he was on his way and would I get his things together.
Scrambling about in his wreck of a room proved weary on me so I just grabbed a few obvious bits and pieces and packed them into a hold all. Then Henry turned up looking like hell. I've seen him in many states of unwellness but the way he looked this morning terrified me.

After I prised him off the back of the chair I phoned for a taxi and ten minutes later we were on our way. On the short journey he continually shut his eyes, falling forwards and asking where we were going. I felt sorry for the big man because for a big shot this must heave been humiliating. We got there and as I staggered with his holdall and blasted briefcase nurses and doctors ushered him into the acute ward where he was prodded, pricked and had all kinds of stuff done to him. Henry meanwhile sat with his eyes barely open.

"How did you get here?" he asked after two hours of me sitting with him.
"Taxi, darling" I said
He closed his eyes.

By this time his youngest daughter and son had arrived, it was an emotional time for all concerned.
"Make sure" she said to me "That you tell them the truth"
"The truth?"
"Yes about the drinking, he lies about it"

By now I was feeling a bit exhausted but I stayed till all the nurses and one doctor did their stuff. Then Henry in his own inimitable way told us all to leave.
"Go on bugger off" he said

So we left him waiting to be taken to the Respiratory ward.

I left the hospital to catch the bus lugging his bloody briefcase which I told him he wouldn't be needing for a few days.
Did he listen? Did he hell. But that's Henry for ya.

On The Food Programme (Radio 4) cookery expert Mary Norwak said a true trifle contains no fruit or jelly, so the little effort I made yesterday was a no-no. But come the weekend I will make the real thing, even forcing myself to splash out on a bottle of sweet sherry. I did gain some comfort though because Miss Norwak uses jam filled sponges just like I do.

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Got my under-the-sink cupboard sorted out this afternoon. Found twenty unused dish cloths, three half full bottles of bleach, three cans of furniture polish, several sticky stains, a bag of weed killer, two photo frames, egg cups, Stardrops cleaner (unused), box of screws, a yellow bowl, a sugar cannister filled with packets of lettuce seeds (use by 2008), and a host of incredible cleaners...

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Today's work out at Henry's nearly ended in bloodshed. I was in a foul mood and he had bad legs. Result? Sharpness from both sides.
He said he might want me full time if and when his business picks up. I made more tea as his watery eyes started to close at the kitchen table. Time? Midday. Advised rest so took him to his room along with his £7.56 cough medicine, tablets to help him quit smoking and a bottle of orange squash. Full time nurse? Me? Only for a shed load of wonga.

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Fried myself a piece of steak for lunch and ate it whilst watching Mary Queen of Scots on C4. Fabulous performances from all. Especially Glenda Jackson, Timothy Dalton and Vanessa Redgrave. Made in 1971, it was a sumptuous affair beautifully shot and directed. But I have to say I was very surprised that the censor bods at C4 allowed it to have an afternoon slot, because there were extremely gory scenes of people being butchered to death. Ms Redgrave (Mary) did look lovely though as she knelt for the axeman.

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Got another informative email from The Southend Poetry Society. Gang of woolly wearing caravaners.

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Got a ton of stuff to catch up on via video tape. Simply must get a Humax. Recorded the remake of The Omen. Damn fine film the original, but will give the updated version a go. Also have 'Vacancy,' some tosh about a couple in a motel room getting embedded in snuff movies. Could be worth a watch. University Challenge on tonight, usually manage to get a few questions right. Love Paxo's delivery.

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Now back to where I began. Radio 4 and P.M. With tea and a shortbread finger.