Your fingers like pokers
rouse embers in my fading life
and as I scorch my tongue on them
I blister a beautiful thank you
X
Wednesday, 31 March 2010
Easter Bread, Buns and Blokes.
Nothing gives me more pleasure, satisfaction and bruises than planning, cooking and serving home made food... Therefore Easter will see me glowing not only with heat but with joy and screwed up eyeballs.
Read on...
There's something soothing, almost spiritual about gathering together every day ingredients and making simple luscious grub like Hot Cross Buns, Cidered Chicken, Rosemary and Garlic Lamb, Herb Bread, Naans, Syrup Pudding and Lasagne. And as various old tins and pots get laid in the oven I'll no doubt be rubbing my hip from the numerous bangs they'll receive from the sticky-out corner of the well used kitchen table...I decided during a sleepless night that more working space is required, so have foolishly pulled out another table leaf. Looks good though and is coming in very handy, what with books and plates, but oh the hits I'm copping as I drift from one side of the room t'other. Ouchy ouchy...! Silly Girly!
Anyway, I'll be submerged in Sainsbury's flour over the Holy break. And that's fine with me. I'll post more as and when I can. You DO understand.
Oh, one more thing, I'll only be cooking, I don't do cleaning when Jesus is about.
So stuff to make:
Herb Bread. To make cheese sandwiches worth writing about
Hot Cross Buns. With a proper pastry cross not just a lazy slice from a sharp knife.
Naans. Made with yogurt. And red hot oven.
Lasagne. With a cheese scone. So perfect it warrants a photo.
Syrup sponge. Nursery food for stupid adults.
Apple Flan. Via Australia. More on that at a later date.
Stuff to avoid:
Dusters.
Any kind of chemical.
Hot water.
Rubber Gloves.
Sex.
But now, what about today.
Well, I'm on lady-alone rations. Will flash fry a small piece of steak for me and Monty, who, bless him, is going through a small identity crisis after meeting Golly. And later on we'll all dive into the biscuit tin whilst watching, yeah yeah ok you've guessed it...a little film loaded with guns and handsome blokes.
Get over it.
Ta ta....
Saturday, 27 March 2010
And another surprise came through my letterbox this morning...
Five packs of seeds, a helpful booklet and lots of fab stickers!
My thanks and huggypoos to the BBC's Dig In team.
(There's a link to the site down below...)
Now all I need to do is get away from this blasted computer and do something!
Easier said than done, after all I have a million and one things to do this weekend and not one of them has anything to do with getting grubby. But I'll make a promise to myself that as soon as I've watched a few films, made a great curry, entertained Monty with sunkissed knives, thought about white socks, skinned some birds joints, re-arranged the ceramic cats, decided which eye shadow to wear, sorted through my draws, listened to footie on Five Live, phoned mum, changed handbags/purses/my life's direction I'll honestly and robustly set about poking some compost with a pencil.
~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~
Mad Actions Which Result In Red Dents # 738
Enthusing about spring thereby feeling the necessity to fling my arms about which results in the gut wrenching pain of a whacked elbow on a door handle.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
On the menu today:
Spices, Sugar and Fat :)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Televisual Treats:
None. Too busy, too busy.
:)
Five packs of seeds, a helpful booklet and lots of fab stickers!
My thanks and huggypoos to the BBC's Dig In team.
(There's a link to the site down below...)
Now all I need to do is get away from this blasted computer and do something!
Easier said than done, after all I have a million and one things to do this weekend and not one of them has anything to do with getting grubby. But I'll make a promise to myself that as soon as I've watched a few films, made a great curry, entertained Monty with sunkissed knives, thought about white socks, skinned some birds joints, re-arranged the ceramic cats, decided which eye shadow to wear, sorted through my draws, listened to footie on Five Live, phoned mum, changed handbags/purses/my life's direction I'll honestly and robustly set about poking some compost with a pencil.
~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~"~
Mad Actions Which Result In Red Dents # 738
Enthusing about spring thereby feeling the necessity to fling my arms about which results in the gut wrenching pain of a whacked elbow on a door handle.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
On the menu today:
Spices, Sugar and Fat :)
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Televisual Treats:
None. Too busy, too busy.
:)
Friday, 26 March 2010
Well here it is.
My soft coffee nut cake.
It's a gorgeous cake with a super coffee syrup running through it. The icing is a simple butter cream affair. The topping on top of the topping is a mix of nuts; peanut, hazelnuts and walnuts. Pecans are nowhere to be seen. Maybe another time.
Although this is a tea-time treat I will serve it for pud over the next three days or so. Ice cream being its best mate.
The pizza base is waiting to be covered with a rich tomato sauce quickly followed by some cheese and orange pepper. To go with the cheese on toast are a couple of jacket baked potatoes and soured cream. Will nuke some sweetcorn as well.
Pizzas have an affinity with guns so I'll hang onto a quarter whilst watching something violent.
But it's the cake which has swept me off my feet. Simple, easy to make, and with the power to make males weep:)
Happy Eating!
A sweet March morning loaded with sunshine.
And as I swish the sink suds I'm rippling with anticipation.
My swishing, by the way, is made effortless by the use of a long wooden spoon.
Being without a washing machine has never been a problem to me, but being without a cocky sun has. There's something invigorating about sunlight and whether I'm outside or in, the masculine rays of electromagnetic radiation warm me up in many manners.
Now where was I?
Oh yes, anticipation...
I anticipate a good day.
A day where I sit and watch as Monty continues to rip to literal shreds the right hand corner of my olde settee.
A day whereby I gasp at the sight of a knock-out pizza and coffee cake. In other words I'm doing at bit of cooking.
A day when the song of a few young birds accompany my afternoon tea.
A day when I lay my bare legs across a yielding old pouffe watching Hannibal Lecter stick Will Graham.
La de la de la de la....:)
Thursday, 25 March 2010
Two sweet Easter surprises today.
The first, a personalised Easter card which read to "Aunty Angela".
This amazing child not only has great taste but has a first class career ahead of him in manual dexterity. How a new born baba can pop himself into an Easter egg beats me.
He'll go far...
The second surprise was a handmade Easter card from my long lost Aunty Ivy. In it she wrote that the only thing that matters is being happy. And she's right of course. And happiness is defined by many as having what you want. I disagree, to me happiness is receiving two unexpected cards on a rainy Thursday morning.
On the culinary front I'm baking lemony chicken tonight, will have glazed carrots and rice with it. Totally at a loss as to what to serve for pud. Talking of pud...I made half a pint of butterscotch sauce the other night. It was so gorgeous I nearly fainted.
I see the blasted railway people are threatening to upset travellers. I hope the workers come to some agreement with the guys in suits because it's so annoying being held to ransom by a man who looks like he drives everywhere.
Quirky Mannerisms #1
I purse my lips in a dirty fashion when thinking of non-housewifey things.
The first, a personalised Easter card which read to "Aunty Angela".
This amazing child not only has great taste but has a first class career ahead of him in manual dexterity. How a new born baba can pop himself into an Easter egg beats me.
He'll go far...
The second surprise was a handmade Easter card from my long lost Aunty Ivy. In it she wrote that the only thing that matters is being happy. And she's right of course. And happiness is defined by many as having what you want. I disagree, to me happiness is receiving two unexpected cards on a rainy Thursday morning.
On the culinary front I'm baking lemony chicken tonight, will have glazed carrots and rice with it. Totally at a loss as to what to serve for pud. Talking of pud...I made half a pint of butterscotch sauce the other night. It was so gorgeous I nearly fainted.
I see the blasted railway people are threatening to upset travellers. I hope the workers come to some agreement with the guys in suits because it's so annoying being held to ransom by a man who looks like he drives everywhere.
Quirky Mannerisms #1
I purse my lips in a dirty fashion when thinking of non-housewifey things.
Wednesday, 24 March 2010
Tuesday, 23 March 2010
Super sunny day, so super and sunny that I blew kisses to a bus driver. He gave me an erect thumb then flashed his hazards. I came home very happy;)
And then, after making a pearl barley risotto, I lounged around watching 'Nowhere To Land' a half decent made-for-tv movie. Whilst watching the plane plummet I of course nibbled, crunching on the remnants of a bag of Bombay Mix.
I do so love being a couch pea...
Crazy Buys #1.
Today I ordered, from the Kleeneze catalogue, a kitchen towel holder in the shape of a black and white cat. I saw it, I wanted it, I didn't however, need it, but you know how it is with us humans, we're dawdling happily along then suddenly something or someone comes crash banging into our lives and although we know it's pretty lethal we feel we just have to have it. And so it was today. I wanted the driver of the number 8 bus even though I only got a glimpse of his thumb and the kitty towel holder, well, that was in the brochure and it was love at first flick...
Come a fortnight, the long plasticised cat will arrive, and I will fuss and look for somewhere to home it, the driver of the small bus however won't be so lucky, he will be careering around Cuckoo corner and still recovering from the shock of being thrown a dash of kisses by a midget in a Micra.
And then, after making a pearl barley risotto, I lounged around watching 'Nowhere To Land' a half decent made-for-tv movie. Whilst watching the plane plummet I of course nibbled, crunching on the remnants of a bag of Bombay Mix.
I do so love being a couch pea...
Crazy Buys #1.
Today I ordered, from the Kleeneze catalogue, a kitchen towel holder in the shape of a black and white cat. I saw it, I wanted it, I didn't however, need it, but you know how it is with us humans, we're dawdling happily along then suddenly something or someone comes crash banging into our lives and although we know it's pretty lethal we feel we just have to have it. And so it was today. I wanted the driver of the number 8 bus even though I only got a glimpse of his thumb and the kitty towel holder, well, that was in the brochure and it was love at first flick...
Come a fortnight, the long plasticised cat will arrive, and I will fuss and look for somewhere to home it, the driver of the small bus however won't be so lucky, he will be careering around Cuckoo corner and still recovering from the shock of being thrown a dash of kisses by a midget in a Micra.
Monday, 22 March 2010
Elegance
Digging up weeds, wiping over windows or making a pie? Or looking into the heart of the biggest fruit plate in the world.
Heart of plate. No question.
It is large yet doesn't engulf, it is magnificent yet has no adornment, it demands attention yet is shy. It is rustic yet elegant.
Its smooth flesh has vigour, its contours unadulterated, its base stout like the belly of a cat
My new stunningly simple platter holds within it an apple.
Wednesday, 17 March 2010
Lovers and Friends
Who, but a lover, can disturb the moon
as it travels
romantically
to our perfect new destination
and who, but a lover, without malice aforethought
breaks hearts with hammered silence
then rallies with charm and touch
Who, but a lover, can agitate an artist's sea
as you, the innocent, pocket a dozen sea green love pebbles
and who, but a lover
can catch a prize and cast adrift in breaks between the tides
and who, save a friend, will fight for our last inch of skin
when we're skinned and boned alive
and what, even past midnight, will pat our crippled faces
till swollen tears scab over and die
and what, when others fail, will catch our shouts and slung around bottles...
but the hands of a dry silent friend.
Angela Norris 17th March 2010 (c)
as it travels
romantically
to our perfect new destination
and who, but a lover, without malice aforethought
breaks hearts with hammered silence
then rallies with charm and touch
Who, but a lover, can agitate an artist's sea
as you, the innocent, pocket a dozen sea green love pebbles
and who, but a lover
can catch a prize and cast adrift in breaks between the tides
and who, save a friend, will fight for our last inch of skin
when we're skinned and boned alive
and what, even past midnight, will pat our crippled faces
till swollen tears scab over and die
and what, when others fail, will catch our shouts and slung around bottles...
but the hands of a dry silent friend.
Angela Norris 17th March 2010 (c)
In The Wok Of My Mind
I am a creative lady but being creative is one thing, being off one's trolley is something else.
Read on...
I was gathering together ingredients for tonight's simple supper, a sweet and sour chicken dish with fried rice and vegetable pancake rolls when all of a sudden I thought I'd tinker with the sweet and sour sauce thereby making it more adventurous and dangerous therefore totally unlike anything one would get from the Lim Lam!
So after mixing together my usual sauce ingredients*( see below) I looked across at a big green bottle on the dresser and smiled wickedly. By the way the sun showed up some awful smudges on the window but I digress...
Hmmm I thought...And then, like the little devil I am, proceeded to pour in some Green Ginger Wine. Mad scientist sprang to mind.
After much whooshing around with a dodgy teaspoon I tasted the bloomin' thing and golly gosh it tasted divine!
It now awaits the burner!
Which reminds me I really must get a new scourer, the one that's lying limp and disease ridden beside the fat blue lady should have been binned years ago...
Where was I?
Oh yes, my supper.
Slaughtered chicken breast, a few grams of clean green pepper, some quartered red onion and loads of sliced general carrot will be quickly fried then tossed around like a girl in the arms of a wild dancer. The crazy fired up S&S mix will soon follow, I'll dramatically add it drop by silly drop until it's all in coating the meat and three veg like a wonderful colourful patchwork robe.
I'm hoping the addition of alcohol to the already nigh perfect sauce will lend a certain vulgar splendour to the pre-film supper...
*Perfect Sauce:
Some tomato ketchup. Because the Chinese love red and it makes an interesting base.
Honey. Lots. Brown sugar is good but gives very different result.
Five spice powder. Use it like it's precious but don't be mean
Red wine vinegar. Leave the malt for your chips.
Pineapple juice. Lots.
Black Pepper. I like it spicy
Stones Ginger Wine;)
Now I must fly into the arms of Monty who has, I have to say, been playing up a bit today. Very lively he's been, must have been his three minute activity lesson on the grass...
Goodbye all...
Read on...
I was gathering together ingredients for tonight's simple supper, a sweet and sour chicken dish with fried rice and vegetable pancake rolls when all of a sudden I thought I'd tinker with the sweet and sour sauce thereby making it more adventurous and dangerous therefore totally unlike anything one would get from the Lim Lam!
So after mixing together my usual sauce ingredients*( see below) I looked across at a big green bottle on the dresser and smiled wickedly. By the way the sun showed up some awful smudges on the window but I digress...
Hmmm I thought...And then, like the little devil I am, proceeded to pour in some Green Ginger Wine. Mad scientist sprang to mind.
After much whooshing around with a dodgy teaspoon I tasted the bloomin' thing and golly gosh it tasted divine!
It now awaits the burner!
Which reminds me I really must get a new scourer, the one that's lying limp and disease ridden beside the fat blue lady should have been binned years ago...
Where was I?
Oh yes, my supper.
Slaughtered chicken breast, a few grams of clean green pepper, some quartered red onion and loads of sliced general carrot will be quickly fried then tossed around like a girl in the arms of a wild dancer. The crazy fired up S&S mix will soon follow, I'll dramatically add it drop by silly drop until it's all in coating the meat and three veg like a wonderful colourful patchwork robe.
I'm hoping the addition of alcohol to the already nigh perfect sauce will lend a certain vulgar splendour to the pre-film supper...
*Perfect Sauce:
Some tomato ketchup. Because the Chinese love red and it makes an interesting base.
Honey. Lots. Brown sugar is good but gives very different result.
Five spice powder. Use it like it's precious but don't be mean
Red wine vinegar. Leave the malt for your chips.
Pineapple juice. Lots.
Black Pepper. I like it spicy
Stones Ginger Wine;)
Now I must fly into the arms of Monty who has, I have to say, been playing up a bit today. Very lively he's been, must have been his three minute activity lesson on the grass...
Goodbye all...
Tuesday, 16 March 2010
Josh Looks Good To Me
In a few weeks Essex lad Josh Dubovie will represent the U.K in the Eurovison Song Contest and I am extremely excited about it.
So there's only one tune echoing around my bungalow at the moment and it is 'That Sounds Good To Me'. The rich young voice of the 19 year old is keeping me out of trouble and I love him for it. So thank you Josh big hair.
Tall BasildonJosh wowed me with his wonderful voice last Friday (?) on the BBC's find-a-song-for-Europe thing. The song was written by old timers Stock and Waterman, two mega talented writers who wrote memorable epics for the likes of Kylie and Steps...Ok, not as posh or profound as a Michael Buble, but they sold millions of records.
And as soon as I heard the familiar S & W melody I knew we might be in with a chance of rising above last year's position of fifth place in the world infamous song contest. I've tried uploading a YouTube clip but it keeps going bonkers, there one minute and gone the next. I will persevere so keep watching...
The Essex boy doesn't look like a teeny-bopper's heart throb (Christ that shows my age) but he has a tremendous voice and easily wooed the rampant t.v. and studio audience with the merry simple tune. I loved it. I even voted for him. I think while one continues to enthuse in a child like manner one maintains youthfulness. So I intend to carry on enthusing...
Back to the song.
It possesses everything a Eurovision song should possess, it's catchy, memorable and very old fashioned, maybe that's what hooked me, a rollicking slightly garish drunk-out-of-my-head tune which reminded me of Bucks Fizz, Agadoo doo doo and others of that ilk. There's lots of happy clapping, awful arm waving and a lot of gyrating in the pelvic area. He whirls a lot too. One cautionary word for Josh, keep the dance moves to a minimum matey, your talent is in your throat not your feet...
But putting his legs to one side for a sec, he's a lovely lovely young man who I feel might just win over the stuffed pickle eaters abroad.
I of course YouTubed it and have favourited it, so for the past few days I've been jumping, tilting and bouncing around the office like an old girl in love. My very small heart banging against my very small chest took me back to my disco days. My face went a little red too.
And I'm wondering if my adoration of kitsch music and handsome men has anything to do with my age...
Nah, I just love happy happy tunes and males.
So good luck Josh Dubovie, and no matter what the critics say, you sound good to me!
Monday, 15 March 2010
Twit
Twittering is something I've never done yet the idea of gabbling about what I've done in 140 characters or fewer interests me, which is quite remarkable, considering I like the sound of my own voice!
Let's see if I can twitterfy what I did this morning...
Brisk walk to shops wearing blue and white sneakers, pink sweater, pink gilet and faded jeans. Shafts of sunlight just after nine make me feel athletic.
1.Bought blue glass pot, (ideal for decanted marmalade). Love to take things out of their original container and put them into something else. Can be fraught. Have often found myself with too much custard powder for the glass jar. This is when tears fall.
2. Two books, one a recipe book with ideas about what to do with chickens, the other, a murder mystery, what to do with a body I suppose...
3. A silly orange flowered silk cosmetic bag, a bit stiff, but brings out the boho in me.
4. A reasonably sized square of blue gingham. Tea towel or table centre? After much consideration, neither. Unsure what to do with it so will re-home it in a draw and over the next six months occasionally hold it up wondering what to do with it. Nice though.
5. A tiny ceramic fox cub hiding, nay, super glued inside a clean upturned plant pot.
Yes, yes it IS a lovely morning...I said to Margie. And no Margie I won't be attending your church's Easter services but I do like your enormous wooden cross in the window. Would Jesus though approve of a well loved 30p rabbit at his feet? I think so.
Passed the barbers where my Lisa works. She had a tiny male thing on a bench across a chair. The lovely golden haired child looked like he belonged in a painting.
Looked in the window of the dreadful bakers next door. That's not fresh cream in them there splits.
Popped into Somerfields for mighty thick bananas. Cashier enthused about sunshine. Yes, yes I like the garden too and no I'm not in it all the time. You are? Thought so I thought. Weather smashed face.
White haired lady outside leaning on railing with barking brown ankle snapper. Reminded me of the woman in "One Foot In The Grave". Very slim and brow beaten. Yes yes isn't it glorious coming out without a hat.
I'll be like that in twenty years time I thought. But my greyhound will wear a red jacket. And I will flirt with men, all men however brainless they are and tell the frustrated kid on the till to leave Sainsbury's and do something wild with his/her life, tills will always be around.
And then I'll hold up traffic with my stick and smile. She's either bonkers or has led a colourful life the woman in the quickly halted car will say. Her husband will wonder as he revs.
Slightly slower walk home due to bag of stuff, and did a slightly mischievous detour up some back streets. Oh God, how I mistrust people with perfect gardens housing gnomes that shine. Gnomes need mud, they need to be dirty. Sprucing up a mudlark is plain pointless.
And what is about fine weather which makes every Tom and Dick do gutter type things with their gutter. Get down man, you are old and quite likely to die soon, so don't waste your time flicking about with moss. Tch!
Coming up alongside Postie I noticed he smelt like a man and was perfectly turned out, his super cool shades making him look like robot postie or something. I resisted the urge to follow. Instead made my housewifey way home with my Jute shopping bag ( I care about the planet) and with the much loved sun still lighting my path.
Me Twitter?
Don't be silly...
Let's see if I can twitterfy what I did this morning...
Brisk walk to shops wearing blue and white sneakers, pink sweater, pink gilet and faded jeans. Shafts of sunlight just after nine make me feel athletic.
1.Bought blue glass pot, (ideal for decanted marmalade). Love to take things out of their original container and put them into something else. Can be fraught. Have often found myself with too much custard powder for the glass jar. This is when tears fall.
2. Two books, one a recipe book with ideas about what to do with chickens, the other, a murder mystery, what to do with a body I suppose...
3. A silly orange flowered silk cosmetic bag, a bit stiff, but brings out the boho in me.
4. A reasonably sized square of blue gingham. Tea towel or table centre? After much consideration, neither. Unsure what to do with it so will re-home it in a draw and over the next six months occasionally hold it up wondering what to do with it. Nice though.
5. A tiny ceramic fox cub hiding, nay, super glued inside a clean upturned plant pot.
Yes, yes it IS a lovely morning...I said to Margie. And no Margie I won't be attending your church's Easter services but I do like your enormous wooden cross in the window. Would Jesus though approve of a well loved 30p rabbit at his feet? I think so.
Passed the barbers where my Lisa works. She had a tiny male thing on a bench across a chair. The lovely golden haired child looked like he belonged in a painting.
Looked in the window of the dreadful bakers next door. That's not fresh cream in them there splits.
Popped into Somerfields for mighty thick bananas. Cashier enthused about sunshine. Yes, yes I like the garden too and no I'm not in it all the time. You are? Thought so I thought. Weather smashed face.
White haired lady outside leaning on railing with barking brown ankle snapper. Reminded me of the woman in "One Foot In The Grave". Very slim and brow beaten. Yes yes isn't it glorious coming out without a hat.
I'll be like that in twenty years time I thought. But my greyhound will wear a red jacket. And I will flirt with men, all men however brainless they are and tell the frustrated kid on the till to leave Sainsbury's and do something wild with his/her life, tills will always be around.
And then I'll hold up traffic with my stick and smile. She's either bonkers or has led a colourful life the woman in the quickly halted car will say. Her husband will wonder as he revs.
Slightly slower walk home due to bag of stuff, and did a slightly mischievous detour up some back streets. Oh God, how I mistrust people with perfect gardens housing gnomes that shine. Gnomes need mud, they need to be dirty. Sprucing up a mudlark is plain pointless.
And what is about fine weather which makes every Tom and Dick do gutter type things with their gutter. Get down man, you are old and quite likely to die soon, so don't waste your time flicking about with moss. Tch!
Coming up alongside Postie I noticed he smelt like a man and was perfectly turned out, his super cool shades making him look like robot postie or something. I resisted the urge to follow. Instead made my housewifey way home with my Jute shopping bag ( I care about the planet) and with the much loved sun still lighting my path.
Me Twitter?
Don't be silly...
Thursday, 11 March 2010
Beware of Bloggers Bearing Gifts...
A long time ago the very irreverent Reverend Bradley told me that the best thing you can give someone is your food. And yes it is good watching a friend or vicar woof down one of your pizzas. Being remembered for being heavy handed with the olives is no bad thing.
But I think the best thing to give is something which will be used again and again and again. Something still and grey in the corner. Something which will, at the press of a button, conjure up stars. Something like a piece of technical kit. A Humax.
Someone gave me one and I love it.
Of course if you're not into tech stuff you could always give, what is perhaps the greatest gift of all, your time. And by time I mean, listening intently for quite a while. And when the conversation drifts into areas like eye operations, roast beef, the Cheltenham Festival and David Cameron, listen up, because this is what needs to be said and you're the one who is gonna hear it.
It's Mother's Day on Sunday so today I'll be baking a cake, rustling up a trifle, making a dozen cheese straws and putting a pale green necklace in a box. The writing of a few simple words in an simple card will come later.
Unfortunately no tech stuff will be carried to London tomorrow Mum goes bonkers when confronted by modern day wires. Past presents of mobile phone and Freeview box were met at first with joy but after a day she wanted them taken back.
So perhaps the very Reverend Bradley was a bit right, perhaps food isn't so bad a gift after all...
Oh, and a good natter...
But I think the best thing to give is something which will be used again and again and again. Something still and grey in the corner. Something which will, at the press of a button, conjure up stars. Something like a piece of technical kit. A Humax.
Someone gave me one and I love it.
Of course if you're not into tech stuff you could always give, what is perhaps the greatest gift of all, your time. And by time I mean, listening intently for quite a while. And when the conversation drifts into areas like eye operations, roast beef, the Cheltenham Festival and David Cameron, listen up, because this is what needs to be said and you're the one who is gonna hear it.
It's Mother's Day on Sunday so today I'll be baking a cake, rustling up a trifle, making a dozen cheese straws and putting a pale green necklace in a box. The writing of a few simple words in an simple card will come later.
Unfortunately no tech stuff will be carried to London tomorrow Mum goes bonkers when confronted by modern day wires. Past presents of mobile phone and Freeview box were met at first with joy but after a day she wanted them taken back.
So perhaps the very Reverend Bradley was a bit right, perhaps food isn't so bad a gift after all...
Oh, and a good natter...
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Man and A Load of Birds
Darting sparrows in their rippled uniform bumped and scruffed like small kids in the playground
a thrush with a full fat protuberance scooped up another beakful
a robin brash and brave lit the table with his dashing coat
one velvetty blackbird alone with his big head down stepped amongst the torn thorns
and a right pair of pigeons like auntie Vi and uncle Sid ate and ate and ate
all having a swell time
in my garden of plastic delights!
A small poetic piece before Manchester Utd bruise Milan in front of a roaring Old Trafford tonight. Live on ITV1. 19:30. El Beckham will come out for 'the other side' and I dare say will feel a bit like a traitor, albeit a rich, happy, one.
So with my plastic butterfly hanging on the wall, a bundle of birdies tucked in for the night and a spur of the moment literary scribbling on this here blog I shall now get tucked under a blanket and wait for twenty-two men:)
It's A New Day
The Sainsbury's trip was done in a bit of a daze, but I did it even managing to bag two packets of the much sought after Shortbread.
I didn't have much to say to the woman on the till and as much as she tried my vocabulary went awol, but I remained pleasant.
On the way home I did a little detour to The Factory Shop where I wandered around with a basket hoping to see a little something which might help. I ended up buying 2 kg of bird seed and a red plastic butterfly.
The gardening stuff I bought Saturday is sitting on a round table in the conservatory, and I am looking forward to the moment when the creative bugs crawl...
It's still early so I have a good bit of day ahead of me.
I intend to love it:)
I didn't have much to say to the woman on the till and as much as she tried my vocabulary went awol, but I remained pleasant.
On the way home I did a little detour to The Factory Shop where I wandered around with a basket hoping to see a little something which might help. I ended up buying 2 kg of bird seed and a red plastic butterfly.
The gardening stuff I bought Saturday is sitting on a round table in the conservatory, and I am looking forward to the moment when the creative bugs crawl...
It's still early so I have a good bit of day ahead of me.
I intend to love it:)
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Go To Hell
Henry phoned at 6:15 saying he was coming home right now so I went to his house and waited outside.
Half an hour later he pulled up in a cab with Trevor the driver and Colin. I got out my car and followed them in.
Hello Angela Henry said and then went upstairs with Colin to talk about the plumbing. Trevor looked at me. I stood by some crates holding a tin of haddock in jelly
They came down talking about pipes and prices.
I was in the disgusting kitchen patting the ginger cat.
After a few seconds of being ignored I went to look for Blackie, finding him behind the settee. I then took a tin of tuna from my handbag and tried to open it with a wonky opener, Colin offered to help. Trevor left saying it was a pleasure to meet me. I can't remember what he looked like.
I put the fish down for the cats, for the last time.
How are you asked Henry without smiling or genuine concern like he was asking what's on the telly
Suicidal I said
Oh he said and asked Colin about boxes in the front room.
I'm here Henry to talk about the cats I think you should re-home them, you can't take care of them when you're in and out of hospital
Don't even go there darling he said
Alright I said knowing this was it, knowing this was the last time i'd ever have to look into his disease ridden face.
I thought my children would feed them he said loading himself onto the chair
They didn't though did they I said
No but I know Colin will come in whenever I ask him to
I looked across at Colin, he remained silent.
Ok Henry goodbye I said
And walked around boxes to get out.
He treated me like dirt. I will never speak to him or see him again. He is a wicked bastard.
I cried all the way home because of my heart
Half an hour later he pulled up in a cab with Trevor the driver and Colin. I got out my car and followed them in.
Hello Angela Henry said and then went upstairs with Colin to talk about the plumbing. Trevor looked at me. I stood by some crates holding a tin of haddock in jelly
They came down talking about pipes and prices.
I was in the disgusting kitchen patting the ginger cat.
After a few seconds of being ignored I went to look for Blackie, finding him behind the settee. I then took a tin of tuna from my handbag and tried to open it with a wonky opener, Colin offered to help. Trevor left saying it was a pleasure to meet me. I can't remember what he looked like.
I put the fish down for the cats, for the last time.
How are you asked Henry without smiling or genuine concern like he was asking what's on the telly
Suicidal I said
Oh he said and asked Colin about boxes in the front room.
I'm here Henry to talk about the cats I think you should re-home them, you can't take care of them when you're in and out of hospital
Don't even go there darling he said
Alright I said knowing this was it, knowing this was the last time i'd ever have to look into his disease ridden face.
I thought my children would feed them he said loading himself onto the chair
They didn't though did they I said
No but I know Colin will come in whenever I ask him to
I looked across at Colin, he remained silent.
Ok Henry goodbye I said
And walked around boxes to get out.
He treated me like dirt. I will never speak to him or see him again. He is a wicked bastard.
I cried all the way home because of my heart
Christ Almighty what a day I'm having and all because I care. Maybe I should be like a few people I know and not give a shit. But how can I? I can't be something I'm not, but oh deary me when God handed out loving hearts he must have given me whopper. Got me nowhere of course! In fact, at times, being the owner of such a heart has been a curse.
Latest news...
Secretary has phoned talking about Henry's 'breakdown', Colin has texted saying he'll let me know if he finds out anything and Henry has phoned twice...
I made the mistake of hoping he would understand what I was saying but it fell on ears unable to listen. I gently mentioned the idea of maybe having the cats re-homed, Henry then said Colin is just down the road and the bathroom floorboards need doing.
On hearing his strangulated sentences I knew that I had to try and talk to him face to face in order to convince him that the cats need a new place to live.
I am now eager to see Henry, not because I want to help him, I can't do that, but for the chance of saving the cat's lives.
I am exhausted and totally angry with myself because if I had as much sense as I do heart, I wouldn't have had such a rubbish day.
Other nonsense:
I want to go to Sainsbury's tomorrow to buy chocolate and bleach and strawberries and lavender air freshener.
I want to drink a good shot of ginger wine and lemonade. Mmmmmm
I want to sleep well.
I want burger and fries.
I want to dance.
I want to do erotic things with a piece of wood.
I want a spank.
I want to stay in a hotel.
I want to not feel.
I want to be loveless.
Cooking tonight: Nothing hot.
Latest news...
Secretary has phoned talking about Henry's 'breakdown', Colin has texted saying he'll let me know if he finds out anything and Henry has phoned twice...
I made the mistake of hoping he would understand what I was saying but it fell on ears unable to listen. I gently mentioned the idea of maybe having the cats re-homed, Henry then said Colin is just down the road and the bathroom floorboards need doing.
On hearing his strangulated sentences I knew that I had to try and talk to him face to face in order to convince him that the cats need a new place to live.
I am now eager to see Henry, not because I want to help him, I can't do that, but for the chance of saving the cat's lives.
I am exhausted and totally angry with myself because if I had as much sense as I do heart, I wouldn't have had such a rubbish day.
Other nonsense:
I want to go to Sainsbury's tomorrow to buy chocolate and bleach and strawberries and lavender air freshener.
I want to drink a good shot of ginger wine and lemonade. Mmmmmm
I want to sleep well.
I want burger and fries.
I want to dance.
I want to do erotic things with a piece of wood.
I want a spank.
I want to stay in a hotel.
I want to not feel.
I want to be loveless.
Cooking tonight: Nothing hot.
I've written two posts today already and if I'm boring people to death I apologize but if I didn't get it out I'd go even more bonkers.
Henry phoned my landline a little while ago, his voice weak and hard to hear. He said the cats hadn't been fed for about five days. I very gently told him to stop playing with my heart strings he hung up.
After losing my vision for a millisecond I sat down and phoned his secretary she said he's been "going a bit mental" and that he phoned his daughter at 4 on Sunday morning saying the garden was on fire. Somehow someone got an ambulance and Henry was re-admitted to hospital where the doctors said he had a chest infection and also advised he see a psychiatrist, he of course refused.
The secretary also told me that Colin, his handyman, fed the cats this morning, I'm hanging on those words.
He has angered and upset his children at just after two this afternoon, has managed to make me feel like shit.
I came to an agreement with his secretary, if she or I hear from the neighbours we will let each other know, because someone has to look out for the cat's welfare. Henry doesn't care, not really, in all of his madness he still has the guile and wickedness to use the moggies as a bargaining tool.
Fuck you Henry. I am sick and out of sorts and as usual haven't got a soul to tell except my cyber friends. I need to act, thinking never gets anyone anywhere.
I hope I won't need to blog again about this hellish situation and I know in the great scheme of things the lives of two 'rescued' cats are unimportant.
But they are.
Henry phoned my landline a little while ago, his voice weak and hard to hear. He said the cats hadn't been fed for about five days. I very gently told him to stop playing with my heart strings he hung up.
After losing my vision for a millisecond I sat down and phoned his secretary she said he's been "going a bit mental" and that he phoned his daughter at 4 on Sunday morning saying the garden was on fire. Somehow someone got an ambulance and Henry was re-admitted to hospital where the doctors said he had a chest infection and also advised he see a psychiatrist, he of course refused.
The secretary also told me that Colin, his handyman, fed the cats this morning, I'm hanging on those words.
He has angered and upset his children at just after two this afternoon, has managed to make me feel like shit.
I came to an agreement with his secretary, if she or I hear from the neighbours we will let each other know, because someone has to look out for the cat's welfare. Henry doesn't care, not really, in all of his madness he still has the guile and wickedness to use the moggies as a bargaining tool.
Fuck you Henry. I am sick and out of sorts and as usual haven't got a soul to tell except my cyber friends. I need to act, thinking never gets anyone anywhere.
I hope I won't need to blog again about this hellish situation and I know in the great scheme of things the lives of two 'rescued' cats are unimportant.
But they are.
After writing my earlier post I wrote a note to Henry's neighbours F and W asking them to let me know the cats are being cared for.
Then I went out.
First stop Somerfields to buy tuna, second stop Henry's. The curtains were drawn in his living room and as I am no longer a key holder I used the back entrance to try and get in via the utility room. A key is usually hidden outside by a bin but no key was found so I walked right around the back and looked in through the kitchen window, all I saw was an almighty mess. After knocking on the door I hoped a cat would appear but no cat appeared so instead I sat on the step looking at cigarette ends.
I was starting to feel nauseous so I went next door and knocked. No-one was home, I left my note by their perfect pot plant.
All this hoo hah brought about a mixture of anger, sadness and then more anger so I drifted along the neighbours drive, slid into my car and sat.
Sat staring at Henry's living room windows.
Then I came home with tears on my face.
Then I went out.
First stop Somerfields to buy tuna, second stop Henry's. The curtains were drawn in his living room and as I am no longer a key holder I used the back entrance to try and get in via the utility room. A key is usually hidden outside by a bin but no key was found so I walked right around the back and looked in through the kitchen window, all I saw was an almighty mess. After knocking on the door I hoped a cat would appear but no cat appeared so instead I sat on the step looking at cigarette ends.
I was starting to feel nauseous so I went next door and knocked. No-one was home, I left my note by their perfect pot plant.
All this hoo hah brought about a mixture of anger, sadness and then more anger so I drifted along the neighbours drive, slid into my car and sat.
Sat staring at Henry's living room windows.
Then I came home with tears on my face.
I said in a previous post that I wouldn't be mentioning Henry again. But today I have to. And this is where blogging helps because it's not only a place where I make a dozen people laugh but I can also use it like a knife to cut myself an airway.
I haven't worked for Henry for nearly three weeks yet he continues to annoy by emotionally blackmailing me. And it's depressing. And I can't afford to go there.
He phoned Saturday lunchtime, his message "will you do me a favour?" I ignored it. Most reasonable people would take that as "leave me alone"...
Yet last night at 10:40 he texted saying he was back in hospital and that he "had no idea what was happening to the cats".
Needless to say my sleep wasn't pleasant nor plentiful. I am, this morning, in a lip biting, heart thumping cold rage. I don't like having my heart strings tied in knots, if you've got something to say to me Henry then fucking well say it. Don't play with me.
All kinds of nightmare scenarios are being played out in the theatre of my mind. Two cats scurrying round hungry. Two cats without anyone to check on them and two cats who should be re-homed as soon as possible.
Apparently, according to the carefully worded text, Henry's neighbours, F and W have helped a lot so I'm hoping their help extends to looking after the cats, and they are, as Henry knows, my weak spot. But like people have recently said "you need to harden your heart". I am trying, but where cats are concerned my heart is as soft as ever.
I have no idea what I'm going to do today or how I'll deal with the burden of being emotionally blackmailed.
I am not looking forward to today.
I haven't worked for Henry for nearly three weeks yet he continues to annoy by emotionally blackmailing me. And it's depressing. And I can't afford to go there.
He phoned Saturday lunchtime, his message "will you do me a favour?" I ignored it. Most reasonable people would take that as "leave me alone"...
Yet last night at 10:40 he texted saying he was back in hospital and that he "had no idea what was happening to the cats".
Needless to say my sleep wasn't pleasant nor plentiful. I am, this morning, in a lip biting, heart thumping cold rage. I don't like having my heart strings tied in knots, if you've got something to say to me Henry then fucking well say it. Don't play with me.
All kinds of nightmare scenarios are being played out in the theatre of my mind. Two cats scurrying round hungry. Two cats without anyone to check on them and two cats who should be re-homed as soon as possible.
Apparently, according to the carefully worded text, Henry's neighbours, F and W have helped a lot so I'm hoping their help extends to looking after the cats, and they are, as Henry knows, my weak spot. But like people have recently said "you need to harden your heart". I am trying, but where cats are concerned my heart is as soft as ever.
I have no idea what I'm going to do today or how I'll deal with the burden of being emotionally blackmailed.
I am not looking forward to today.
Sunday, 7 March 2010
Howard's End?
Ok I'm calm. Right?
After starting up me roast and some lovely veg I had a few blessed minutes to spare so I YouTubed rottweiller ref Howard Webb...So glad I did. Oh yes indeedy. I am now in a state. Alright. I have really gone on bald blokes what shouts....
If you want to see why I'm in a lather search for Howard Webb thief of the victory.
By the way the Poles hate him.......
I have to go now or the carrots will go limp...
After starting up me roast and some lovely veg I had a few blessed minutes to spare so I YouTubed rottweiller ref Howard Webb...So glad I did. Oh yes indeedy. I am now in a state. Alright. I have really gone on bald blokes what shouts....
If you want to see why I'm in a lather search for Howard Webb thief of the victory.
By the way the Poles hate him.......
I have to go now or the carrots will go limp...
Saturday, 6 March 2010
I LOVE TODAY!
Fab day down at the seaside!
Only I didn't get to splash about in the water, what I did do however was to load up with many a manner of garden materials.
Vegetable seeds, Sunflower seeds, some kind of ground covering which I think will do what I need it to do, namely be a mattress for my pebbly gravel. And being a woman of dubious taste I also bought a pair of sophisticated ceramic frogs which will no doubt bring a dash of class and panache to my muddy patch.
What else?
Being a writer of some distinction I spent £1 on a thick ring bound note book. "So what" I hear you ask...Yeah but the pages are acidic yellow. So shut up.
More garden paraphernalia comes in the shape of green plastic edging and compost. Does shopping get any more exciting than this? Yes...
Money was also given to the British Heart Foundation shop via an ever so cute robin perched on an old clock. I love this piece. So much so that I've popped it on the kitchen windowsill above the sink.
Talking of kitcheny things I treated myself to a new blue and white checked apron. I sure am a strange gal.
On the super dangerous drive home (John drove) I fancied fish and chips so leapt into George's, you know the place, the gaff by the car wash. So love his portions...
Cooking tonight:
Chicken in cider
Mashed potato
Sweetcorn
For pud:
Chocolate fudge cake which I made yesterday. Will be totally wicked and will serve it with vanilla ice cream.
To drink:
A small ginger wine and lemonade.
After all that heaven, a little hell in the form of The Amityville Horror. And crisps
The pictures are of my new white woolly!
Friday, 5 March 2010
I Am A Woman...
Howard "Rottweiller" Webb ;)Worn a camouflage baseball cap.
Fought my way through my jungle garden.
Logged on to the Fifa website. All the news I could ever want. Howard Webb is a rottweiler ref. And a police sergeant. Respect to him.
Had a sausage. Fried no green accompaniment.
Sat with my legs up drinking tea in a pint mug watching Gordon Brown.
Stroked my chin in a worrying fashion. What's a couple of hairs anyway?
Counted the days till the World Cup. 97...And counting. England's first game 12th June. Brilliant.
Pumped my arms. Flab is bad. Weights might help.
Humped two ageing chairs from A to B. No probs guv.
Climbed on the worktop to fight with the Venetian blind. I won.
Got hot screwing in a cup hook. It went in tight.
Wore socks with not a lot of elastic. Ankles are so dirty
Wore a white vest.
Ran my fingers through my hair till it poked up.
Said 'Sod it'.
Watched thirty minutes of 'Predator'. Loved the guns.
Listened to blokes yakking about football. Yeah mate that's right.
Stood with my hands on my hips. Where d'ya want me?
Tested a wonky fan heater with my bare hands. Chuck it.
Scrubbed an iron pot stand without rubber gloves. Love dirt.
Thought of sex.
Sweated.
:)
Thursday, 4 March 2010
ENGLAND 3 EGYPT 1
My much beleaguered England sorted out the Egyptians last night and what a night it was. Especially for me.
The game started with all the hype I expected, due not only to the usual hysteria which accompanies all of England's matches, but the hullaballoo surrounding Mr Terry. As the teams waited in the tunnel like well kept, well fed gladiators the camera clung to the expressionless chops of John Terry. What the hell he does off the turf should be of no interest to anyone other than his nearest and dearest. But we are, as a nation, keenly, almost obsessively interested in what our multi-millionaires do when the lights go down. I, however, am not. The only part of Mr Terry's life I'm keen to know about is what he'll do in England's World Cup games. It's true that his indiscretions may well impact on his ball skills, but I very much doubt it.
The game started with the boring Egyptian anthem followed by our equally boring dirge, I did notice however that it was only John Terry who bellowed the dreadful lyrics, the other guys mouth's barely opened. So well done to you my stained patriotic friend.
When Egypt scored I felt what I always feel when Johnny foreigner kicks our arse, sadness and rage, and a woman at my time of life shouldn't give a home to those devils. So as I watched the whooping visitors and listened to the pessimistic commentators I sucked another toffee.
Crouchy was called upon by God, a.k.a Fabio Capello to go out and rally the lads. He not only rallied his team mates, he did a little something for me too, his fabulous goal had me jerking and writhing in my seat, so pleased and relieved was I that I felt like crying. This is what England does to me. Not only blasted footie games but everything about the country...But we won't go there today...
So lean and lengthy Crouchy got us back in the game and this was quickly followed by a nut of a goal from super midget Sean Wright-Philips. There's something about that boy which I love, maybe it's his ability to get me breathing again, I don't know, but whatever it is, I bow before him. Then, as the Egyptians ran amok, Crouchy slammed another in, leaving me feeling all warm inside.
God, how much longer I thought, the ref who looked like a alien smashing colonial marine with a state-of-the-art-microphone taped to his bald head decided on three minutes of extra play. And those three minutes, my dear reader, felt like thirty.
Always in my head, even when we're ahead, is the ice cold fear that the opposition will become supermen and whack in three more goals in rapid succession.
But they didn't.
We won.
And I'm sure Fabio Capello was as chuffed as I was.
The game started with all the hype I expected, due not only to the usual hysteria which accompanies all of England's matches, but the hullaballoo surrounding Mr Terry. As the teams waited in the tunnel like well kept, well fed gladiators the camera clung to the expressionless chops of John Terry. What the hell he does off the turf should be of no interest to anyone other than his nearest and dearest. But we are, as a nation, keenly, almost obsessively interested in what our multi-millionaires do when the lights go down. I, however, am not. The only part of Mr Terry's life I'm keen to know about is what he'll do in England's World Cup games. It's true that his indiscretions may well impact on his ball skills, but I very much doubt it.
The game started with the boring Egyptian anthem followed by our equally boring dirge, I did notice however that it was only John Terry who bellowed the dreadful lyrics, the other guys mouth's barely opened. So well done to you my stained patriotic friend.
When Egypt scored I felt what I always feel when Johnny foreigner kicks our arse, sadness and rage, and a woman at my time of life shouldn't give a home to those devils. So as I watched the whooping visitors and listened to the pessimistic commentators I sucked another toffee.
Crouchy was called upon by God, a.k.a Fabio Capello to go out and rally the lads. He not only rallied his team mates, he did a little something for me too, his fabulous goal had me jerking and writhing in my seat, so pleased and relieved was I that I felt like crying. This is what England does to me. Not only blasted footie games but everything about the country...But we won't go there today...
So lean and lengthy Crouchy got us back in the game and this was quickly followed by a nut of a goal from super midget Sean Wright-Philips. There's something about that boy which I love, maybe it's his ability to get me breathing again, I don't know, but whatever it is, I bow before him. Then, as the Egyptians ran amok, Crouchy slammed another in, leaving me feeling all warm inside.
God, how much longer I thought, the ref who looked like a alien smashing colonial marine with a state-of-the-art-microphone taped to his bald head decided on three minutes of extra play. And those three minutes, my dear reader, felt like thirty.
Always in my head, even when we're ahead, is the ice cold fear that the opposition will become supermen and whack in three more goals in rapid succession.
But they didn't.
We won.
And I'm sure Fabio Capello was as chuffed as I was.
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
Warming sun, hopeful blue sky, sassy shoes and cute hair, what more do I need?
A gardener!
Looking out at my oversized window box of a garden I decided the conifers need a-chopping and as I pondered both the cost and grief involved my doorbell was pushed,
A smallish lad with a pubescent complexion asked if my tall conifers needed doing...
He gave me a quote and after recovering from the shock (it was quite reasonable) I showed him the door. Maybe too good to be true was my first thought, maybe travellers, so I may well give Graham a bell, Graham being the chappie who knocked some money off a previous gardening job in exchange for a beer and pizza.
That's the trouble when we enjoy a dollop of decent weather, it gets us in gardening mode and spending money we really shouldn't be spending. But the sun has a way of knocking us out of our depressions by making us move our arses. So bless it for that.
Pebbles. What a lovely word.
Pebbles or some other kind of rock type material will be required if I'm to tart up the garden in readiness for bird feeders and pot plants. A friend told me I'd need a weed membrane too...:(
I think I'm better off staying indoors with me cook books and telly:)
Talking of telly.
There's a fab film on this afternoon. 23 Steps To Baker Street starring Van Johnson as a blind author who overhears a murder plot whilst supping a pint in a pub. The lovely Vera Miles co-stars.
Bubbling tonight:
Minestrone Soup with Edam rags
Hot Garlic and parsley baguette
Strawberry mousse with crushed biscuits
Now back to pondering all things horticultural whilst nuking a lamb chop dinner.
A gardener!
Looking out at my oversized window box of a garden I decided the conifers need a-chopping and as I pondered both the cost and grief involved my doorbell was pushed,
A smallish lad with a pubescent complexion asked if my tall conifers needed doing...
He gave me a quote and after recovering from the shock (it was quite reasonable) I showed him the door. Maybe too good to be true was my first thought, maybe travellers, so I may well give Graham a bell, Graham being the chappie who knocked some money off a previous gardening job in exchange for a beer and pizza.
That's the trouble when we enjoy a dollop of decent weather, it gets us in gardening mode and spending money we really shouldn't be spending. But the sun has a way of knocking us out of our depressions by making us move our arses. So bless it for that.
Pebbles. What a lovely word.
Pebbles or some other kind of rock type material will be required if I'm to tart up the garden in readiness for bird feeders and pot plants. A friend told me I'd need a weed membrane too...:(
I think I'm better off staying indoors with me cook books and telly:)
Talking of telly.
There's a fab film on this afternoon. 23 Steps To Baker Street starring Van Johnson as a blind author who overhears a murder plot whilst supping a pint in a pub. The lovely Vera Miles co-stars.
Bubbling tonight:
Minestrone Soup with Edam rags
Hot Garlic and parsley baguette
Strawberry mousse with crushed biscuits
Now back to pondering all things horticultural whilst nuking a lamb chop dinner.
Monday, 1 March 2010
A Little Tea TIme Update
I was enjoying a quiet housewifey day when H. phoned turning what was a quiet ladies day into a fraught day. Twice he phoned, neither time did I speak to him. His garbled message spoke of nothing but himself. So no change there then. No, I will not come and work for you again, you sad little man...
What else?
Oh yes I lugged an old dark wooden coffee table into the garden placing upon it a large deep round plate which I had filled with water. And after scattering a handful of bird seed around the aforementioned plate I tutted because I'd forgotten to change my footwear...
The bathroom looks neat, it's miraculous what some yellow Vim and a green scourer can do. Must do something about the wretched windows though, they do look awful.
A young man rang my bell just after five asking if I'd like him to shift my gutter moss. He said he'd give me a quote, I said I have bookfuls of them. He left wishing me a good evening.
Monty has not yet seen the chicken pie.
What else?
Oh yes I lugged an old dark wooden coffee table into the garden placing upon it a large deep round plate which I had filled with water. And after scattering a handful of bird seed around the aforementioned plate I tutted because I'd forgotten to change my footwear...
The bathroom looks neat, it's miraculous what some yellow Vim and a green scourer can do. Must do something about the wretched windows though, they do look awful.
A young man rang my bell just after five asking if I'd like him to shift my gutter moss. He said he'd give me a quote, I said I have bookfuls of them. He left wishing me a good evening.
Monty has not yet seen the chicken pie.
Sunshine and Muddy Footprints
Pigeons not only look stupid they are stupid, doesn't stop me liking them though. I'd laid out some tasty food on the one and only bird table and within minutes a lone big breasted pigeon was beating his beak into it. Monty was rampant with blood lust, I ate my marmalade toast.
After trying to curb the cats natural instincts by telling him he was mummy's only babby I went outside. Oh God I thought as I binned some recycling nonsense, the bloody drain is blocked, a job for later in the day methought. Back inside the conservatory I left brown mud prints on the white tiled floor and the merciless male sun showed up all the marks and smudges on the kitchen window, alright alright I'll smear the flipping thing, just give me a second to re-adjust to my new schedule...
For the first time in a year, I am at home on a Monday! Bugger you Henry. But being a woman of endless come-backs I will indeed come back from my recent mind shattering experience. No more will be said on the vile subject.
Dared to go into the front room just after nine, not bad I thought not bad at all. Could do with a dust, could do with a small adjustment in the seating area but taking everything into account, the room is fit for visitors, who will, no doubt, be impressed with my new 32 inch telly. Haven't watched so much box. I lurve it.
The bedroom was next on the list.
Knitted multi-coloured blanket was adrift, items to do with females knocked up against each other upon the dressing table and a dvd player had its light on ready, possibly, for an insertion.
Small rivulets of condensation wriggled down the window, may need to plug in the dehumidifier. But not today. Got too much to do today. After posting this I'll make up half a pound of shortcrust pastry in readiness for the accommodating of half a pound of chicken. In other more saner words, I'm making a pie.
The sun is still in the kitchen, the kettle is coming to a boil and Mr Humax is on standby. Everything looks lovely...
After trying to curb the cats natural instincts by telling him he was mummy's only babby I went outside. Oh God I thought as I binned some recycling nonsense, the bloody drain is blocked, a job for later in the day methought. Back inside the conservatory I left brown mud prints on the white tiled floor and the merciless male sun showed up all the marks and smudges on the kitchen window, alright alright I'll smear the flipping thing, just give me a second to re-adjust to my new schedule...
For the first time in a year, I am at home on a Monday! Bugger you Henry. But being a woman of endless come-backs I will indeed come back from my recent mind shattering experience. No more will be said on the vile subject.
Dared to go into the front room just after nine, not bad I thought not bad at all. Could do with a dust, could do with a small adjustment in the seating area but taking everything into account, the room is fit for visitors, who will, no doubt, be impressed with my new 32 inch telly. Haven't watched so much box. I lurve it.
The bedroom was next on the list.
Knitted multi-coloured blanket was adrift, items to do with females knocked up against each other upon the dressing table and a dvd player had its light on ready, possibly, for an insertion.
Small rivulets of condensation wriggled down the window, may need to plug in the dehumidifier. But not today. Got too much to do today. After posting this I'll make up half a pound of shortcrust pastry in readiness for the accommodating of half a pound of chicken. In other more saner words, I'm making a pie.
The sun is still in the kitchen, the kettle is coming to a boil and Mr Humax is on standby. Everything looks lovely...
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