My pillow holds me
like your arms will never again
supping in my wetness
My drapes swag devilishly
as midnight tarries
their folds set in stone
My.......... self alone
within my blitzed and sorry shell
remembers your face
Saturday, 29 January 2011
A gorgeous way to start the day...
Checking the BBC news website I linked to a bird story...
Here's a link to the video
(Hover the cursor over 'here's a link....')
You can tell I'm no tech chick
A Robin has had the cheek to settle on tills in a Co-Op and is being fed nuts and stuff and blueberries. He sings as he sits and has been favourited by customers. Apparently the mischievous fellow flies in when the automatic doors spring wide, then perches wherever, with innocent audacity. Love that.
And while on the subject of out and out bravery...
A Seagull somewhere steals a particular flavour crisp from a supermarket, takes it outside, rips the bag, and before long, is joined by his gang...
I feel honoured to share the same planet with such industrious creatures.
Here's a link to the video
(Hover the cursor over 'here's a link....')
You can tell I'm no tech chick
A Robin has had the cheek to settle on tills in a Co-Op and is being fed nuts and stuff and blueberries. He sings as he sits and has been favourited by customers. Apparently the mischievous fellow flies in when the automatic doors spring wide, then perches wherever, with innocent audacity. Love that.
And while on the subject of out and out bravery...
A Seagull somewhere steals a particular flavour crisp from a supermarket, takes it outside, rips the bag, and before long, is joined by his gang...
I feel honoured to share the same planet with such industrious creatures.
Friday, 28 January 2011
The Spaniel beat up the Scot giving him pause for thought, but in the end, come the final whistle, at the end of the day John, the grizzly Scot won.
I have to say I was slightly impressed by his post- match interview, Murray almost looked human even managing a wee smile or two, but those smiles will vanish like Scotch mist tomorrow, for tomorrow he plays around with Djokovic...
Apparently, according to the commentators, the aforementioned Djokovic was watching the Murray/Ferrar match sitting in bed eating popcorn. Love him already.
I've had nights like that, but my corn didn't pop to the sound of tennis balls, my corn popped to the thud of bigger balls, Footballs. Each his own.
This afternoon will see me as frantic as usual, a little t.v. and a lot of cooking.
For tea, probably served just before 21:00 hrs.... Ricotta and Spinach cannelloni followed by dead easy Dutch Apple flan. Pastry filled with spiced diced apple and sweet yoghurt mix. Baked for 40. That's it.
Coming up...
Cocky Kyle, Radio 4 play, and at 4 ish, Deal or No Deal. Yesterday a lad walked away with pence, but he took the annihilation well.
Now I must fly>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I have to say I was slightly impressed by his post- match interview, Murray almost looked human even managing a wee smile or two, but those smiles will vanish like Scotch mist tomorrow, for tomorrow he plays around with Djokovic...
Apparently, according to the commentators, the aforementioned Djokovic was watching the Murray/Ferrar match sitting in bed eating popcorn. Love him already.
I've had nights like that, but my corn didn't pop to the sound of tennis balls, my corn popped to the thud of bigger balls, Footballs. Each his own.
This afternoon will see me as frantic as usual, a little t.v. and a lot of cooking.
For tea, probably served just before 21:00 hrs.... Ricotta and Spinach cannelloni followed by dead easy Dutch Apple flan. Pastry filled with spiced diced apple and sweet yoghurt mix. Baked for 40. That's it.
Coming up...
Cocky Kyle, Radio 4 play, and at 4 ish, Deal or No Deal. Yesterday a lad walked away with pence, but he took the annihilation well.
Now I must fly>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Love All?
Not when Andy Murray's about.
But being a tennis lover I'll eat my porridge to the sound of thwacked balls and dripping Scottish tears. He, he, he.
Gotta dash, the Tartan Brat is about to knock up against Spaniard David El Ferrar.
Great hair.
See you later:)
But being a tennis lover I'll eat my porridge to the sound of thwacked balls and dripping Scottish tears. He, he, he.
Gotta dash, the Tartan Brat is about to knock up against Spaniard David El Ferrar.
Great hair.
See you later:)
Thursday, 27 January 2011
Me scanning the horizon for matelots (some time ago hence the pixie haircut) you'll be pleased and relieved to know I went off with a soldier!Today has been a hoot.
Mummy and daddy were, considering their dodgy health, in fine fettle.
As I restricted mama's movements over the upcoming Deal or No Deal (she's fancies Noel and tends to wriggle about a bit) papa force fed me Green & Blacks' Organic Vanilla ice cream. I almost died.
It was divine, heavenly, the most sweetest thing I've had in my mouth for a very long time.
After ooodles of chit chat, I sailed home on the 18:55.
P.S.
I screeched with pleasure on reading today's Love Quote.
I love therefore I rave:)
Hello sailor:)
About to set sail for London wearing muddy trousers, scuffed boots, tight kingfisher blue necklace and big pocketted navy blue duffle coat.
Gay Norwegian Sailors comes to mind:)
Now I must cruise.................................:)
Gay Norwegian Sailors comes to mind:)
Now I must cruise.................................:)
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
I'm such a wally
and a twat and a simpering old girl and a bird brain and a softie because...Dale Spate, a 19 year old contestant on 'Deal or no Deal' was mental enough to risk it all.....And I played with him all the way... The thin faced bespectacled youth had a choice of swapping boxes, his box for another box, in one box £250, in the other £100,000.
He landed the whopper, the gamble paid off and I jumped in the air, punching it as I flew. Maybe now, the keen mountaineer will be able to buy a new wheelchair and do something about his spots.
Bless his mad heart and thank you darling for making me cry.
He landed the whopper, the gamble paid off and I jumped in the air, punching it as I flew. Maybe now, the keen mountaineer will be able to buy a new wheelchair and do something about his spots.
Bless his mad heart and thank you darling for making me cry.
:)
Berry Cheesecake for you know who. Fat and overflowing with juicy red fruits. A red and white ensemble with sweet brown undergarment.
Coconut Tart also going up the line. Dorothy Sleightholme recipe from the 70's. Loved watching her in the ITV programme 'Farmhouse Kitchen. She along with her co-cook Grace Mulligan were unlike the tv cooks of today. They were real women with aprons and stiff hair. Lovely angel faced Dorothy was my fav, softly spoken, petite with big eyes. Real nana material. Grace was a bigger girl. More matron material. Happy days.
Bread Pudding... a possibility. Will have to use Hovis Oaty Bread as my bargain bread is all run out! Bread pudding is easy to make but has ooodles of ingredients so I do what my Domestic Science teacher (Mrs Lappin) taught me to do, lay out all the ingredients before you start cooking, that way you don't forget anything. Want a bet? So many times I've forgotten the sugar, baking powder, even in the frightening position, where I'm so lost in the bowl, I've forgotten what I'm making...
Something with a large Bramley. Have a ton of Bramleys in the fridge, not literally of course, just more than I can handle at the moment. Might rustle up a quick lattice topped pie. A little decoration always goes down a treat.
My favourite pastry decorations are...Balls, leaves, letters and smilies:)
To cope in the heated kitchen I'll drop a dvd in, some shoot 'em up probably. The sound of gunfire puts a crackle in me confections.
Now I must fly................
On the road today stuck in a jam, white van man hooted me, reason being, not because I'm a girl in a Micra with balls hanging in the back but because he wished me to close the six feet gap between me and the car in front.
Blow You I said and stayed put:)
Tuesday, 25 January 2011
Sparrows on the new feeder. Been waiting an age for their approval.
'Red Herring' suede bum chiller jacket. Grey, smooth and luxurious. Charity shop find.
Newly discovered recipe for Coconut Tart. Will be perfect with pouring cream.
Being invigorated by Tina Turner c.d. Hard Rocking Soul. Simply magnificent. Wouldn't mind sharing hair stories.
And a calm day outside, gently blowing breeze jostling the bare rose bushes and the tips of heads of daffs and tulips making a much welcomed appearance.
'Red Herring' suede bum chiller jacket. Grey, smooth and luxurious. Charity shop find.
Newly discovered recipe for Coconut Tart. Will be perfect with pouring cream.
Being invigorated by Tina Turner c.d. Hard Rocking Soul. Simply magnificent. Wouldn't mind sharing hair stories.
And a calm day outside, gently blowing breeze jostling the bare rose bushes and the tips of heads of daffs and tulips making a much welcomed appearance.
Monday, 24 January 2011
I'm a woman and most women are pre-occupied with love... getting it, getting over it, wanting it and feeling the repercussions of losing it... Most men however, are pre-occupied with other things.
My female post was written whilst being thrown around by an hormonal tidal wave, maybe that's why it was a bit sick making.
And as I don't want to make my readers ill I'll resist the urge to upload my inner thoughts about love and its wonders and about love and its horrors.
Best stick to double entendre and pies.
Talking of pies, I haven't had one, did however nibble on a cold lamb chop. Hardly enough to sustain a growling old woman but felt good having it in my hand.
My female post was written whilst being thrown around by an hormonal tidal wave, maybe that's why it was a bit sick making.
And as I don't want to make my readers ill I'll resist the urge to upload my inner thoughts about love and its wonders and about love and its horrors.
Best stick to double entendre and pies.
Talking of pies, I haven't had one, did however nibble on a cold lamb chop. Hardly enough to sustain a growling old woman but felt good having it in my hand.
What is Love?
I didn't know, I wasn't sure, so I googled it and found 3 million pages, I suppose love is a big thing worth thinking about.
Here are my thoughts...Ummm
And I can't think of one. Give me a few moments.
I'm back.
I could come out with the old chestnut that love means never having to say you're sorry. Absolute nonsense.
When you love someone so very much you sometimes can't say anything, let alone the hardest word.
When I'm with mum and dad, I can't say 'sorry' for not always being there or 'sorry' for moving to Essex what I can do however is show how much I love them.
Love doesn't always need a flapping tongue.
Cats and other general things.
I love Monty not because he was in a home for cats but for reasons of utter selfishness. I can play at being a mum. He gets a bungalow to play in and five meals a day, I get to hold in him in my arms saying ooozy wooozy coochy woochy and hand feed him chops.
Who's getting the best deal?
I love certain items in the bungalow, items like my wooden cat collection, books, a cockerel weather thermometer, jugs, dvd players and handbags. All inanimate, but friends worthy of a polishing kind of love. My love goes outside too, Buddha under the Japanese Maple tree, he gets the nod aswell as the verbal.. Nam myo ho renge kyo
Spring flowers, summer dresses, food fit for the gods and parents. All lovely.
People.
I like people.
Some a bit, some a lot and some bordering on love. This teetering on the edge of love is interesting, some might say impossible, you can't nearly love someone can you?
Yes I think you can.
Love is tasty and dangerous and should be taken with care. A real drug.
Liking people is what I do best, that way they don't impinge on my existence, leaving me as free as a wild bird to party with the laundry. I love making cashiers laugh. Men and women, but mostly men.
In fact I'll be bold enough to say I'm capable of loving all working men.
Unrequited Love.
Now there's a traumatic subject.
Out out out.
Get out and away.
Unless you are old and wise and believe it's better to give than receive. Nothing sadder than straining for love. I was told.
I sometimes go too far though allowing people to take up residence in my heart. My body is small and so I'm short on available space. What space I do have is given over to the big loves, namely Mr H. and the London Lovelies there's rarely room for any more.
But love is a beast and will claw for residence and no matter how much you want the beast to go, the beast will stay.. So then what? Take rent?
No, you agree with your saner self that although he/she is a dish, you will, on no account, allow the lodger to disrupt, they can stay until I, the landlady, tires of the company.
Love at its most sensible and agreeable.
I love mum and dad, it's when I'm with them that black is made paler, awful becomes not so bad, pain becomes bearable. A cup of tea and biscuit becomes a party.
There's an invisible unbreakable connection with them, blood I think it's called, but flowing in that blood is the stuff of a phantastic tale, a love story about three people who are joined not only by rings, cakes and genes but by a bond borne of shared horrors, shared chips and unquestionable love.
And Mr H?
Poor darling.
We once had such a spat that he violently smashed a mug against the wall and so ferocious was his silly outburst, that it ended up with me wrapping his bleeding, almost severed hand, in a pink bath towel then roaring to the hospital just so he could have stitches. (Right hand I think) (Parking was a nightmare)
He's forgave me immediately, and I him...
Love between husband and wife can be fraught, it can also be wonderful.
It is an impossible relationship, it is a revelation, it comes in many forms and survives many shocks. In one word love and marriage with or without a carriage is odd. To take on a stranger and their habits, even though he/she is gorgeous bright or rich, is madness. Better to buy a pet.
So Love...A list.
Love is being unwashed together for 48hours.
sharing a fork
withholding some truths
giving what you don't have
putting on a brave face
letting it all out
wanting 4 day weekends
being grand
being a twat
feeling 'right' with him/her
talking a lot
being speechless
looking
not looking
Love makes us drop our guard.
So there you have it.
My whimsical take on what the stuff of good blogs is made of.
:)
Here are my thoughts...Ummm
And I can't think of one. Give me a few moments.
I'm back.
I could come out with the old chestnut that love means never having to say you're sorry. Absolute nonsense.
When you love someone so very much you sometimes can't say anything, let alone the hardest word.
When I'm with mum and dad, I can't say 'sorry' for not always being there or 'sorry' for moving to Essex what I can do however is show how much I love them.
Love doesn't always need a flapping tongue.
Cats and other general things.
I love Monty not because he was in a home for cats but for reasons of utter selfishness. I can play at being a mum. He gets a bungalow to play in and five meals a day, I get to hold in him in my arms saying ooozy wooozy coochy woochy and hand feed him chops.
Who's getting the best deal?
I love certain items in the bungalow, items like my wooden cat collection, books, a cockerel weather thermometer, jugs, dvd players and handbags. All inanimate, but friends worthy of a polishing kind of love. My love goes outside too, Buddha under the Japanese Maple tree, he gets the nod aswell as the verbal.. Nam myo ho renge kyo
Spring flowers, summer dresses, food fit for the gods and parents. All lovely.
People.
I like people.
Some a bit, some a lot and some bordering on love. This teetering on the edge of love is interesting, some might say impossible, you can't nearly love someone can you?
Yes I think you can.
Love is tasty and dangerous and should be taken with care. A real drug.
Liking people is what I do best, that way they don't impinge on my existence, leaving me as free as a wild bird to party with the laundry. I love making cashiers laugh. Men and women, but mostly men.
In fact I'll be bold enough to say I'm capable of loving all working men.
Unrequited Love.
Now there's a traumatic subject.
Out out out.
Get out and away.
Unless you are old and wise and believe it's better to give than receive. Nothing sadder than straining for love. I was told.
I sometimes go too far though allowing people to take up residence in my heart. My body is small and so I'm short on available space. What space I do have is given over to the big loves, namely Mr H. and the London Lovelies there's rarely room for any more.
But love is a beast and will claw for residence and no matter how much you want the beast to go, the beast will stay.. So then what? Take rent?
No, you agree with your saner self that although he/she is a dish, you will, on no account, allow the lodger to disrupt, they can stay until I, the landlady, tires of the company.
Love at its most sensible and agreeable.
I love mum and dad, it's when I'm with them that black is made paler, awful becomes not so bad, pain becomes bearable. A cup of tea and biscuit becomes a party.
There's an invisible unbreakable connection with them, blood I think it's called, but flowing in that blood is the stuff of a phantastic tale, a love story about three people who are joined not only by rings, cakes and genes but by a bond borne of shared horrors, shared chips and unquestionable love.
And Mr H?
Poor darling.
We once had such a spat that he violently smashed a mug against the wall and so ferocious was his silly outburst, that it ended up with me wrapping his bleeding, almost severed hand, in a pink bath towel then roaring to the hospital just so he could have stitches. (Right hand I think) (Parking was a nightmare)
He's forgave me immediately, and I him...
Love between husband and wife can be fraught, it can also be wonderful.
It is an impossible relationship, it is a revelation, it comes in many forms and survives many shocks. In one word love and marriage with or without a carriage is odd. To take on a stranger and their habits, even though he/she is gorgeous bright or rich, is madness. Better to buy a pet.
So Love...A list.
Love is being unwashed together for 48hours.
sharing a fork
withholding some truths
giving what you don't have
putting on a brave face
letting it all out
wanting 4 day weekends
being grand
being a twat
feeling 'right' with him/her
talking a lot
being speechless
looking
not looking
Love makes us drop our guard.
So there you have it.
My whimsical take on what the stuff of good blogs is made of.
:)
Sunday, 23 January 2011
Friday, 21 January 2011
Love...The only word
Had a wonderful happy day.
Dad fussed over everything especially his fluffy damp lettuce. And my moist Cherry cheesecake.
Mum wore a wild scarf and confessed her love for Noel Edmunds. She too ooohed over the cool creamy cake.
Ok, all was well.
Then after a machine-gun quick conversation regarding Alan Johnson and American Idol
I microwaved a yummy curry (800 cals) then shocked my tongue with an electricfied low fat apple and blackcurrant yoghurt. He. he, he!
The Lovelies plumped for beef salad.
Tea flowed, likewise Cappucinos and Tangos. Water was mentioned.
As mumsie didn't feel like traipsing around the shops I traipsed alone.
Not the same, not the same at all.
It's the little, almost insignificant things which show how valuable and how loved and wanted a person is. Little things like four hands rifling through a big box of handbags and saying "£20? they must be mental" and upturning bowls to check the maker,"Made in China, chipped yeah but it'll be perfect for holding lemons" flicking through hardbacks, "What do you think, is it worth £3?
"Who cares, get it"
And other natterings like that.
Doing it alone removes the icing on a very simple cake.
Then up to Boots the chemist.
Wandering up and down the aisles stopping to survey the dainty jars, gold topped pots and splashy splash stuff. If mumsie had been on my arm we'd have sprayed Ice Musk body spray into the air, then the Mango, then, before we got caught, Vanilla. But I just dropped the Ice Musk into my basket and went hairwards...
A tiny gold brush joined the body spray, then, to control my wispy bits, twenty silver coloured kirby grips. Usually mum and me dawdle dangerously around the make-up counters using the 'testers' with glee. Here goes a typical conversation...
"Too pasty"
"Oh my God I love this!"
"Bourjois is so gorgeous but Rimmel's cheaper"
"Can you see a kajal stick in brown?
"Got one in Kingfisher, what dya think?"
And on and on and on for a good twenty minutes:)
So...with my very light basket I forced myself onto Adrian. Lovely lovely very tall Adrian. "Do you have an Advantage Card Madam?" (That does it every time)
"I can't remember" I giggled
Adrian loved my quip and mumsie would have too... had she been there!
She always shakes her head when I banter with poor assistants.
"Just love making ordinary people laugh". I say, dragging the old bean out of the shop.
But no dragging of the elderly this afternoon, mores the pity, instead I darted in and out of the shops and crowds without my best girl.
Back at the flat, a surprisingly long conversation with dad about films, annoying ad breaks and the bastard bias of the BBC.
He's eloquent, articulate and never wants to stop, a bit like me! And when mumsie woke from her nap she asked us what we'd been doing.
"Having a great chat about things, weren't we Ang?"
"Yep, I love listening to you....."
And so the afternoon went on....Noel Edmunds with the sound muted (?) The Weakest Link, with a very dismissive dad asking how any of these people manage to hold down jobs........
Mumsie, removed her clothes in favour of a pink dressing gown and erected a pile of mags and papers ready for a good read tonight.
Me, warmed to explosive level but happy and giddy with the deepest love.
Had to get going and so, as I packed my hot body into a big old coat, mum cut herself another piece of cheesecake and dad handed me six oranges and two lamb escalopes.
It was a sublime moment, suddenly the night and future looked brighter.
P.S. On arriving home I popped into Sainsbury's Local and bought six reduced Kiwi fruits for 25p.
Now THAT'S a good ending!
Dad fussed over everything especially his fluffy damp lettuce. And my moist Cherry cheesecake.
Mum wore a wild scarf and confessed her love for Noel Edmunds. She too ooohed over the cool creamy cake.
Ok, all was well.
Then after a machine-gun quick conversation regarding Alan Johnson and American Idol
I microwaved a yummy curry (800 cals) then shocked my tongue with an electricfied low fat apple and blackcurrant yoghurt. He. he, he!
The Lovelies plumped for beef salad.
Tea flowed, likewise Cappucinos and Tangos. Water was mentioned.
As mumsie didn't feel like traipsing around the shops I traipsed alone.
Not the same, not the same at all.
It's the little, almost insignificant things which show how valuable and how loved and wanted a person is. Little things like four hands rifling through a big box of handbags and saying "£20? they must be mental" and upturning bowls to check the maker,"Made in China, chipped yeah but it'll be perfect for holding lemons" flicking through hardbacks, "What do you think, is it worth £3?
"Who cares, get it"
And other natterings like that.
Doing it alone removes the icing on a very simple cake.
Then up to Boots the chemist.
Wandering up and down the aisles stopping to survey the dainty jars, gold topped pots and splashy splash stuff. If mumsie had been on my arm we'd have sprayed Ice Musk body spray into the air, then the Mango, then, before we got caught, Vanilla. But I just dropped the Ice Musk into my basket and went hairwards...
A tiny gold brush joined the body spray, then, to control my wispy bits, twenty silver coloured kirby grips. Usually mum and me dawdle dangerously around the make-up counters using the 'testers' with glee. Here goes a typical conversation...
"Too pasty"
"Oh my God I love this!"
"Bourjois is so gorgeous but Rimmel's cheaper"
"Can you see a kajal stick in brown?
"Got one in Kingfisher, what dya think?"
And on and on and on for a good twenty minutes:)
So...with my very light basket I forced myself onto Adrian. Lovely lovely very tall Adrian. "Do you have an Advantage Card Madam?" (That does it every time)
"I can't remember" I giggled
Adrian loved my quip and mumsie would have too... had she been there!
She always shakes her head when I banter with poor assistants.
"Just love making ordinary people laugh". I say, dragging the old bean out of the shop.
But no dragging of the elderly this afternoon, mores the pity, instead I darted in and out of the shops and crowds without my best girl.
Back at the flat, a surprisingly long conversation with dad about films, annoying ad breaks and the bastard bias of the BBC.
He's eloquent, articulate and never wants to stop, a bit like me! And when mumsie woke from her nap she asked us what we'd been doing.
"Having a great chat about things, weren't we Ang?"
"Yep, I love listening to you....."
And so the afternoon went on....Noel Edmunds with the sound muted (?) The Weakest Link, with a very dismissive dad asking how any of these people manage to hold down jobs........
Mumsie, removed her clothes in favour of a pink dressing gown and erected a pile of mags and papers ready for a good read tonight.
Me, warmed to explosive level but happy and giddy with the deepest love.
Had to get going and so, as I packed my hot body into a big old coat, mum cut herself another piece of cheesecake and dad handed me six oranges and two lamb escalopes.
It was a sublime moment, suddenly the night and future looked brighter.
P.S. On arriving home I popped into Sainsbury's Local and bought six reduced Kiwi fruits for 25p.
Now THAT'S a good ending!
Thoughts before I go............
...Yep midnight......!
Mrs Johnson? Way to go girl................!
Now I dash....................!
Mrs Johnson? Way to go girl................!
Now I dash....................!
Thursday, 20 January 2011
The Last Post Full of Titbits
~Oh dear another long lonely night on me own, no-one but the puss to talk to, no wonder I'm wearing a hat.
~Couldn't believe the news about Alan Johnson's resignation, I always thought he was heading for the top job...never mind. There was something of the factory floor about him so when he was made Shadow Chancellor I was totally stunned. Nice enough bloke, man o' the people and all that, but an ex-postman in charge of the country's cash...no thank you dear. Probably go astray.
~American Idol Season 10 begins tonight on ITV2. I've recorded it so I can have an incredibly exciting totally awesome Saturday. Have it planned already. Fab food and no ironing.
~Not eaten a lot today, did waste my time crunching crackers, I really wanted a Chinese. But food, like happiness, should be shared.
Other things which must be shared: Popcorn. Dreams. Wants. Pringles. Worries. Bath towels. Back massages. Wisdom. Cockles.
Things which shouldn't be shared: Coldsores. Old toffees. Loose socks. Last foot of dental floss.
~Happiness is: Presents. Hidden cash. Horror flicks. Starlings dive bombing a suet block. Long weekends. Cheap plumbers. A real Robin on top of a plastic Robin. Undisturbed sleep. Navy blue sheets. Movies. Warmth. Banter with boys. Natter with girls. Sausage rolls. Clear telephone voice.
~Unhappiness is: Being 2nd. Shop bought pies. Lost dogs. Lost lives. Jonathan Ross. Cheap frankfurters. Fighting. Unrequited love. January. Size 12.
That's enough titbits will have a nice cup of tea now as I await the call...Hope it's not another midnight job like last night....!
Cheerio:)
~Couldn't believe the news about Alan Johnson's resignation, I always thought he was heading for the top job...never mind. There was something of the factory floor about him so when he was made Shadow Chancellor I was totally stunned. Nice enough bloke, man o' the people and all that, but an ex-postman in charge of the country's cash...no thank you dear. Probably go astray.
~American Idol Season 10 begins tonight on ITV2. I've recorded it so I can have an incredibly exciting totally awesome Saturday. Have it planned already. Fab food and no ironing.
~Not eaten a lot today, did waste my time crunching crackers, I really wanted a Chinese. But food, like happiness, should be shared.
Other things which must be shared: Popcorn. Dreams. Wants. Pringles. Worries. Bath towels. Back massages. Wisdom. Cockles.
Things which shouldn't be shared: Coldsores. Old toffees. Loose socks. Last foot of dental floss.
~Happiness is: Presents. Hidden cash. Horror flicks. Starlings dive bombing a suet block. Long weekends. Cheap plumbers. A real Robin on top of a plastic Robin. Undisturbed sleep. Navy blue sheets. Movies. Warmth. Banter with boys. Natter with girls. Sausage rolls. Clear telephone voice.
~Unhappiness is: Being 2nd. Shop bought pies. Lost dogs. Lost lives. Jonathan Ross. Cheap frankfurters. Fighting. Unrequited love. January. Size 12.
That's enough titbits will have a nice cup of tea now as I await the call...Hope it's not another midnight job like last night....!
Cheerio:)
It's a Worry
...........Everything fine on the culinary front. Brain front...not so good....See way below.
Big Cheesecake.... full, set and red
Large Bread pudding, toasty brown with gossamer thin slices of apple peeping through the sugar.
Didn't make the crumble after all, deciding the aforementioned goodies were enough.
Talking of the perils of over doing it...
I overdid my dinner time pud... So yummy was it that I had some more.
Here's the recipe:
A heaped teaspoonful of strawberry jam swirled into about 5 fl oz of natural yoghurt.
Simples.
Before the yog, the pig. Bacon on seeded white bread dashed with brown sauce. I drip the sauce on the bread THEN layer with bacon. What do you do?
Sitting in the fridge:
Three quarters of yesterday's Carrot Cake, will definitely have a slim slice tonight as I watch BBC 4's 'Beautiful Equations'. Not the type of programme I usually watch but lately I've been travelling to places other than the kitchen.
Expect a wedge of Carrot Cake will go with me tomorrow, only hope the wedge doesn't set the Dad off. Anything queer and he goes bananas.
Worrying Moment #299
This morn....BBC2....To the sound of wooden spoon in mixing bowl...
Bowls. See pic.
I'm finished:(
Gooey Day Ahead!
After dropping orf Mr H at station, stopped off at the coop to buy Greek yog.
My morning has begun well!
Can't bear to watch Cocky Kyle so will, after gossiping here. indulge in my other favourite pursuit.
On the Cook Cards today are:
Apple Crumble. In its raw state. I'm sure the London Lovelies can operate their new dazzling snow white oven. Won't supply custard though, they have to fork out for SOMETHING.
Bread Pudding. Plumped full of vine fruits and apricot jam. A super little recipe harking back to Lord Nelson, a man who could inspire and bring out the best...He also lost a limb So if a pud can be made in his honour I'm more than happy to make it for mumsie who also inspires, and nearly lost a foot. So similar.
Possible Flapjacks. A keen watchful eye is needed when knocking these up, on account of the possibility of over hardness.
Large Black Cherry Cheesecake for mum and dad, will leave in giant tin for tomorrow's train journey. Delicate items need support. I too will need support, so will pack my burgeoning mammarical protuberances into well fitting cotton melon cups.
After all the bowl action I'll be faintingly starved so will drift into the Drawing Room with a little something.
Crackers probably:)
My morning has begun well!
Can't bear to watch Cocky Kyle so will, after gossiping here. indulge in my other favourite pursuit.
On the Cook Cards today are:
Apple Crumble. In its raw state. I'm sure the London Lovelies can operate their new dazzling snow white oven. Won't supply custard though, they have to fork out for SOMETHING.
Bread Pudding. Plumped full of vine fruits and apricot jam. A super little recipe harking back to Lord Nelson, a man who could inspire and bring out the best...He also lost a limb So if a pud can be made in his honour I'm more than happy to make it for mumsie who also inspires, and nearly lost a foot. So similar.
Possible Flapjacks. A keen watchful eye is needed when knocking these up, on account of the possibility of over hardness.
Large Black Cherry Cheesecake for mum and dad, will leave in giant tin for tomorrow's train journey. Delicate items need support. I too will need support, so will pack my burgeoning mammarical protuberances into well fitting cotton melon cups.
After all the bowl action I'll be faintingly starved so will drift into the Drawing Room with a little something.
Crackers probably:)
Wednesday, 19 January 2011
Quick Desserts #1
Following on from my last post...
~Fry two slices of Madeira cake in a little butter till warmed and slightly browned. Top with your favourite fruit, fresh or canned, serve with ice cream.
~Blitz a large can of peaches, drained with a can of custard, serve as a 'fool' with biscuits or wafers.
~Split bananas lengthways fill with whipped cream and drizzle on melted chocolate.
I have a few more quick and easy recipes to share so will hunt them down and post as soon as I can. Until then Happy Eating!
~Fry two slices of Madeira cake in a little butter till warmed and slightly browned. Top with your favourite fruit, fresh or canned, serve with ice cream.
~Blitz a large can of peaches, drained with a can of custard, serve as a 'fool' with biscuits or wafers.
~Split bananas lengthways fill with whipped cream and drizzle on melted chocolate.
I have a few more quick and easy recipes to share so will hunt them down and post as soon as I can. Until then Happy Eating!
Attempted to buy Friday's train ticket without money. Strode back in a sulk to sort of illegally parked car. Drove really fast, really slow. On show, odd socks. Forgot 'nuts' even though it was writ large on the list.
Stuck to the aforementioned list only veering once, couldn't let Wall's Cornish Ice Cream for £1 get away. Other than that I was good. Did however decide to boot canned cherries in favour of Morello Cherry jam. Do so much more with it you see. Other changes were popcorn instead of nutty chocolate.
Didn't bring enough bags, ashen faced woman on till spoke wistfully about Spring, I almost wept.
Other than that I had a fine morning.
Will now comfort myself with veggie rice and a slice of Hovis Oaty Bread and jam for pud.
Which reminds me, here's a dead quick dessert...
Serves 2.
4 slices of bread and jam. Red is best.
Topped with stirred canned Nestles cream.
Sounds ghastly I know but soothes and delights more than yoghurt.
Stuck to the aforementioned list only veering once, couldn't let Wall's Cornish Ice Cream for £1 get away. Other than that I was good. Did however decide to boot canned cherries in favour of Morello Cherry jam. Do so much more with it you see. Other changes were popcorn instead of nutty chocolate.
Didn't bring enough bags, ashen faced woman on till spoke wistfully about Spring, I almost wept.
Other than that I had a fine morning.
Will now comfort myself with veggie rice and a slice of Hovis Oaty Bread and jam for pud.
Which reminds me, here's a dead quick dessert...
Serves 2.
4 slices of bread and jam. Red is best.
Topped with stirred canned Nestles cream.
Sounds ghastly I know but soothes and delights more than yoghurt.
Tuesday, 18 January 2011
Wilderness. Playing with words.
In my wilderness
where
faint sea- green grasses blow
grow playful daisies in children's crayon lemon
and tulips stiff with adult crimson
and gathered around each bloom
each with its mouth in the dirt
peck fragile soft-boned chicks
each swallow, a madness
a gritting claim for life
their mother settled, hearing no more
the song of the foodies blade
Above them
what else
but
cloudless sky
its hue
matching my own
A wilderness for one
where
faint sea- green grasses blow
grow playful daisies in children's crayon lemon
and tulips stiff with adult crimson
and gathered around each bloom
each with its mouth in the dirt
peck fragile soft-boned chicks
each swallow, a madness
a gritting claim for life
their mother settled, hearing no more
the song of the foodies blade
Above them
what else
but
cloudless sky
its hue
matching my own
A wilderness for one
Suitably chastised by my public, my public
Oh dear what have I done, my wrists have been thrice slapped on account of my hormone related removal of today's earlier pics. My brain has transformed itself into a wooden mound of confusion. Hence 'delete' mode.
Anyway....Here they are....(walks sheepishly away...)
The hat was designed and made by.....Wife of Nof.....
Monday, 17 January 2011
Saturday, 15 January 2011
Tea time is the right time
This beauty is for today, tomorrow and, at a stretch, Monday!
A featherlight orange and lemon cheesecake decorated with a smattering of chocolate dust.
Preceding it will be sweet and sour pork with red pepper, pineapple, cucumber and carrot, fried rice with bacon, peas, spring onions, egg and soy, and noodles. Just plain.
P.S. Last night's Korma was taken early this morning!!!
Friday, 14 January 2011
As I wait to go and collect Mr H. from the station (late again, signal failure again, replacement buses etc etc) I shall watch 'Master and Commander', will probably lose all self-control and end up fantasizing about being the ship's bitch.
What I'm really desirous of though is my chicken korma which is drying up in its pan:(
What I'm really desirous of though is my chicken korma which is drying up in its pan:(
This afternoon, after the essential sausage, I was lulled to snoozyland by two men. One blond and fit, the other not.
Please don't get excited I was not enjoying myself, far from it, I was watching a snooker match between Aussie Robertson and the Irish lad Allen. Great, I love snooker, but these two had my neck falling to the right. Then left. It was never upright.
The game was, and still is I'm sorry to say, a comatose kind of game. Love them both to bits and love snooker, you understand, but there's no fire in their flat young bellies. Allen, I thought, would come out with his hair on fire and his eyes bulging after knocking out the Beast O'Sullivan, and Robertson, with his clean good looks and madcap hair would surely set ablaze the baize. But no. The pair of them are slugging it out slow frame after slow frame with Michaela, the scary lady ref, not needing her whip.
Anyway after suffering this tortoise of a match for a while, I made a cheesecake.
And what a wobbly white treat it is. But it won't be white for long....Tomorrow, after it's firmed up a bit, I'll top it with fruits:)
No idea what's happening in my drawing room tonight, probably, after our chicken korma, we'll find a distasteful film to watch:)
Cheerio!
P.S. Thanks to Nof for commenting on my previous post. Love it.
Please don't get excited I was not enjoying myself, far from it, I was watching a snooker match between Aussie Robertson and the Irish lad Allen. Great, I love snooker, but these two had my neck falling to the right. Then left. It was never upright.
The game was, and still is I'm sorry to say, a comatose kind of game. Love them both to bits and love snooker, you understand, but there's no fire in their flat young bellies. Allen, I thought, would come out with his hair on fire and his eyes bulging after knocking out the Beast O'Sullivan, and Robertson, with his clean good looks and madcap hair would surely set ablaze the baize. But no. The pair of them are slugging it out slow frame after slow frame with Michaela, the scary lady ref, not needing her whip.
Anyway after suffering this tortoise of a match for a while, I made a cheesecake.
And what a wobbly white treat it is. But it won't be white for long....Tomorrow, after it's firmed up a bit, I'll top it with fruits:)
No idea what's happening in my drawing room tonight, probably, after our chicken korma, we'll find a distasteful film to watch:)
Cheerio!
P.S. Thanks to Nof for commenting on my previous post. Love it.
Love Today
I agree with St Francis...See Love Quote
Today Loved the chirpy postman who joked about my yellow crooked stuck-on-the-door note to the Avon lady.
Loved Fran in the charity shop who let me have a made-in-South Africa rainbowed cat for 50p.
Loved the old wellie wearing man feeding his two damp dogs outside the Co-Op. Daft he was.
Loved White Van Man who hugged my rear all along the Ashingdon road. Needs love I thought. So gave him some in the form of a girly wave and some deceleration.
Will now love my sausage.
Today Loved the chirpy postman who joked about my yellow crooked stuck-on-the-door note to the Avon lady.
Loved Fran in the charity shop who let me have a made-in-South Africa rainbowed cat for 50p.
Loved the old wellie wearing man feeding his two damp dogs outside the Co-Op. Daft he was.
Loved White Van Man who hugged my rear all along the Ashingdon road. Needs love I thought. So gave him some in the form of a girly wave and some deceleration.
Will now love my sausage.
Thursday, 13 January 2011
Optimist
It's milder outside, a bit grey, but vestless, so still ok.
The pavements are damp, not too slippy, not fearing a tumble, so all ok.
My skirt is tighter, gone mid-life acrobatics, am loving the wobble, so feeling very ok.
My hair is fluffed, no gamine no more, but fluff brings on the giggles, so follicley ok.
Poems sparse, but on arrival liked, so creatively ok.
Money in a matchbox, no dustbin needed now, counting the coppers, but rich in cheek and parsnips, so all ok.
Affection pops up, grabbing would be rude, accept loving head rubs, so very very ok.
The pavements are damp, not too slippy, not fearing a tumble, so all ok.
My skirt is tighter, gone mid-life acrobatics, am loving the wobble, so feeling very ok.
My hair is fluffed, no gamine no more, but fluff brings on the giggles, so follicley ok.
Poems sparse, but on arrival liked, so creatively ok.
Money in a matchbox, no dustbin needed now, counting the coppers, but rich in cheek and parsnips, so all ok.
Affection pops up, grabbing would be rude, accept loving head rubs, so very very ok.
Wednesday, 12 January 2011
Take My Hand
Take my hand to places its never been
to sea-shelled landscapes in hues of coral green
and as you guide it I'll chant a chorister's prayer
while soap-white birds sit silent
to sea-shelled landscapes in hues of coral green
and as you guide it I'll chant a chorister's prayer
while soap-white birds sit silent
Had a jolly good slow stroll around Sainsburys this morning getting stuff but also inspecting bottles and jars and cartons and packets, and I then realized I wasn't only in a supermarket I was in a busy gallery full of beautiful art.
Some of the olive oil labels, queer gear packets, beer labels and biscuit boxes are worthy of a home behind glass, such is the old time glamour and homespun beauty of these grocery collectables.
I was especially taken by the olive oil tins and bottles, so green so gold and so delicious to hold. Lovely. Was I tempted to indulge, yes but being more thrifty than stupid, I put into my trolley a simple small bottle of Sainsburys finest. But oh those big beautiful tins.....:)
Next up..... the beer aisle, where labels painted red and brown and royal blue, what their names were was of little importance to me, although 'Badger Fursty Ferret, Theakston's Old Peculiar Ale and Golden Sheep Ale had me giggling:)
I had nasty visions of a pair of old time sheep heading towards the abatoirr to be blended into a pint of wallop for a pair of wet trousered old geezers. Hope the bits get stuck in their dentures.
Other labels which took my mind away from the trolley of sustenance were... cheeses, the more expensive the cheese, the plainer the packaging, so little artistry there, just classy and natural Ghastly gluey cheesey items like 'dunkers' were aimed at the child's eye. Saturated blue with saturated fat I expect.
Had a rummage around the safe drink section and came to my favourite label of all time. The Tick Tock Tea Box.
The Queen of Labels. Very 1930's, very Miss Marple. Would be worth murdering my current lover just so I could offer the Scotland Yard Inspector a nice cup of tea....
Tuesday, 11 January 2011
The Lovelies wanted Fish so after a cappucino I got some.
All I know is I'm glad I don't live in London and want FISH.
Three pieces of medium cod and one portion of medium chips? £14:90
I was glad though that they both had an appetite, even though satisfying the appetite cost a lot. They ate with gusto and so did I. Afterwards we watched Ronnie O'Sullivan lose to Mark Allen. Good thing to. O'Sullivan's bad sportsman ship and refusal to play for a snooker when the fourth frame had all but gone to Allen, proved what a stinker he is.
The big eyed Northern Ireland lad fought to the end sending the beast back home. A cave probably.
Pundit, Steve Davis was livid when talking to Hazel Irvine, his shock and anger over O'Sullivan's behaviour made his face red. I like Davis.
Supper now:)
All I know is I'm glad I don't live in London and want FISH.
Three pieces of medium cod and one portion of medium chips? £14:90
I was glad though that they both had an appetite, even though satisfying the appetite cost a lot. They ate with gusto and so did I. Afterwards we watched Ronnie O'Sullivan lose to Mark Allen. Good thing to. O'Sullivan's bad sportsman ship and refusal to play for a snooker when the fourth frame had all but gone to Allen, proved what a stinker he is.
The big eyed Northern Ireland lad fought to the end sending the beast back home. A cave probably.
Pundit, Steve Davis was livid when talking to Hazel Irvine, his shock and anger over O'Sullivan's behaviour made his face red. I like Davis.
Supper now:)
Monday, 10 January 2011
My earlier post was one of fun and games, this post however isn't.
Just as I was drinking my mid- afternoon tea, the doorbell rang. On opening the door I was met with the bearded face of Richard, the 'man' I used to clean for.
"What do you want?" I asked, feeling my blood pressure rise and heart beat faster.
"Just want to say sorry" he said
I honestly didn't know what to do or say, so I did a big thing and asked him in. He spent the next ten minutes telling me how badly he'd treated me and everyone and that he'd had a physical and nervous breakdown and was on so many drugs he ratlled. Yeah yeah.
Not wanting to get angry and suffer the consequences afterwards I accepted his apology and made him a cup of tea. He continued with his story about hospitalization and what an arse he'd been but I wasn't having any of it.
"You're good Richard" I said " And I feel you have missed your true vocation in life, that of being an actor"
He thought that hilarious and that he said was what he loved about me... my crazy sense of humour... Of course dear.
After listening to his spiel I said he had to go but before he went he left me open mouthed...
"Would you go out to dinner with me?"
and
"You look lovely fresh faced" (I wasn't wearing make-up)
and other nauseating drivel.
"No I won't go out with you Richard but thanks for apologising after a year. Goodbye"
He waddled off saying...
"You'll be glad I came round"
I closed the door feeling confused and angry, his visit reminding me of the dreadful time I had late 2009 early 2010, now the feelings have resurfaced and I don't like it. It's my fault I suppose I shouldn't have asked him in, thought it was the right and proper thing to do. Thought I was being a big woman. Now not so sure. Am I really that much of a moron that I can't rise above it?
Obviously yes. There's no hope for me at all.
Now I'm up the wall. And feeling sick. And wishing I wasn't alone.
And today has been a good simple day filled with good simple things, baking and snooker, but now because of the madness of this egomaniac, my emotions are slightly off the rails. Hence this post. I'll be alright tomorrow.
Better take the bread pudding out of the oven:)
Just as I was drinking my mid- afternoon tea, the doorbell rang. On opening the door I was met with the bearded face of Richard, the 'man' I used to clean for.
"What do you want?" I asked, feeling my blood pressure rise and heart beat faster.
"Just want to say sorry" he said
I honestly didn't know what to do or say, so I did a big thing and asked him in. He spent the next ten minutes telling me how badly he'd treated me and everyone and that he'd had a physical and nervous breakdown and was on so many drugs he ratlled. Yeah yeah.
Not wanting to get angry and suffer the consequences afterwards I accepted his apology and made him a cup of tea. He continued with his story about hospitalization and what an arse he'd been but I wasn't having any of it.
"You're good Richard" I said " And I feel you have missed your true vocation in life, that of being an actor"
He thought that hilarious and that he said was what he loved about me... my crazy sense of humour... Of course dear.
After listening to his spiel I said he had to go but before he went he left me open mouthed...
"Would you go out to dinner with me?"
and
"You look lovely fresh faced" (I wasn't wearing make-up)
and other nauseating drivel.
"No I won't go out with you Richard but thanks for apologising after a year. Goodbye"
He waddled off saying...
"You'll be glad I came round"
I closed the door feeling confused and angry, his visit reminding me of the dreadful time I had late 2009 early 2010, now the feelings have resurfaced and I don't like it. It's my fault I suppose I shouldn't have asked him in, thought it was the right and proper thing to do. Thought I was being a big woman. Now not so sure. Am I really that much of a moron that I can't rise above it?
Obviously yes. There's no hope for me at all.
Now I'm up the wall. And feeling sick. And wishing I wasn't alone.
And today has been a good simple day filled with good simple things, baking and snooker, but now because of the madness of this egomaniac, my emotions are slightly off the rails. Hence this post. I'll be alright tomorrow.
Better take the bread pudding out of the oven:)
Too Busy, Too Busy But...
" UPSTAIRS GLO! "
I'm out
I'm in
I'm 54
and I'm 29And then, after what I have to say was the most divine dinner EVER, the conclusion of what has to be the most fun film EVER, District 13. A testosterone of muscley beasts shooting each other's faces orf and all in black VESTS too!What more could a oestrogen deficient woman want?
So Sunday skipped along, me fed on meat and dreaming of more to come.
Then DARTS, I've always always loved watching Darts, comes from throwing arrows at my board which was nailed to my wardrobe when I had acne. And then to turn my love into mania many years later, I won £32 after backing John Lowe to win the 1987 World Championship. Lovely Jubbly.
But back to the present.
Yesterday's final at Frimley Green was a smashing loud affair with silly signs being waved, signs such as 'I hate signs' and raucous fans dressed like the Statue of Liberty and the Chilean Miners! All sincere British fun and I lapped it up, but there was terror lurked around the corner... my man, the incredibly old looking Dean Winstanley (an unbelievable 29 years of age) was beaten by Martin 'Wolfie' Adams, (54) an incredibly ghastly man with old fashioned glasses and 1970's hair. Credit to Deano though, he certainly put the willies up Adams, taking him to 5 sets and all. So well done Dean, hope defeat doesn't age you any harder. Blimey you do look old.
Ok I'd had enough excitement. Time to cool it yeah...So off with the clothes and out with the sausage. White bread I find is best for sos sandwiches so I made two. One for little me, the other for Mr H. who, bless him, tried in vain to read Roger's Profanisaurus (hardback from Viz) but what with the darts, had very little peace in which to enjoy such definitions like NYPD Blue, where a pokee assumes the position of someone being frisked by New York's finest, against a wall or on the bonnet of a car. This is one of the milder definitions...(Have no idea what it means by the way)
My sausage was great. And it needed to be because I had to put up with an hour of The Normans, a BBC4 prog which had a professor walking on the very earth where King Harold bought it.
By now I was just about ready to scream. So I bid farewell to what had been an excellent day and went to bed with Sean Connery. His stiffy hair, Russianesque accent and black submariner's uniform was the stuff of dreams so I had another sip of tea and slithered down the bed kicking my grimy socks off on the way.
But that was yesterday, what about today?
More of the same I should think only it's be balls not darts.
Meathead Mark King knocked out my little Mark yesterday so I'll be gunning for him...:)
Cheerio!
Sunday, 9 January 2011
Being enjoyed today...
Breakfast was wholewheat marmaladed toast , a glug of orange juice and quite a pint of sugarless tea. Picked me up no end.
Will have one eye on Liverpool v. Man Utd whilst eating...
Lamb Shanks braised with carrots in Minty Rosemaried stock, served with the my favourite veg, sweetened parsnips and jacket baked spuds. To finish... an apple and fruits of the forest crumble with custard. n.b. Think it's outrageous what Liverpool have done to manager Roy Hodgson, his 'sacking' was down to once great Liverpool being on 'self-destruct' and being slammed 3-1 by Blackburn Rovers. Mr Dalgleish will take the flak from now on. Can hardly wait till 1.p.m.
Our supper...probably a sausage sandwich made with pork snorkers, white bread and brown sauce. Will be rough enough and meaty enough to go with the rest of District 13. Watched a bit more of this fantastic film last night but decided that Saturday had been quite exciting enough (bought bag) so bedded down early.
Hope you all have a warm and satisfying day.
Friday, 7 January 2011
I Love This. Hope you Do Too.
What stops seeds of love from growing to their fullest?
some might sigh neglect
others would smirk indifference
I would add, without contempt
and without an axe to grind
what stops the seeds of love is
a frightened domestic hand
You're worthy, upright, always ready
to carry a person's load
but your sad red heart barely flickers
because its forgotten how
how to wet an appetite
and how to rock your world
Your reliable hand and homely style tether you
to a substitute
and your self restraint and impeccable honour
scarring your inarticulate heart
Correctness, correctness
makes shit of finer feelings
for, without a gallant tongue, willing to air words
like love and come and stay
all hope of lit-up tomorrows
lay dying
in the terrible tidy basement
of your dry spotless house
To watch Love seeds flourish
swelling thickly in your hold
you and I must dig
dig the earth of our complacency
burning the rituals of our norms
putting aside suffocating safety
Because
From the white washed cradle
to
the yellowed walls of old age
we get noticed
what we want
when we yell.
some might sigh neglect
others would smirk indifference
I would add, without contempt
and without an axe to grind
what stops the seeds of love is
a frightened domestic hand
You're worthy, upright, always ready
to carry a person's load
but your sad red heart barely flickers
because its forgotten how
how to wet an appetite
and how to rock your world
Your reliable hand and homely style tether you
to a substitute
and your self restraint and impeccable honour
scarring your inarticulate heart
Correctness, correctness
makes shit of finer feelings
for, without a gallant tongue, willing to air words
like love and come and stay
all hope of lit-up tomorrows
lay dying
in the terrible tidy basement
of your dry spotless house
To watch Love seeds flourish
swelling thickly in your hold
you and I must dig
dig the earth of our complacency
burning the rituals of our norms
putting aside suffocating safety
Because
From the white washed cradle
to
the yellowed walls of old age
we get noticed
what we want
when we yell.
After yesterday all I want to do is eat and have fun.
The Lovelies continue to worry and amaze me, the weather is driving me insane and to top it all a young woman asks if I'd like to sit.
Is it me or am I slowly losing the plot? Why would a girl late teens early twenties ask me a woman who looks considerably younger than her years if I'd like her seat. It might have been my runny nose at any rate I accepted the kid's offer and thanked her with a knowing wink. Grrrr!
Winter is a pain, we all know that, but this winter seems to have it in for me. If I'm not hogging the gas and in so doing spending more money than I have, I'm wearing so many layers of clothing that it'd take an absolute AGE to get it all off in the unlikely scenario of an afternoon of filthy lovemaking.
The cold weather is making my continual London trips even more stressful. The fact that I melt my boots on the train heater is not a problem, what is a problem is other people's coats.
I don't like them falling willy nilly onto my lap. Last night, the coat of the chap next to me kept brushing my newspaper making it almost impossible for me to do the crossword. So being patient and a bit scared I let it flap.
Blow this weather.
The other thing regarding the weather is my nose. It's continually red and shiny and stands out, bit like a ruby on a lolly stick only not as valuable or tasty.
I'm constantly patting on foundation (Maybelline's Dream Matte Mousse in Sand) it serves as a real tonic to see my stupid conk matching the rest of my face.
Gotta go now...more later
The Lovelies continue to worry and amaze me, the weather is driving me insane and to top it all a young woman asks if I'd like to sit.
Is it me or am I slowly losing the plot? Why would a girl late teens early twenties ask me a woman who looks considerably younger than her years if I'd like her seat. It might have been my runny nose at any rate I accepted the kid's offer and thanked her with a knowing wink. Grrrr!
Winter is a pain, we all know that, but this winter seems to have it in for me. If I'm not hogging the gas and in so doing spending more money than I have, I'm wearing so many layers of clothing that it'd take an absolute AGE to get it all off in the unlikely scenario of an afternoon of filthy lovemaking.
The cold weather is making my continual London trips even more stressful. The fact that I melt my boots on the train heater is not a problem, what is a problem is other people's coats.
I don't like them falling willy nilly onto my lap. Last night, the coat of the chap next to me kept brushing my newspaper making it almost impossible for me to do the crossword. So being patient and a bit scared I let it flap.
Blow this weather.
The other thing regarding the weather is my nose. It's continually red and shiny and stands out, bit like a ruby on a lolly stick only not as valuable or tasty.
I'm constantly patting on foundation (Maybelline's Dream Matte Mousse in Sand) it serves as a real tonic to see my stupid conk matching the rest of my face.
Gotta go now...more later
Thursday, 6 January 2011
:) :(
On the tube a young girl asked me if I'd like her seat.
I didn't know whether to kiss her or kill her.
I didn't know whether to kiss her or kill her.
Wednesday, 5 January 2011
I'm all go Glo!
After the shop run and a natter with Desmond about bird tables I left my boots on and proceeded to cook...
14 Soda Rolls.
1 Large tropical trifle
5 Small non-tropical trifles
2 pints of Lentil Bolognaise.
2 and a bit pints of Minestrone soup.
A whopping great Bread Pudding.
A pound of glazed parsnips.
And 4 pork chops.
Just so you know I haven't suddenly got greedy let me explain.
Half the rolls, half the soup, all of the bread pudding and 1 large tropical trifle will be taken to The Lovelies tomorrow. Along with shop bought crisps and truffles.
There the food parcel ends.
The parsnips (bless their hearts) are the accompaniment to the chops. 3 of which are for our tea, the remainder being for Mr H.'s munchbox tomorrow. Sliced thinly and sandwiched together with some apple sauce and lettuce it will provide sustenance till he gets his Thursday night lentils...
The mini trifles will satisfy our sweet teeth over the next few days. Nothing so sweet as a small creamy dessert in a tiny cup.
Am loving the darts coverage on BBC2, will watch a bit later on then watch the final 50 of the 'greatest stand-up comedian of all time'. Mr. Horsehound might be there next year, providing of course they love him at his next gig. Yes, the funny man with the straight face is set to please the crowds in Richmond in a few weeks.
Now I must fly...My chops need turning:)
After the shop run and a natter with Desmond about bird tables I left my boots on and proceeded to cook...
14 Soda Rolls.
1 Large tropical trifle
5 Small non-tropical trifles
2 pints of Lentil Bolognaise.
2 and a bit pints of Minestrone soup.
A whopping great Bread Pudding.
A pound of glazed parsnips.
And 4 pork chops.
Just so you know I haven't suddenly got greedy let me explain.
Half the rolls, half the soup, all of the bread pudding and 1 large tropical trifle will be taken to The Lovelies tomorrow. Along with shop bought crisps and truffles.
There the food parcel ends.
The parsnips (bless their hearts) are the accompaniment to the chops. 3 of which are for our tea, the remainder being for Mr H.'s munchbox tomorrow. Sliced thinly and sandwiched together with some apple sauce and lettuce it will provide sustenance till he gets his Thursday night lentils...
The mini trifles will satisfy our sweet teeth over the next few days. Nothing so sweet as a small creamy dessert in a tiny cup.
Am loving the darts coverage on BBC2, will watch a bit later on then watch the final 50 of the 'greatest stand-up comedian of all time'. Mr. Horsehound might be there next year, providing of course they love him at his next gig. Yes, the funny man with the straight face is set to please the crowds in Richmond in a few weeks.
Now I must fly...My chops need turning:)
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
Have just pulled myself away from the t.v. where we were watching 'District 13' a French film, which shows a dystopic vision set in walled-off banlieues where tooled-up gangs vie for territory and power. Could only watch half an hour on account of needing plenty of sleep in order to be alert for tomorrow's trip to Sainsburys.
Will watch the rest tomorrow afternoon, probably with a fancy.
Goodnight all.
Will watch the rest tomorrow afternoon, probably with a fancy.
Goodnight all.
Oh my Lord is that the time?
Everything gone according to plan.
Furniture moved, recipe books re-located, jugs and other kitchenalia tidied and re-arranged according to height and where they stand in my affections.
As the men with arrows aimed at the bull I made a Chunky Chicken and Vegetable Pie. The chunks being of a vegetable nature, had to resort to this on account of not having much left in the way of chicken. Resourceful is my middle name.
On 'freeze frame' as I type is Gladiator, the bit where he takes command of the other gladiators before hordes of baddies traipse out into the arena. I love this part:) Maniacal charioteers being slaughtered by Maximus and his mates. What is it about victory that is so arousing?
So tonight I'll serve up a nice brown pie in a re-vamped kitchen. Put my old plastic sunflowers in a tall unchipped jug by the way. (Looks quite imperious on the windowsill alongside the washing up liquid).
To go with the pie... probably beans.
Everything gone according to plan.
Furniture moved, recipe books re-located, jugs and other kitchenalia tidied and re-arranged according to height and where they stand in my affections.
As the men with arrows aimed at the bull I made a Chunky Chicken and Vegetable Pie. The chunks being of a vegetable nature, had to resort to this on account of not having much left in the way of chicken. Resourceful is my middle name.
On 'freeze frame' as I type is Gladiator, the bit where he takes command of the other gladiators before hordes of baddies traipse out into the arena. I love this part:) Maniacal charioteers being slaughtered by Maximus and his mates. What is it about victory that is so arousing?
So tonight I'll serve up a nice brown pie in a re-vamped kitchen. Put my old plastic sunflowers in a tall unchipped jug by the way. (Looks quite imperious on the windowsill alongside the washing up liquid).
To go with the pie... probably beans.
New Year, New Paint, New Hair, Old Dressing Gown
Kitchen needs an overhaul...Will paint the walls when the weather improves. Probably delicate yellow or limp green. I like yellow. I like green. But not in clothing. Funny that.
Must take care of my fingers. They are no longer the chubby puds of youth, more like spindly twigs of agedness. Keep looking at them, don't do anything of course apart from late night rubbing in of Petroleum jelly. Also slathered eyelashes in the jelbo, woke sometime this morning resembling a shiny vicious spider:)
Fed the birds in my dressing gown, (God my DG is disgusting) and the birdies are none too happy with the stuff bought down the road. Images of traumatised tits shrieking with rage as the old girl dishes out yet more cut price feed is harming me. I will, I promise, go all the way to Purdeys's Industrial Estate wherein I will purchase mealy worms, nuts and other nutritious things. I can't afford to lose more friends. Friends? A great little word. But what are friends? People you can't shrug off.
Hair, my hair! It's licking my neck and flicking outwards over my ears, gone is gamin Glo, and hello to fingers-in-the-socket-Glo" I like it!
Haven't been out of bed much for er.... days. Delicate old stained duvet littered with porridge droppings, jelly tots and cold mayonnaised farfalle. Decided after all the madness of the past couple of months to get down under the covers and stay there till the new year. So that's what we did. So dulled by relaxation were we that we even watched bad movies.....'The Incredible Hulk' and 'Catwoman'. Other interests were Celebrity Mastermind, On the Buses, and Al Jazeera.
Rest is fab but rest doesn't get furniture polished and moved, lashes brushed and blackened or hair puffed and tweaked so.... off with the Disgusting Red Dressing Gown and on with the job:)
Darts is on too!
Must take care of my fingers. They are no longer the chubby puds of youth, more like spindly twigs of agedness. Keep looking at them, don't do anything of course apart from late night rubbing in of Petroleum jelly. Also slathered eyelashes in the jelbo, woke sometime this morning resembling a shiny vicious spider:)
Fed the birds in my dressing gown, (God my DG is disgusting) and the birdies are none too happy with the stuff bought down the road. Images of traumatised tits shrieking with rage as the old girl dishes out yet more cut price feed is harming me. I will, I promise, go all the way to Purdeys's Industrial Estate wherein I will purchase mealy worms, nuts and other nutritious things. I can't afford to lose more friends. Friends? A great little word. But what are friends? People you can't shrug off.
Hair, my hair! It's licking my neck and flicking outwards over my ears, gone is gamin Glo, and hello to fingers-in-the-socket-Glo" I like it!
Haven't been out of bed much for er.... days. Delicate old stained duvet littered with porridge droppings, jelly tots and cold mayonnaised farfalle. Decided after all the madness of the past couple of months to get down under the covers and stay there till the new year. So that's what we did. So dulled by relaxation were we that we even watched bad movies.....'The Incredible Hulk' and 'Catwoman'. Other interests were Celebrity Mastermind, On the Buses, and Al Jazeera.
Rest is fab but rest doesn't get furniture polished and moved, lashes brushed and blackened or hair puffed and tweaked so.... off with the Disgusting Red Dressing Gown and on with the job:)
Darts is on too!
Monday, 3 January 2011
Bread and Nutter Pudding!
I am chubby with happiness over my new invention (actually a variation on an old theme but no-one else has come up with it yet, so I'm claiming it as MINE!)
Spread 8 slices of crustless white bread with a little butter or marg then cover with a generous amount of Nutella * The bread will probably get ripped, but don't worry just pat it together, it'll be alright.
Sandwich together.
Cut into triangles.
Place in a large buttered baking dish.
Scatter over a fair amount of sugar, I used half granulated and half soft brown.
Mix together 500 ml milk, a tablespoon or so of cocoa and two eggs. Whisk this well.
Strain over the bread and leave to soak for a little while. Poking down any obstinate pieces of bread.
Bake in a hot oven. Gas number 6 or the electric equivalent for about an hour. It'll be ready to eat when the bread is puffed and no liquid can be seen. Give it a poke, if its cooked the knife will come out clean.
I served ours with a meagre amount of double cream and it was FANTASTIC!
Chocolate goo.
* Don't be tempted to use 'own brand' hazelnut chocolate spreads, they are not as good as 'Nutella'. Don't refrigerate Nutella. Otherwise it will turn from a firm sweety mass into a mound of brown calorific concrete.
No knife, however sharp, will be able to make a dent.
Hope you all like:)
Spread 8 slices of crustless white bread with a little butter or marg then cover with a generous amount of Nutella * The bread will probably get ripped, but don't worry just pat it together, it'll be alright.
Sandwich together.
Cut into triangles.
Place in a large buttered baking dish.
Scatter over a fair amount of sugar, I used half granulated and half soft brown.
Mix together 500 ml milk, a tablespoon or so of cocoa and two eggs. Whisk this well.
Strain over the bread and leave to soak for a little while. Poking down any obstinate pieces of bread.
Bake in a hot oven. Gas number 6 or the electric equivalent for about an hour. It'll be ready to eat when the bread is puffed and no liquid can be seen. Give it a poke, if its cooked the knife will come out clean.
I served ours with a meagre amount of double cream and it was FANTASTIC!
Chocolate goo.
* Don't be tempted to use 'own brand' hazelnut chocolate spreads, they are not as good as 'Nutella'. Don't refrigerate Nutella. Otherwise it will turn from a firm sweety mass into a mound of brown calorific concrete.
No knife, however sharp, will be able to make a dent.
Hope you all like:)
Saturday, 1 January 2011
:) Hi ya 2011
Further mentions of sausages will be halted.
Likewise in detail descriptions of old people's ailments. I will endeavour to keep all future posts light but without the overt over- the- top girly pinkiness of which I am sometimes guilty of.
With all this.....You'll be pleased to hear I'll still be Glo...
As showers of rainbowed fireworks said Hi to 2011 I was asleep.
No bang bang keeping ME awake.
Therefore after ten hours of earthy sleep I woke refreshed and creased.
Mr Horsehound however is shattered:) Lucky me. Oh God I can't be dealing with HIS desires so soon into the new year.
I'm in a spiffingly good mood today so will, after penning this cracking post, have the toasted crumpet which awaits! (Mr H. behaving impeccably by doing my breakfast) then after breakfast I think I'll just mooch around.
2011...not a bad start
Likewise in detail descriptions of old people's ailments. I will endeavour to keep all future posts light but without the overt over- the- top girly pinkiness of which I am sometimes guilty of.
With all this.....You'll be pleased to hear I'll still be Glo...
As showers of rainbowed fireworks said Hi to 2011 I was asleep.
No bang bang keeping ME awake.
Therefore after ten hours of earthy sleep I woke refreshed and creased.
Mr Horsehound however is shattered:) Lucky me. Oh God I can't be dealing with HIS desires so soon into the new year.
I'm in a spiffingly good mood today so will, after penning this cracking post, have the toasted crumpet which awaits! (Mr H. behaving impeccably by doing my breakfast) then after breakfast I think I'll just mooch around.
2011...not a bad start
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