After the poet comes the shopper...
Sped to Hockley this a.m. and found theeee most gorgeous stylish handbag in the Friends of Lion charity shop.
It is small, nut brown and embellished with a good thick chain bit like chainmail and 'diamonds'. Originally from the Parisienn boutique, Aventurine, it still bears the original price tag... Knew as soon as I laid my eyes upon it that is was MINE..
Haven't played with it ye..t but I soon will.... as soon as I've pranced around in my new skirt, originally from Zara, a warm brown pencil affair made of silk and wool this yumyum skirt fits snug around my hips and derriere.... so I can't wait to waddle in it.
Friday, 28 October 2011
Thursday, 27 October 2011
Loner
A late red rose
suddenly frosted, wintry
looms defiantly
its small fair face
a peach amongst spiteful tawny weeds
its late for its date
and it knows it
Perhaps the fuel of a mild autumnal morn
will save it
I haven't written much lately and it worries me, so these few words, this verse, have sent me pleasantly to bed.
suddenly frosted, wintry
looms defiantly
its small fair face
a peach amongst spiteful tawny weeds
its late for its date
and it knows it
Perhaps the fuel of a mild autumnal morn
will save it
I haven't written much lately and it worries me, so these few words, this verse, have sent me pleasantly to bed.
K.
SO....
Chatted with K. today as we did a dry run of my 'route'. He is a decent enough chap but wouldn't win any awards for his teaching skills. A mumbler... A man who shoots directions when it's way too late. A man obsessed with relationship matters. Lives with his Mother. Not the best passenger. He means well and has a big heart, I mean he must have otherwise he wouldn't have agreed to accompany me.
At any rate we kind of got through it unscathed, he was though silenced by my knowledge of where Quorn Road was. The round is a beast. And that's a fact. And that's why they have given it to the newbie. Everyone knows it's a rotten round, not so much how many clients there are but the distance between them all. I mean to say, I am all over Leigh-on-Sea, up and down hills, over dual carriageways, ducking around impossible corners and to top it all, when I do get out of the motor and approach a house, I have to pray it isn't one with a 'safe key'. These really hold one up.
Anyway come Saturday I may be asked to go it alone...Apparently the woman in charge on Saturday is K., a woman who isn't the manager but thinks she is. Could be fun.
Sunday I'm seeing B., the real pukka manager, who, like with most managers, is blessed with a modicum of 'people' skills.
I might, emphasis might, I might go for another dry run tomorrow... ON MY OWN. Kev, bless him, is all heart but unfortunately for me he's all tongue as well:(
Too many cooks and all that.
We'll see.
Back to what satisfies...
Aaaah cooking. My salvation, my joy...Cooking tonight will be Lemony Chicken, green beans and rice.
Very simples.
Other inconsequential goings on and mutterings...
My hairdresser, Lisa can't do my hair on Saturday. Tuesday she said. Blow you I said and so I whooshed it this morning with some purple foam mousse. There.
David Cameron is getting on my nerves.
I don't like this weather because I don't know what to wear. Clad in over sized jumper and boots today I positively glowed as I got held up by massive delivery man. The man wasn't massive, only his Arctic.
Haven't watched any telly for ages.
Bought another lipstick. Autumn Berries. Makes me want to cut faces into pumpkins.
I had a look at my feet today.
And delved deep into my heart.
Tuesday, 25 October 2011
Sir Frederick Treves
Keeping Calm
Then a massive cook-in..... Beef Cobbler. Chilli Con Carne. Apple Jelly with Grapes. 12 Coburg Buns and a large Blackcurrant Swiss Roll.
Tonight though I'll nestle down with Radio 5 Live and listen to Aldershot v. Man U.
Doubt I'll hear the final whistle though on account of being shattered!
Being a housewife/friend/worrier/daughter/working woman and lover is taking its toll.
But, as Sir Frederick Treves, Bart. KCVO. CB Sergeant in Ordinary Arms to HM The King. Surgeon in Ordinary to HRH Prince of Wales wrote, on 2nd September 1903 at 6 Wimpole Street Cavendish Sq. London.....on the occasion of the 25th anniversary of the Boy's Own Paper
"Don't Grumble, Plug On"
Monday, 24 October 2011
After a very early start I arrived at Mums loaded with a new enthusiasm for life, but when she dragged open the door my enthusiasm disappeared.
She looked other-worldly, ethereal almost, maybe it was the pallor of her skin or just the shot of daylight falling on her..I was to find out soon enough.
She'd had a bad night she said and found herself, just after midnight, sitting on the edge of her bed looking at a shimmering light.
I knew from the way she looked that a few days away with me were looking decidedly unlikely.
And so after several attempts to put on her red coat we sat silently, me wondering what to do and her holding onto a tube of Deep Heat, her hands with papery skin gripping the useless medication. Around her newspapers, browned strawberries and bills.
A bird came to mind. A baby one. Maybe a sparrow whose fallen out of its nest. This bird, clinging to detritus found lying on the ground. Mum's detritus being drugs, toothless combs and demands.
She didn't make tea.
I certainly didn't.
I'd been up since dawn.
Where was my welcome? Where was my cuppa?
My welcome of course was in her eyes, a miserable old trout sometimes but a homeloving trout with sea blue eyes.
I forgave her the insult of not offering me tea.
Instead we talked. Mumbled. Stretching out to each other. Eager to please, eager to re-assure.
Then, after managing to load her into her coat, we went out.
In the lift I knew we weren't going anywhere and as soon as we were half way up the slope, she stopped and winced.
"Come on, let's go back" I said
"You can come another day".
With that out of the way we stood silently in the lift as it ascended to the sixth floor.
It was pointless for me just to sit there so I dashed around Queensway on errands.
Jobs done I went back...I nearly said 'home'. Funny how London always makes me think of home. Well not really, after all I did live there for forty years before disowning it in favour of a semi-rural location. Foxes are cool but so are red buses.
She at last made me a cup of tea, whilst I microwaved a Chilli, we talked endlessly, mostly about me.
She was reliving some of my more exciting moment like when I worked at the ice rink and smoked a Gauloise in a Pizza Hut when I went a bit mental. Like when I sold loads of my jewellry and books to an old cow called Mrs Crewe because I was skint. And like when there were three of us.
I nipped this in the bud.
I hadn't travelled for two hours and spent half my housekeeping only to be reminded of the worst summer of my life. Instead I broke her deepness by uttering of a few reassuring words, snippets of wisdom and tales about love.
She was mad keen on the latter.
And so was I.
After chattering like a couple of parrots I left for home, leaving her fridge stocked and her mood brighter.
Home to debate in the House of Commons and an omlette.
She looked other-worldly, ethereal almost, maybe it was the pallor of her skin or just the shot of daylight falling on her..I was to find out soon enough.
She'd had a bad night she said and found herself, just after midnight, sitting on the edge of her bed looking at a shimmering light.
I knew from the way she looked that a few days away with me were looking decidedly unlikely.
And so after several attempts to put on her red coat we sat silently, me wondering what to do and her holding onto a tube of Deep Heat, her hands with papery skin gripping the useless medication. Around her newspapers, browned strawberries and bills.
A bird came to mind. A baby one. Maybe a sparrow whose fallen out of its nest. This bird, clinging to detritus found lying on the ground. Mum's detritus being drugs, toothless combs and demands.
She didn't make tea.
I certainly didn't.
I'd been up since dawn.
Where was my welcome? Where was my cuppa?
My welcome of course was in her eyes, a miserable old trout sometimes but a homeloving trout with sea blue eyes.
I forgave her the insult of not offering me tea.
Instead we talked. Mumbled. Stretching out to each other. Eager to please, eager to re-assure.
Then, after managing to load her into her coat, we went out.
In the lift I knew we weren't going anywhere and as soon as we were half way up the slope, she stopped and winced.
"Come on, let's go back" I said
"You can come another day".
With that out of the way we stood silently in the lift as it ascended to the sixth floor.
It was pointless for me just to sit there so I dashed around Queensway on errands.
Jobs done I went back...I nearly said 'home'. Funny how London always makes me think of home. Well not really, after all I did live there for forty years before disowning it in favour of a semi-rural location. Foxes are cool but so are red buses.
She at last made me a cup of tea, whilst I microwaved a Chilli, we talked endlessly, mostly about me.
She was reliving some of my more exciting moment like when I worked at the ice rink and smoked a Gauloise in a Pizza Hut when I went a bit mental. Like when I sold loads of my jewellry and books to an old cow called Mrs Crewe because I was skint. And like when there were three of us.
I nipped this in the bud.
I hadn't travelled for two hours and spent half my housekeeping only to be reminded of the worst summer of my life. Instead I broke her deepness by uttering of a few reassuring words, snippets of wisdom and tales about love.
She was mad keen on the latter.
And so was I.
After chattering like a couple of parrots I left for home, leaving her fridge stocked and her mood brighter.
Home to debate in the House of Commons and an omlette.
Sunday, 23 October 2011
The claws were out for me at work today and all because of a purple fleece jacket so kindly given to me by the ever ready Kevin.
"Oooooh" said one of the witches "I've been here two years and I ain't got one"
Being somewhat of a drama queen I smiled ignoring her completely... preferring of course to offer up thanks to the stunned Kev.
Anyway off went Kev and I.... with me firmly in the driving seat...
The journey went without much to write about, he taking notes for me and delivering the food, me coasting along in me new coat:)
We clocked back in to the office just after twoish wherein I was handed a whole raft of paperwork mostly to do with 'elf and safety...
"Getting on alright?" asked Spooky Tone
"Yes thank you, getting there" I quipped merrily
Leaving Old Bent Tone stunned by my confidence. What a marvellous actor I am...
After a few bye byes and cheerios I headed home to a raw Steak and Kidney pudding. Getting that boiling was my first concern, the second concern being The X Factor Results.
If that awful Daughter of Satan, Kitty Brucknell goes through again I'll eat my badge...The woman is quite mad, quite ghastly and quite determined to win.
Last night's Factor was fabulous, a real humdinger of a show. Emoted stupidly over young man band, The Risk, me being 55 finding it difficult to be a true Riskette and all, anyway they were cool. Also being good were Little Madam Misha B, a right bitch behind the scenes apparently, and the man who fills me with joy every time he smiles, the campest geezer on the block, Johnny Robinson. Hell, the man can sing, his pipes being lined with silver or something, I adore entertainers who don't take themselves too seriously and have the guts to sling back the arrows oft' aimed at him by Gazza Barlow.
Johnny, I hope, will make it to the last rounds. A true joy to both my eyes and ears.. Love him.
Who else shook me up? Oh yes...Marcus, the Liverpudlian hairdresser, boy oh boy can that lad warble, there doesn't seem to be anything he can't sing, he rocked last night getting the thumbs up from this old rockette!
Don't like Sami.
Belter. But no pizzazz, No danger. No X Factor. Sorry darling.
The girl group aren't bad for a girl group but last night they kind of got lost amongst the dancers, lights and giant plastic cubes. Gave me a headache.
Craig Carlton (think that's his surname) was gooood. Only criticism is that he does the Elvis lip a tad too much. The big lad has some great pipes and owns the stage but there's something of the Tesco Shelf Filler about him.
The little Irish lass made me eat another toffee. Nah, don't dig her much, sings like an angel but I prefer demons.
Who else? The girl no-one remembers, she has a wonderful face, deep sensuous voice but absolutely no charisma. What IS her name?
So tonight I'll be on the edge of my seat waiting to see if the Great British public agree with ME!
"Oooooh" said one of the witches "I've been here two years and I ain't got one"
Being somewhat of a drama queen I smiled ignoring her completely... preferring of course to offer up thanks to the stunned Kev.
Anyway off went Kev and I.... with me firmly in the driving seat...
The journey went without much to write about, he taking notes for me and delivering the food, me coasting along in me new coat:)
We clocked back in to the office just after twoish wherein I was handed a whole raft of paperwork mostly to do with 'elf and safety...
"Getting on alright?" asked Spooky Tone
"Yes thank you, getting there" I quipped merrily
Leaving Old Bent Tone stunned by my confidence. What a marvellous actor I am...
After a few bye byes and cheerios I headed home to a raw Steak and Kidney pudding. Getting that boiling was my first concern, the second concern being The X Factor Results.
If that awful Daughter of Satan, Kitty Brucknell goes through again I'll eat my badge...The woman is quite mad, quite ghastly and quite determined to win.
Last night's Factor was fabulous, a real humdinger of a show. Emoted stupidly over young man band, The Risk, me being 55 finding it difficult to be a true Riskette and all, anyway they were cool. Also being good were Little Madam Misha B, a right bitch behind the scenes apparently, and the man who fills me with joy every time he smiles, the campest geezer on the block, Johnny Robinson. Hell, the man can sing, his pipes being lined with silver or something, I adore entertainers who don't take themselves too seriously and have the guts to sling back the arrows oft' aimed at him by Gazza Barlow.
Johnny, I hope, will make it to the last rounds. A true joy to both my eyes and ears.. Love him.
Who else shook me up? Oh yes...Marcus, the Liverpudlian hairdresser, boy oh boy can that lad warble, there doesn't seem to be anything he can't sing, he rocked last night getting the thumbs up from this old rockette!
Don't like Sami.
Belter. But no pizzazz, No danger. No X Factor. Sorry darling.
The girl group aren't bad for a girl group but last night they kind of got lost amongst the dancers, lights and giant plastic cubes. Gave me a headache.
Craig Carlton (think that's his surname) was gooood. Only criticism is that he does the Elvis lip a tad too much. The big lad has some great pipes and owns the stage but there's something of the Tesco Shelf Filler about him.
The little Irish lass made me eat another toffee. Nah, don't dig her much, sings like an angel but I prefer demons.
Who else? The girl no-one remembers, she has a wonderful face, deep sensuous voice but absolutely no charisma. What IS her name?
So tonight I'll be on the edge of my seat waiting to see if the Great British public agree with ME!
Saturday, 22 October 2011
Entertaining
More rhubarb sweetheart?
Mushroom and Goat's Cheese Tiers
Salmon and Med Veg
Chocolate Pudding with Hazelnuts
The Hilarious Bowl Of CreamWe all had a hoot of a time chatting over our meal (see pics). As usual when feeding anyone I got in a lather, especially when she requested a tad more salt for her spuds. I nearly hid under the table. But all went down a treat.
We started with Mushroom and Goat's Cheese Tiers served with a hot crusty poppy seed loaf.
For mains...Scottish Salmon Fillets baked in foil.
Bearnaise sauce.
Roasted Mediterranean Veg. (Fennel, Peppers, Courgettes, Red Onions and my very own home grown baby toms. This gorgeous medley was coated in olive oil, basil, salt and pepper.
Tiny tiny new potatoes shining with best butter.
And now the best bit. Pudding. I made individual Chocolate Up and Over Puddings using Hazelnuts as the nut content! They turned out both literally and gastronomically very excellent. Not a bit left. Anywhere. Instead of common custard I'd whipped some cream and when I presented it in a huge Brown Bowl, our guest laughed like the good egg she is.
For drinkykins I'd bought a bottle of Elderflower Presse. So had the Lady. Oooops. But being decent sorts we saw the funny side. Hers though was a well wicked master mix which contained...Pomegranate. Laugh.
Yeah so the dinner bit went swimmingly.
Then on to tea in the drawing room and handbag tales...
Much girly squealing could be heard as I threw down upon my sofa tons yeah of bags. One particularly taking her fancy. It was a facsimile of an Edwardian handbag. Red, Beaded, stiff metal handle. Terrific. We did what all girls do when around bags. We held them this way, that way, up in the air, had them banging against our knee caps then that beautiful peace when you hug it. Yum.
By now you can imagine how overly excited I'd become and so in need of my snooze so after a few well aimed yawns, the Divine Miss W. kissed us farewell and dieseled it back to Laindon.
We had a fab night, thank you.
Today has been a bit of a hoot too.
Went to work this a.m. saddled up alongside Kev and delivered all by myself 23 dinners. All the clients were pleased to see me and their nosh, some even taking time to ask questions. Not about Kevin but about the weather, me and baked beans. I did my best to answer then ran back to the kerbside feeling rather chuffed.
One particular client is an ancient Thespian, her walls adorned with old programmes and theatre posters, I slowed down to look and admire and knew if given the chance she'd have tales to tell.
Back to base and a big question from big Kev. I knew it was coming I could tell by the way he looked at me over the gas oven, and so with the waft of cabbage clinging everywhere he popped the question..
"Do you want my Rhubarb?"
OMG. I've had to join the WRVS to eventually find love....
Bless his big heart. I declined. And left the building.
Cooking tonight:
Strips of fried beef and onions in Lettuced up Submarine Rolls served with Sweetcorn, Chips, ketchup and mustard.
Cheerio All....
P.S.
For all you sports fans out there...don't forget to yell for the Kiwis in tomorrow's Rugby World Cup Final.They play France...Boooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
X
Friday, 21 October 2011
Friday My Day
A wonderful day shopping wise....
No problems with traffic, my second home, Sainsburys, had everything I needed for tonight's tea and thirdly I made someone's day!
Not bad for an ordinary day...
So after waffling on here I'll be in my rightful place, the kitchen, where I'll try to make a sumptuous yet simple dinner, quality and colour, texture and taste, and oodles of it.
A starter, main course and pudding which I hope will please my guest. I'll write in detail about it tomorrow.
You know I sometimes dream about kitchens, and in these tiled and wild dreams I'm dressed in a starched white apron creating dishes for both lords and beggars. In this utopia I don't discriminate.
My wooden table is scratched and worn and bleached pale by years of scrubbing and on it lies nothing. What?
The table stands in the middle of the room like an altar on high waiting for the high priestess, who would be me of course, to anoint it with bowls of blue and white china, cutlery sparkling in rays of late afternoon sunlight which not only warms the air but the mood too. Plates some chipped and worn and glasses, some stout some fine stand empty, waiting to be filled, with juice, beer, water or champagne or whatever my lords and stragglers want.
I have to go now....I enjoyed that little piece of prose/poetry, I'd like to expand on it sometime.
:) Google have a new gizmo whereby when you click on a pic the page goes through to a slide show where, if you wish, you can click again for a close up view.
Thursday, 20 October 2011
We end up where we belong...so the song went....on Absolute radio as I approached the A127 on my way back home. It leaves a queer feeling in your head when words from a radio hit you right smack between your eyeballs.
Could be written for me or you I thought as my car and its driver rocketed windswept along, feeling the kiss of an icy wind on our cheeks and the warmth of a bit of rough skin in my hand.
A poet once said something too, she said how alike are the two who whoooooooo. Don't ask the poets name nor the title of her ode but her words danced tall as sunflowers on the A127 home.
And seeing as I am in philosophical mode I'm wondering where I will be in say a year or twos time.
Still here in the quietness of the Essex countryside or will I be torn away to gravel new, somewhere where the buses rumble the floors.
Who knows where you or I will be. My tip is not to think about it nor ponder it for even a moment, cos, if I make plans, God only laughs.
Ok Glo back to planet Bungalow..
I have a zillion things to do, one of them being tonight's tea. Which will Sausage Saxony and mash.
A few exotic mange tout will accompany the homely dish. And as I'm cravinf something sweet I'll probably knock together a simple syrup sponge pudding and custard.
Tomorrow is another busy day for me, Mr H and I have a dinner guest, a vegetarian one at that. But a veggie who likes fish so problem sort of solved, I won't post the menu because she reads my blog! Needless to say I will take care of her and lavish upon my sister-in-law all the love and attention I can.
I have no idea what's happening in the world because I've been to another planet. London. So now after doing this I'll dust off the remote control, make a cup of tea and see who's dead. (My gran's favourite saying)
:)
Could be written for me or you I thought as my car and its driver rocketed windswept along, feeling the kiss of an icy wind on our cheeks and the warmth of a bit of rough skin in my hand.
A poet once said something too, she said how alike are the two who whoooooooo. Don't ask the poets name nor the title of her ode but her words danced tall as sunflowers on the A127 home.
And seeing as I am in philosophical mode I'm wondering where I will be in say a year or twos time.
Still here in the quietness of the Essex countryside or will I be torn away to gravel new, somewhere where the buses rumble the floors.
Who knows where you or I will be. My tip is not to think about it nor ponder it for even a moment, cos, if I make plans, God only laughs.
Ok Glo back to planet Bungalow..
I have a zillion things to do, one of them being tonight's tea. Which will Sausage Saxony and mash.
A few exotic mange tout will accompany the homely dish. And as I'm cravinf something sweet I'll probably knock together a simple syrup sponge pudding and custard.
Tomorrow is another busy day for me, Mr H and I have a dinner guest, a vegetarian one at that. But a veggie who likes fish so problem sort of solved, I won't post the menu because she reads my blog! Needless to say I will take care of her and lavish upon my sister-in-law all the love and attention I can.
I have no idea what's happening in the world because I've been to another planet. London. So now after doing this I'll dust off the remote control, make a cup of tea and see who's dead. (My gran's favourite saying)
:)
Monday, 17 October 2011
Update on the update....
With so much on my mind I'm forgetting my manners!
And my audience!
I know how much you all love to know what I'm up to in the kitchen so for tonight I'm making a Chicken Pie. Using left over roast chicken, a little milk gravy and lots of chopped onions and a mad dash of Worcestershire sauce. Baked for a while then served with potatoes and spicy baked beans.
I've just finished making an Apple pie for mum and will shortly be putting together a Dutch Apple Flan which should see us through the week. Also on the foodie horizon Steak and Kidney pudding...Sunday probably.
I didn't grab some shut-eye this afternoon so I'm feeling a little soppy. Hope it doesn't manifest itself in me dinners;)
Anyway I must fly once again...Need to mount the ironing board!
With so much on my mind I'm forgetting my manners!
And my audience!
I know how much you all love to know what I'm up to in the kitchen so for tonight I'm making a Chicken Pie. Using left over roast chicken, a little milk gravy and lots of chopped onions and a mad dash of Worcestershire sauce. Baked for a while then served with potatoes and spicy baked beans.
I've just finished making an Apple pie for mum and will shortly be putting together a Dutch Apple Flan which should see us through the week. Also on the foodie horizon Steak and Kidney pudding...Sunday probably.
I didn't grab some shut-eye this afternoon so I'm feeling a little soppy. Hope it doesn't manifest itself in me dinners;)
Anyway I must fly once again...Need to mount the ironing board!
My new shoes are this colour.
After banana on toast and replying to emails I popped to shops.
Wherein I bagged...
Steak with reduced sticker.
Steak and Kidney mix with reduced sticker.
Bag of Mange Tout with.....yes... another reduced sticker.
Then up the aisle for apple juice, oxtail soup and, for mother, three cartons of ready made Hartley's jelly. Lazy or what?
After a bit o' banter with cashier George I dropped the goodies in the boot then ran to the charity shop around the corner.
The charity shop next to the tattoo shop was busy, for a Monday, mostly old dears in macs handling clothes for the grandchildren and ornamental ducks for the mantel. I slipped in unnoticed heading straight to the shoes...Tee hee...Ye Ha! What a find....A pair of Bailey's Cream coloured Diva shoes. All straps, killer heels and zips....Nearly lost my mind imagining where and when I'd wear them. Slipped into them by the soft furnishings basket then paraded up and down brushing against saucepan handles and men's trousers. They felt wicked. I unzipped them kicked them off cuddled them close to my chest, had a quick flick around the bric-a-brac..grabbing a Green and Red wooden cat and nice homely Pyrex dish.
I paid up and skipped out.
Sun washed sky.
And home to an egg.
Doesn't take much to make me happy:)
I loved watching The X Factor.
And I knew Misha B would sail through alongside Janet, Rythmix and Johnny. I was totally sickened by the British publics decision to allow the ghastly Kitty to have another go. Stupid Brits. I can barely look at that woman, she emanates evil. Must be her eyebrows. Arched and bleached. A real daughter of Satan. Her wig was naff too.
And when Frankie Cocozza and Nu Vibe had to sing to stay in the comp I knew who would be saved..F.C.The boy reminds me of Max Wall. Big hair and thin legs. His voice is weak but I'm guessing the judges dig him because of the girly interest.
Nu Vibe weren't Nu they were just five blokes clasping their crotches. So boring. So yoof.
Johnny got through I hope not because he's the comp's character but because he can sing. And how. Would like to hear him sing something sweet and dirty. Preferably wearing a suit. Can't have a man of his talent dressed like Aladdin.
Enough of this.
Now I must fly.
And I knew Misha B would sail through alongside Janet, Rythmix and Johnny. I was totally sickened by the British publics decision to allow the ghastly Kitty to have another go. Stupid Brits. I can barely look at that woman, she emanates evil. Must be her eyebrows. Arched and bleached. A real daughter of Satan. Her wig was naff too.
And when Frankie Cocozza and Nu Vibe had to sing to stay in the comp I knew who would be saved..F.C.The boy reminds me of Max Wall. Big hair and thin legs. His voice is weak but I'm guessing the judges dig him because of the girly interest.
Nu Vibe weren't Nu they were just five blokes clasping their crotches. So boring. So yoof.
Johnny got through I hope not because he's the comp's character but because he can sing. And how. Would like to hear him sing something sweet and dirty. Preferably wearing a suit. Can't have a man of his talent dressed like Aladdin.
Enough of this.
Now I must fly.
Sunday, 16 October 2011
Hello dear..who won the rugby?
Said the Ernie Wise lookalike...
Before I put down his sliced turkey and apricot crumble I said....The Kiwis...20 - 6.
Thank you dear...
I left feeling sad but happy. Here was this small elderly lonely man in a bright blue jumper and grey stained trousers standing in a mess of a room wondering not about his lunch but about the rugby. Kind of made me feel hopeful for all mankind because living alone amongst bad/sad ornaments and even worse smells, hadn't killed off his interests.
I have to admit to feeling a bit lost in and around the environs of Leigh on Sea but with a nice laminated map and bag of mint humbugs I should, when on my own, get along alright.
The route, by the way is massive with more than twenty three houses to call upon, and all with inadequate parking of course but I'm not a giver-upper so I'll continue to park on verges.
The time thing is a concern though, because the meals need to be checked for heatness every few houses and this of course holds one up, but I have a good thermometer and anti-bacterial wipes so that's nice. Gloves. White and woolly are the order of the day. One kiss from them containers and you've got yourself a decent blister. What else....The Car. The car so small it looks like a likkle bootie. So excellent though for getting out of tight spots and so funny with me in the driving seat with the window wound down giving thumbs up to white van man for letting the little lady out:)
Talking of Men...
Kevin tries to be funny and informative but his limited vocabulary and lack of creativity makes for a boring journey, I know he means well but I wish he'd be more professional and optimistic, I really don't need to be told that I'm making a couple of errors. I know that mate...And words my dear Kev, wound. Especially one so sensitive as I. So shut up will ya?
Having lambasted him I don't suppose I can expect much from a single man whose a bit deaf in his right ear (was a train driver) and whose Mother has cancer. He did though, after today's run out, show a softer side by giving me a taste of an 'unwanted' apple crumble and custard. "Here" he said with the merest hint of a smile "Here have a spoonful of this". And so as I stood outside the sunlit W.R.V.S office the baggy faced giant fed me.
Anyway the past two days have had me sweating, laughing about heated containers, and getting to know other worthy sorts. They come in all shapes and sizes but only one colour, at this juncture I must mention Carol the Re-Heater...A more miserable sour faced woman I've yet to see.
She defrosts the dinners and puds and heats them up in giant ovens ready to be boxed and delivered. She is NOT my idea of a cheery kitchen person, not a smile or hello or even an expletive as another faggot gets scorched. No, a real non-kitchen person.
The place is teeming with bigger ladies and they all seem alright to me, lots of gold, chat and belly laughs. Yes, defo my type:)
I don't know whether I'll stay but this weekend has been ok...How I'll fare in the coming weeks is unknown, probably get in a tizz and run away, but until then I'll enjoy the ride and custard.
Before I put down his sliced turkey and apricot crumble I said....The Kiwis...20 - 6.
Thank you dear...
I left feeling sad but happy. Here was this small elderly lonely man in a bright blue jumper and grey stained trousers standing in a mess of a room wondering not about his lunch but about the rugby. Kind of made me feel hopeful for all mankind because living alone amongst bad/sad ornaments and even worse smells, hadn't killed off his interests.
I have to admit to feeling a bit lost in and around the environs of Leigh on Sea but with a nice laminated map and bag of mint humbugs I should, when on my own, get along alright.
The route, by the way is massive with more than twenty three houses to call upon, and all with inadequate parking of course but I'm not a giver-upper so I'll continue to park on verges.
The time thing is a concern though, because the meals need to be checked for heatness every few houses and this of course holds one up, but I have a good thermometer and anti-bacterial wipes so that's nice. Gloves. White and woolly are the order of the day. One kiss from them containers and you've got yourself a decent blister. What else....The Car. The car so small it looks like a likkle bootie. So excellent though for getting out of tight spots and so funny with me in the driving seat with the window wound down giving thumbs up to white van man for letting the little lady out:)
Talking of Men...
Kevin tries to be funny and informative but his limited vocabulary and lack of creativity makes for a boring journey, I know he means well but I wish he'd be more professional and optimistic, I really don't need to be told that I'm making a couple of errors. I know that mate...And words my dear Kev, wound. Especially one so sensitive as I. So shut up will ya?
Having lambasted him I don't suppose I can expect much from a single man whose a bit deaf in his right ear (was a train driver) and whose Mother has cancer. He did though, after today's run out, show a softer side by giving me a taste of an 'unwanted' apple crumble and custard. "Here" he said with the merest hint of a smile "Here have a spoonful of this". And so as I stood outside the sunlit W.R.V.S office the baggy faced giant fed me.
Anyway the past two days have had me sweating, laughing about heated containers, and getting to know other worthy sorts. They come in all shapes and sizes but only one colour, at this juncture I must mention Carol the Re-Heater...A more miserable sour faced woman I've yet to see.
She defrosts the dinners and puds and heats them up in giant ovens ready to be boxed and delivered. She is NOT my idea of a cheery kitchen person, not a smile or hello or even an expletive as another faggot gets scorched. No, a real non-kitchen person.
The place is teeming with bigger ladies and they all seem alright to me, lots of gold, chat and belly laughs. Yes, defo my type:)
I don't know whether I'll stay but this weekend has been ok...How I'll fare in the coming weeks is unknown, probably get in a tizz and run away, but until then I'll enjoy the ride and custard.
Friday, 14 October 2011
Cold Sponge Dear?
Yo! Angies Here! Bring Out The Branston!
I've only gone and got meself a job.
And not a stoopid one either.
I will, from tommorow, be on the payroll of the W.R.V.S as a Driver!
There be I donned in a snazzy uniform of royal purple sweat shirt, black trousers and coloured badge. (hat optional). I'll be driving a Smart Car round the mean streets of Leigh-On-Sea delivering hot meals to older people who are either housebound or just really old. I won't be on my own for the first couple of weeks, I'll be accompanying Kevin, a long-term driver.
The thought of scooting around the seaside with twenty eight treacle sponges and twenty eight cottage pies in the boot fills me with both trepidation and excitement.
Old people need food I suppose so I'll do my very best to deliver.
Back story...
An acquaintance of mine told me about the vacancy and in a daze of too much cake and little sleep I applied and bagged it. Not easily though. I had to sit through two interviews, be trawled through police computers and get two referees to vouch for me. That bit was easy. the interviews however were more complex and draining. Brenda, the chief, asked me lots and lots and lots of questions then said she liked me...Adding that providing the refs are ok I'd almost certainly be a player.
So bless your heart Parkin and kind of bless your heart Henry...Yes, you heard right...bloody Henry the man with breathing difficulties and mental malfunctions he too gave me a glowing reference. Will cost you though darling he said... so have been invited to his castle to see his renovations.
Have already put him off, the thought of hearing his booming vocals again gives me the pip, I was supposed to visit the old duffer today but fortunately I had other pressing arrangements.
Where was I?
Oh yes..dealing with old people.
Tomorrow Kevin will show me the ropes. i.e. how to test car lights are working, checking the oil, reading a list of names and memorizing how to get to places by the seaside.
If I muck up tomorrow I'll have another go Sunday... when Kevin's car will be loaded with roast beef...What a hoot:)
Sunday, 9 October 2011
Jo...A Winner in Every Way
Nothing stopped me watching the final of The Great British Bake Off...
And as I watched I knew that Jo, the lovely Jo, would be crowned Winner. And so after making a Sacher, Mille Feuille and selection of dainty cakes with a British Summer Theme the Essex mother and wife WON.
I am ecstatically happy for her.
In previous rounds she was always gracious when getting a gentle telling-off from Paul or Mary for making slight errors and came across as genuinely humble, not once did I see a sneer or cocky attitude (that was Holly's area of expertise). Jo messed up, that's for sure, but she kept cool, coming right at just the right time. Her competition winning array of dainty cakes made me fill up, so simple, so English and, according to the judges... Tasted Divine. And that is what it's all about.
Holly sometimes slaughtered Jo on the tech front but like Mary Berry said, it's all about Taste. And so Jo won.
I would love to have her as a friend.
As for me and my baking...
In the oven as I write is a Yorkshire Tea Bread, thick with fruit and candied peel and lush with brown sugar. This stalwart is always in Mr H.'s munchbox and has been known to be toasted and buttered and spread with apricot jam. Keeps well and fills the heart with cheery safety.
Also being baked is another old mate. Dutch Apple Flan made with Greek yoghurt and apples. So easy on the eye, palate and purse. Served with ice cream makes a light guilt free indulgence:)
So that's my Baking for this Sunday morning...
Being roasted for lunch is a small chicken and for afters, rice pudding made with full fat milk.... low fat milk is anathema... if inside a rice pudding.
I'll probably top it with a madness of blackcurrant jam.
You know...I think amateur cooks like me have quite a lot of fun in the kitchen and if, on those rare occasions the apple pie goes pear shape, it's not a disaster...
(wanna bet;)
Now I go kitchenwards....................
Saturday, 8 October 2011
Tonight's X Factor
Shiny Happy Person
Johnny Robinson
l to r...Janet, Sophie, Kelly Rowland (judge) Amelia, Misha
Johnny Robinson....45 year old living in a bedsitter. So camp, so utterly likeable and with a greatish voice. Camp? Oh yes that's why I giggle with him. Johnny is a 'performer' of the highest pinkest order but without the sound of clicking fingers which say "Aren't I wonderful?"... so will probably be knocked out fairly soon.
Unlike....
Kitty. Reputedly 26. Who has the strangest face I've seen in a very long time. She looks like a drag act...Anyway tonight she poked the air with her purple talons whilst looking at the ceiling with overly made up, sequinned, quite rotten eyes. You either love her ways or loathe them, I loathe them. As far as her voice goes, yes she warbles well but there's little soul, more just muscle and paint. I expect she'll go a long way, not because she's the best singer but because she's the type of act shows like this pray for, indeed bank on, she's a 'character'....
Sorry everyone I can't remember the names of any of the others, my evening you see was interrupted. But the girl group from Essex, Two Shoes or sumfink were so wonderfully bad they'll be opening supermarkets for the next five years. Tanned to death and lovers of cuisine these two babes would raise a laugh at Stag Do's. Bless.
Someone else who caught my eye was a youngish lad from Liverpool, a hairdresser by trade, who did a fab turn reminiscent of a young Sammy Davis Jnr. Glossy smile, smooth and light on his feet. I liked him.
The last group to perform, 4 boys, with one wearing braces. Yum. They were the slickest of the groups, very together which in itself is not remarkable but when you consider it was the their first time performing together..they gave an incredible performance. They'll go far. What WAS their name. Can't check ITV.com because it's down.
The little Irish girl, Janet Devlin looks even more elfin like now the telly people have got their hands on her. She's gone from honey blonde to auburn sunset and in so doing has upped her rating in my book. A pretty thing with oodles of talent but defo not my cup of teao. I prefer....
Sophie Habibas, pub worker who delivered her song sitting on top of a piano. No arm waving or excessive cleavage just mesmerizing vocals from a very beautiful girl.
Frankie Cocozza. The 21st century's Artful Dodger. Too flippy floppy for me, too lopsided a performance, still he's not out for the old girls vote it's the teenyboppers (!) he's opening to ensnare. A huge amount of glossy brown hair making him look like a bloody girl. Voice good, quirky and recordable. A money maker if ever I saw one.
Amelia Lilly. 16 going on 45. Took on a Michael Jackson song..'Beat It'. (I think) Way too huge for her but she rocked it. An interesting face, flattish but with loads of character, a woman in the making...I liked her and I'd like to see her beat up Kitty in the later rounds. Cross fingers darling.
JonJo the soldier. Bless. Lots of sexy looks to camera, winks being obviously big in the army. An incredibly hot suit in mauve, a bit shiny but that was ok because he could carry it. Great fit bod. But....Too nice and normal for The X Factor asylum.
Others were groups, a big girl with an even bigger voice, some other fellas and someone else. All in all a very fair Live edition of this moreish addictive programme.
Judges were good especially Mr Barlow. I feel Ms Rowland is overdoing the American thing, when unsure what to say just fill the air with inane Americanisms...Honey...
Anchor man Dermot twirled as usual so for a couple of hours I was smiling...
Tomorrow night it's results night where those heartless judges have to kick off one of their very own acts. Should be worth a toffee or two;)
Now I must tip toe to bed with my olde walkman...
The Bloody French
The English x
Woken by Monty nutting me.
Hot sweet tea in my jim jams (Ok Digger my syntax is getting worserer and woserer)
Viewing Boris Johnson's Conference Speech. Viewing Boris Johnsnon's and Jezza Paxman's Newsnight head-to-head over the garden gate. (Watch out Dave....)
Then over to ITV1 for insight into England v. The Bloody French. Only watching it because I like gazing at Laurence Dallaglio's head. Pundits don't come heavier. Yum. Hope for a sensational thrashing of the old enemy.
Now I must say Au Revoir or Ta Ta.....Hairy Blokes on Pitch NOW>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Friday, 7 October 2011
Early Thoughts, Bad Syntax, God I was up at 4:30
Ok.
England v. Montenegro. Abroad. Tonight 20:00
Sky have it.
So being Skyless I'll listen to it on the radio. Whilst eating Chilli. Surely a case for indigestion? No I eat slow, especially when bent over a radio.
I'm wondering if Rooney will behave. Worrying about Bad Dads can sometimes affect a kid's behaviour.
At any rate, as usual, I'll metaphorically be on the pitch, with the lads, sliding and diving...doing the Dance of Fear...
We only need a point. A draw would suffice. But being seen playing like a bunch of cowardly custards will do major damage to our standing John.
If the Boys from Montenegro humiliate us by scoring/playing well I'll never be the same fan/woman again. I mean, come on, Montenegro.
In other news...
Up since before the cock crowed...London here I come. Again. In my bag...Furniture polish, Kalanchoe (plant), muffins and elastic.
Now I must fly I have stuff to do...before the train ride, before the mother/daughter chattering and before My England plays...
Wish it night time....
Thursday, 6 October 2011
I Say...
What a Day...
There was I engulfed in domesticity when suddenly the doorbell rang.
And there, standing on my doorstep, the Lady from Interflora.
In her hands a large Autumnal bouquet.
Blooms in red, coral, peach and orange jutting their grand faces out of the fresh dark green foliage.... As if saying Hello...
Big sigh. And welcome. The tall elegant glass vase now stands simply, elegantly on my mantelpiece.
And it's not even midday...
Wednesday, 5 October 2011
Yesterday was very tiring, nay exhausting.
Mum bedded down in the afternoon, something she never does, I was relieved because I could go into the kitchen and day dream about sex /romance whilst stirring my mince.
Best of both worlds.
The evening passed slowly but without trauma, she sloping on the armchair offering up words of advice regarding how not to waste time. Me, on the edge of the sofa grasping at anything which might give succour. Cat, tea, you know what I mean.
Okey dokey....
What I hope for, later this morning, is an event-free trip to London, no sick-ups please dear on either train or bus.
Then back home I'll come to a very nausea-inducing late night dinner. God I hate eating after 9pm.
But then a quick facial scrub and bed... for a painless mumless night.
I missed The Great British Bake-Off last night so don't anyone dare tell me what happened! Will watch at my leisure sometime in the future:)
Now I must fly.
Mum bedded down in the afternoon, something she never does, I was relieved because I could go into the kitchen and day dream about sex /romance whilst stirring my mince.
Best of both worlds.
The evening passed slowly but without trauma, she sloping on the armchair offering up words of advice regarding how not to waste time. Me, on the edge of the sofa grasping at anything which might give succour. Cat, tea, you know what I mean.
Okey dokey....
What I hope for, later this morning, is an event-free trip to London, no sick-ups please dear on either train or bus.
Then back home I'll come to a very nausea-inducing late night dinner. God I hate eating after 9pm.
But then a quick facial scrub and bed... for a painless mumless night.
I missed The Great British Bake-Off last night so don't anyone dare tell me what happened! Will watch at my leisure sometime in the future:)
Now I must fly.
Tuesday, 4 October 2011
I popped out for essentials whilst Mum held the fort.
On my return I found her knee-deep in Sky News and Scattered Cat Biscuits, as for me my shoulder was hanging out of its socket on account of carrying:
1. Large pack of minced steak...For the Cobbler I'm making tonight... nothing better beats the Tiny- daughter-looking-after-the-disappearing Mother blues.
Will tart up the old fav with sprouts. Probably.
2. 2 Bottles of Coke....for Mother's insatiable appetite for cool drinks.... She likes it loaded yeah with packed ice and a straw. How one old girl can down so many pints is beyond me.
3. Lemony bleach...for me, really need to get out more. I go from lemon to pine then over to lavender but always return to my true lavatorial cleaner Love...lemon. Something about the sharpness I suppose. A feeling of utter satisfaction...Fulfilment comes in many forms... and no amount of clip-on blocks in stroppy magnolia or namby-pamby freesia quite cuts the mustard as what lemon does:)
4. Daily Mail Daily Mirror...Con/Lab fusion of the sickliest order. This unlikely duo is for her afternoon reading. Methinks her schizophrenic reading tendencies go back a long way, her dad you see was a socialist, her mummy however had blue hair and loved hanging.
What else?
I bought a policewoman's cap.
Monday, 3 October 2011
I Had This Cabbie Today
Who, after executing a very tasty u-turn down by the Old Bailey, ranted on most eloquently about the Olympics.
How he went on.
His little flushed face getting redder and redder as he cursed all the 'stuffed shirts' sitting in the Palace of Westminster saying aye to this and nay to that. My God his tongue nearly came off its hinges.
And so as he dodged through the atrocious traffic, Mother and I nodded trying to take ourselves out of the arena... He was a love though. And he meant well. A typical London cabbie. White with opinions and hairs coming out of ears.
"Where you bin? he asked looking at me in his rear view mirror.
'Oh no' I thought, 'we're going to have a question and answer session here in this cab and me with the doddery old girl in a mac'....I decided to go with his flow and enjoy the in-cab entertainer.
"We were shoved orf a number 23" I said
"YOU WHAT?" cabman yelled "THOUGH CAN'T SAY I'M SURPRISED, WHAT WITH ALL THE BLOODY PRE-OLYMPIC PREENING AND TARRING, MAKING A RIGHT COCK-UP OF OUR ROADS THEY ARE AND ALL BECAUSE OF THESE BLOODY GAMES. WHERE YOU OFF TO FROM LIVERPOOL STREET THEN?
Oh my giddy aunt..was this man ever going to stop?
With a weak sigh I replied..."Southend, sort off, nearby Southend"
And off he jolly well went with his history of how many times he's visited the lovely old place and what a nightmare the new road lay out is around Southend Vic station....
I clocked the clock and the money was shooting up...
"Soon be there I said to the little lady opposite"
"He;s a nosey old sod" mum said scowling out of the window.
"He better not be taking us around the houses"......................(Christ...Chattering Cabbie and Mental Mother...)
If I didn't remove myself from this blasted cab soon someone was going to get a pasting..
We arrived and like the true little gent he really was, Cabbie Man jumped out to help Mum and me with our bags.
I thanked him for helping and for his views, then handed over the entire contents of my plastic purse whilst dragging the old girl away.
Meanwhile Cab man pocketted MY money then twisted his vehicle around like a true professional heading off in search of another audience.
I liked him:)
We arrived back at the bungalow hot and with ear- ache but so delighted were we that we celebrated our survival with fish and chips...................... and silence...:)
How he went on.
His little flushed face getting redder and redder as he cursed all the 'stuffed shirts' sitting in the Palace of Westminster saying aye to this and nay to that. My God his tongue nearly came off its hinges.
And so as he dodged through the atrocious traffic, Mother and I nodded trying to take ourselves out of the arena... He was a love though. And he meant well. A typical London cabbie. White with opinions and hairs coming out of ears.
"Where you bin? he asked looking at me in his rear view mirror.
'Oh no' I thought, 'we're going to have a question and answer session here in this cab and me with the doddery old girl in a mac'....I decided to go with his flow and enjoy the in-cab entertainer.
"We were shoved orf a number 23" I said
"YOU WHAT?" cabman yelled "THOUGH CAN'T SAY I'M SURPRISED, WHAT WITH ALL THE BLOODY PRE-OLYMPIC PREENING AND TARRING, MAKING A RIGHT COCK-UP OF OUR ROADS THEY ARE AND ALL BECAUSE OF THESE BLOODY GAMES. WHERE YOU OFF TO FROM LIVERPOOL STREET THEN?
Oh my giddy aunt..was this man ever going to stop?
With a weak sigh I replied..."Southend, sort off, nearby Southend"
And off he jolly well went with his history of how many times he's visited the lovely old place and what a nightmare the new road lay out is around Southend Vic station....
I clocked the clock and the money was shooting up...
"Soon be there I said to the little lady opposite"
"He;s a nosey old sod" mum said scowling out of the window.
"He better not be taking us around the houses"......................(Christ...Chattering Cabbie and Mental Mother...)
If I didn't remove myself from this blasted cab soon someone was going to get a pasting..
We arrived and like the true little gent he really was, Cabbie Man jumped out to help Mum and me with our bags.
I thanked him for helping and for his views, then handed over the entire contents of my plastic purse whilst dragging the old girl away.
Meanwhile Cab man pocketted MY money then twisted his vehicle around like a true professional heading off in search of another audience.
I liked him:)
We arrived back at the bungalow hot and with ear- ache but so delighted were we that we celebrated our survival with fish and chips...................... and silence...:)
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