The Day Itself was patchy.
Mum crying... myself and Mr H keeping our heads down. So not the best way to spend the fun day.
Our beef dinner would have tasted better if there'd been three of us sitting at the old table but mum broke her promise to join us preferring instead her own plate of food and her own company.
This was NOT what Christmas Day is about.
But as usual there wasn't anything I could do to shift her from her large electric chair or put a even a half smile upon her face.
Boxing Day however was better.
Mr H driving into work on account of not a single train running out of Southend, he didn't relish the prospect but the man did well, arriving promptly at work at 8 a.m. and returning to myself, mum and a very excited Mr Hairy Suit before 5 p.m. and me with me Yorkshire puddings still unmade.

The night was fine. Mother kept her own counsel, Excellent boiled bacon followed by slices of  Sitcky Toffee Cake and chilled double cream....
I had a sip of ginger wine, the men preferring softer tipples, mother as usual hanging on to her pink drink from Sainsbury's.

I haven't written about presents!
I got loads.

Today saw Mr Hairy and myself driving in the rain trying to find a shop open that sold Calor Gas, after a little while I told the ever so patient Hairy that I was fed up with looking for gas and that I was going home gasless. On the way back we stopped orf for milk and papers. Spa Road was empty, only life was the black and dust of speeding cars. God how I loathe pig ignorant drivers.

Mother was unimpressed by the lack of Calor but I didn't respond instead hiding in my kitchen till the redness in her cheeks had mellowed.
Talking of mellow... A tall fascinating man from the DWP visited us early this morning informing mother of her right to extra cash.
And as the gentle soul asked mother the same questions she's been asked a hundred times before I noticed how like Jesus Christ he was.
Very long oily dark brown hair, an even longer wispy cobwebby beard, dark brown hooded eyes and a fantastic rings and bells and gizmos watch. God, he wasn't what I'd expected. Sandals even protected His feet.
But he did what needed doing and after getting a signature he left.

I'm making a Bolognaise for tea. And will if I can, resist being forced into another heart breaking conference with mother regarding her imminent departure for London. I love the old bean but she's a twit if she thinks she'll cope on her own, with her bad legs, one good eye, two clogged up ears and three types of cancer.
And more to the point I don't want to be brought to court on a charge of Neglect.
No m'dear love ya to bits but you're living and dying here.



:)

.......There's a big fruit cake on the dresser, made last night, wrapped in foil.
More baking being done this afternoon, some of it a little fancy, all of it made with copious amounts of love.

But before I get me bowls out I have to take Mother out. Yes OUT. Never in the history of all my Christmaseses have I ever gorn out on the Eve. But how can I deny mumsie one last bump and grind around the blasted Co-Op.

If I have time I'll eat.


Merry Christmas ALL

X


:)

,,paddled my way around the blasted Co-Op to pick up last minute baking essentials. ( had an idea when eating breakfast in McDonalds) so armed with a few last quid filled the basket with sweet and savoury ingredients.

Breakfast for me is usually porridge but had been invited by Mr Hairy and young Master Hairy to partake in a sausage and egg McMuffin at 9 a.m. so drove like the clappers with windscreen wipers doing a merry dance to an early morning brekkie date.

On arrival Master Hairy was already tucking in, whereas Mr Hairy's McThing looked kinda sad. Only half eaten and falling out of its wrapper. My arrival soon changed that. Master Hairy's smile lit up the burger place while Mr Hairy rapidly swallowed off his limp sausage then set about ordering my early morning nibble.

Gotta say it, nothing quite lifts the heart than good food with mates. I delighted in Master Hairy's company, he's a boy of outstanding charm and possibilities and when waiting inline for his second breakfast of the day I couldn't help but begin to love him.

We didn't sit glumly as the rain thrashed the panes instead we joshed about our middle names, Father Christmas, Jack and The Beanstalk and presents. The years dropped orf. Suddenly I was 10 again. Goofing. Larking with bottles of milk and generally having the time of my life.
So thanks Mr and Master Hairy for a wonderful free and breezy morning.

Then to the Co-Op and that's where I came in... I'm doing a lot of cooking over the next few days and being a cook I never know when to stop. So what started out as a few bits has turned into a sack full of bobs!

Okey Dokey..Now I must get on. It's Saturday and I've a few things to attend to. First orf...bread making, then more yeasted dough for tonight's pizza.
A pudding will be useful because pizza, however large, don't always fill a cavernous tummy:)

..........Been a good day with mum. No swearing, or 'looks', no crying or many requests, just a quiet friendly at-ease day with a great girl/friend/mother. Really.

Joan loved the bread I made for her. Told me she'd fill her sandwich with cheese and onion and that her husband loves my cakes and that she's so worried about Debbie her daughter who is very ill... The middle of a shop is not the place for giving advice so I didn't. I just nodded as she looked deeply into my eyes and I wondered if she wanted to cry.

This afternoon saw me feeding Mr Hairy a simple sandwich then after the briefest of visits he left and I got on with making a Beef Madras.
I bought a pink roll neck jumper today and sparkling pink stoned bracelet, the two go well together.

Had a chat with the lady in the chemist as I waited for a prescription. Asked about mum and then went on to tell me about her 92 year old mum who has Parkinsons.

I've put a large bespectacled father Christmas in a bush near the door.

I must say goodnight now as I want to read another two chapters of Stephen King's 'The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon'. before I drift orf.

Goodnight All

More Upheaval.

......I'm ready to go to Sainsburys but first we wait a visit from the district nurse.

They're good eggs, the nurses, some easier to talk with than others but overall ok.
I'm wondering what London district Nurses are like... will they be as jolly as Sandra or as cool as Lynn we'll find out...

Mum cried this morning.
Her shrunken face red, her eyes mauve ringed, her mood, desperate.
She wants to go home.
No doubt.
In the past she's seen sense realizing that being home alone wouldn't be wise. But this time, this morning, sense was trampled and love for her home and the life she had in it with dad, won out.
Therefore I told her that after Christmas I'd somehow get her home.

A talk with her London GP is first on the list then, if she's still adamant about dying in the Smoke, I'll set about refreshing her rooms and sorting out home visits from various agencies.

I knew this was coming.

So m'dears, along with a visit from a bod from the DWP next week it looks as if the start of the new year will be interesting.


I'll be frying some steak today, always try to cook something special when Mr H has a day orf.
Also on the agenda, baking a fruit cake for charity shop Joan and a big Farmhouse loaf for us. Which reminds me Hairy Suit bought me a 4lb loaf tin. It's such a whopping beauty that I've put in on the windowsill.

Now I must fly:)

Our Christmas

The lights on the tree....Grapes sized diamonds hanging on thick sage green
Ginger Wine on a doily. A curvaceous decanter waiting to be handled
Fat stocky red cinnamon scented candle impaled on matte black spike. Its scent soporific.
A tall orange oil lamp waiting for a new wick.
Church like candle, vanilla in flavour, lit high looking down from its over ornamented holder.
A round apple green cloth box home to a handful of toffees.
A shopping list in my bag. Nothing ridiculous or fancy. More a case of simple food got glorious. Beef for the big day for example.
Two small wooden trays holding five soft and smooth toy cats. Their home; the top of plastic coals on my broken electric fire.
Father Christmas in the shrubs. Held in place by withering scratchy branches.
Last year's plastic wreath leaning against the wall underneath the outside light. Steady on account of a noisy solar powered blue tit pressed up against it.
Mounting excitement at the thought of Buche de Noel on Christmas Day. Unadorned, no plastic holly, only a dusting of cocoa.
Hidden presents.


Today has been relaxing.
I did my list with Hairy by my side and Mother asleep in her electric chair..
Faggots for tea.


Now bed.
Tired but content.

....................A chilly but friendly stroll around the top end of the High Street made me happier and more determined than ever to make this Christmas a good one.
We drifted into Oxfam where a bird-like lady enthused as mum laid her five murder novels on the counter.
"Ooooh dear" said Bird woman "Someone likes crime"
Mum did her imperious thing by saying nought.
£8 on paperbacks then off to the other shop, the Cancer Relief shop in the untidy down at heel part of Southchurch Road.
Inside though a very clean and happy place. A cream jumper for mum and a fringed tan brown suede skirt for me. A steal at £4.50 for two. We hit our way out nearly bringing down a rail of menswear.


I was parched so was Mother so I suggested/asked if a sit down with mug of tea might just be the ticket. She agreed so into the Franklin cafe where three elderly life worn male patrons sat hugging their mugs whilst thumbing well used papers.
"Sorry love" said elderly patron 1
I'd brushed his chair as I attempted to manoeuvre mother in between his wooden chair and deeply sunk brown leather two seater sofa. Why do British people apologise so readily. He was blameless it was me whose steering was awful. But we got there eventually and with mum and Mr H in place I ordered two teas please and one sugarless coffee. Ta.
(The girl who served me needed a comb through her hair but her life situation was unknown to me so I tried not to judge.
The tea was really good. Very hot and generous in size.

On our way out I did a few quick soulful dance moves to Hey Ya! which was bellowing beautifully from the on counter radio.
"Look, she's dancing " said uncombed girl to stiff red haired mangeress
I loved it, letting go, doing something mad till mother blew away my starstudded bit of fun by snapping
 "Let's get out of here"
Good God dear mother, don't you ever want to boogie?

It had got windy so I draped Mother's fur scarf even more tightly around her head and neck and walked away in the direction of Boots the chemist and Smiths the bookshop.

Boots was sardined with shoppers and so I was glad Mr H had taken on the responsibility of driving mum around the top floor of the bookshop so as I could have a few minutes to myself looking for a red lipstick. I think red lipstick is fab. It's Hollywood, it's a kiss me quick message, it's womanly and painted onto my generous lips it simply says Enter.
Anyway.........I checked and tested then checked and tested again, so much testing infact that my left wrist was awash in various shades of red. I finally plumped for Rimmel's Rose Passion ans Maybelline's Red Passion. The latter, according to the box lasts twenty four hours. Hmmmm...We'll see how it fairs after my lips have dealt with a plate of chicken fried rice.

 After paying up I went to Smiths where I found Mr H and mum hugging/ staggering with armfuls of books and papers. I laughed then went walkabout to see if I could find anything for my friends.
Ten minutes later and several pounds lighter we departed and came home.

It was a good simple day. 
No big money spent, a nice friendly cuppa in a warm steamy cafe and a remarkable mother insistent on living life fully till life exists no more.

:)

Took Mother and Mr Hairy out this morning. We all tootled along the busy shop aisles picking up cinnamon and gingerbread scented candles, clear fairy lights, gas lighter and other low in price yet priceless festive knick-knacks. We had a ball.


Then into see Joan who, despite worrying about her very ill daughter managed to do the double entendre thing with me. My...fluffy balls, metal belts and velvet peep o dresses giving her plenty of material....

We hugged then she left 'cos a taxi was waiting to take her to Tescoes, God I love Joan.


Bought today an Ambrose Bierce anthology, Read some too whilst eating blue cheese. Put fairy lights on tree.

Today In Briefs.

~ In Sainsburys motorized chair got hooked on cardboard box selling  reduced socks. No major damage. Just sniggles from me. Would love to have brought it down...Who me?

~ Pork joint chosen after serious consideration. Could have gone down the beef route but fancied some crackling tonight...

~ The price of rhubarb is horrendous so plumped for a few Bramleys. Will make a cake and apple dumplings. Dumplings dumplings dumplings. Either firm wrapped around an apple or squashy sitting on top of a stew. Any way will do. Love them.


~ Three bags of bread flour. Nothing shop bought compares but one does need to be sensible about these things so into the trolley went a large Hovis. Other baked goods bought were finger rolls reminded me of arthritic fingers. Nice and comfy though for Saturday's franks.

~ Anzak biscuits for Hairy Suit. A little list was dropped into my hand on it...Biscuits. Balm Tissues for his sore conk and mini pepperamis.

~ Camp for drinking and cooking. Dates for cakes and nibbling. Bananas for breakfasts and caramel ice cream boats.

~ Cinnamon disinfectant.




Cooking tonight....Roast Stuffed Pork, peas, jacket potatoes, gravy and apple sauce. Rice pudding and blackcurrant jam with crushed oaty biscuits.

Out and around again today...this time to Rochford  market where I bought some plastic wrapped dates, a pair of men's gloves and a lace bedspread (single). £2
It was the usual thing...
Cold hands and forced laughs.
Mum grumpy. Mr H. stoic and myself lost in mum's world of frequently altered medication, chronic constipation and requests for straw coffins. Mum, you see, is going through a sad painful phase, inhabiting a lonely morbid place where dreams of dad come frequently and hopes of returning to London fading..

I am rung dry.
I've discovered for the umpteenth time that my extensive vocabulary in the rousing the morale area is running out of gas and so I stumble over my words. I get headaches too.
But I bought the bedspread so my capacity for pleasure still thrives.

Later that day.................I drove my good friend the ever so man-in-black Hairy Suit back to his very own abode wherein we played with junior Hairy the12 year old whose capacity for ham sandwiches is very funny.
We didn't play darts or snooker...no not at all. We were an audience for the boy's remarkable acting talent. A natural born mimic. His observational powers, awesome. Made my feeble attempts at showing orf look rather pathetic, but then I'm an old drama queen, and he, just steps away from being a celebrity.
Oh Boy can the lad hold an audience!

And so after a bit of dancing and doing as I was told I hugged the little one then.............

Back home in 'my' Rosie,........... zoomed along did Mr Hairy and I, along dark roads chuffed full of tea time traffic back to the bungalow where a pork and vegetable tea needed to be cooked.
And after a silently eaten meal we decanted warily into the drawing room to watch an Eddie Izzard tape...
He is brilliant so said Hairy, Mr H and myself, mother on the other hand spat sickness fueled vitriol at the dazzling comic.
And that's how life is for me at the moment.
Egg shells are the new carpet.

And so another week ends........
It was a good one in a lot of ways. .I got to play Nurse Horsehound for the ever so bunged up Hairy Suit. The poor darling. Also having my hands laid lightly upon them the ever so grouchy mummy. What I wouldn't give to see her smile now and again. Mind you she's never been one for flashing her teeth nor being hypocritical. No happy, no smile.
Mr Hairy on the other hand puts on the bravest of fronts even though he's bearing a lot of emotional and physical weights. So this week I've gone that extra mile for my good friend. Regarding mum I've been a small sponge for all her unwarranted upsetting outbursts.

As for Mr Horsehound..............he manages to keep his halo set firmly around his head, not by any god or man but by being a remarkable human being/husband/mate with unending perseverance and patience. He plays the long game.
How he does is it is far beyond my limited understanding because at times I can be loathesome.

Tonight's X Factor was predictable. Another noisy flash affair with only one winner. The wonderful James Arthur. I have to say I wasn't committed to him but grew to like him so when Dermot called his name I wasn't too upset. I would loved to have seen young Jahmene crowned but as with all humble troubled people he shone in defeat. Old soul man in young body.

I drove 'my' Rosie tonight. A smart MG convertible, no hiccups not even when changing gears although I did get a bit of a shake-on when roaring over 50mph on the way home...Mr Hairy loved it! Despite my protestations earlier in the day I drove that beautiful car here and there loving every terror filled moment. 
I flew like a pretty crimson bird, wings wide and steady keeping me straight, sublime.

Now I must fly again...Not along dual carriage ways or unlit lanes but to bed where hopefully sleep comes a-quickly...Like a good kiss.

 

Mum is Motorized

..........First of all a brief synopsis of events so far....


Shopping with mum and Mr Horsehound in wet and cold Southend.
Many items bought.
Mum took a few novels from Smiths. All murderous in content. Asked if I wanted any cook books. 'No' I answered with a bag full of Sainsburys biscuits and Lurpak butter hanging orf me arm. I'd done the sensible thing you see and left mother in Mr H's capable hands while I did a zippy quick shop at my favourite store...

Then out into a pretty brutal high street where lots of un-hatted people struggled with umbrellas, kids and mobiles.

We went to Oxfam where mum added an orange suede bag to the basket and where I kept me cash in purse...

This was getting weird. No purchases. Not even a notebook or packet of sweets.

Then into my building society for a business transaction, where, by the door, a book laden table stood..And for a donation of £1 to Cancer Research I bought a copy of 'PAUPERS AND PIG KILLERS' THE DIARY OF WILLIAM HOLLAND. A SOMERSET PARSON 1799-1818.

Then a mercy mission to Boots the chemist for the ever so bad patient Mr Hairy Suit. His shopping list was brief. Decongestant and Excite Body Wash.

Mum let rip at me today, no surprise there but oh it does leave a ghastly bleeding wound. But after a cooling off period in the kitchen where I did what I always do when hurt; sit voiceless, I made her some tea and watched the snooker.

As I type Mr H and Mr Hairy are attaching an expensive 'MOTOR' to mum's wheelchair..

God knows what fun we'll have next week:)

................Wheeling mum around Sainsburys was great. After all... this time last week she was tubed up in hospital being told by doctors that in the event of a cardiac arrest she wouldn't be resuscitated so shopping for chops was fantastic. For her. And me. Because although I'm ageing and generally losing the plot deep down inside the very rich fibre of my being I can't help feeling a sense of achievement at keeping mother alive for soooo long.
I digress.


As we eased our way around passing veg and tins and meats I remembered how very empty my decanter was, which, by the way,  came a cropper last night on account of two men inserting mum's 'new' power assisted armchair into the middle of me drawing room......... anyway...... the pretty decanter went flying! So I thought about it, the decanter that is, and seeing as Christmas will soon be upon us  I thought a big green bottle of Stone's would help me sing.
Then to the in-store chemist where I had a discreet word with Mr Ashibungawang the pharmacist regarding large coverings for mum's intimate irritations.
And then with personal products in bag we toddled to the till where a very ebullient Barbie (55+)waved our stuff over the scanner while talking screechingly cheerily about a lot.  But that was ok because I like Barbie's enthusiasm for life (born again Christian) and her penchant for ruby red lipstick.

Mum needed a rest after Sainsbury' and got it, I needed a rest too and kind of got it.....I'd just tcuked mother in when the doorbell twanged and the ever so incredible Hairy Suit slithered over me dirty doormat carrying a bouquet of orange blooms and 5 jumbo doughnuts.

As mum doesn't want proper food tonight I'm heating up one crumbed chicken breast.
For myself...not a lot, preferring instead to graze on cheese and ginger wine.
Footie on tv tonight so not a big plate of food for the late returning Mr H.
Other crumbed breast probably

..........Before I start making a Chocolate and Vanilla Swirl Cake I must have a word...

Last night's home made Chinese was yummily different on account of an ample amount of celery thrown in at the last moment.
'Twas good on another level too because our house guest the ever so assertive Mr Hairy Suit arrived  on time his pockets bulging with Prawn Toasts and Wontons. These made a  lovely addition to the table.

In fact HE made a lovely addition aswell.

Anyway.......We ate well, the boys especially, mum dived in too only her fork was picking up Penne Cheese as opposed to Macaroni Cheese. I'd made amples of course more than any one person could eat so leftovers were bagged up and taken to work by the ever so agreeable HS.
Back to the Chinese...I slowly scooped mine up with jolly plastic chopsticks not because I wanted or needed to impress but because I eat slowly anyway and twiddling around with sticks aids non-indigestion. You can't wallop it down you see.

Then The X Factor where James Arthur totally convinced me that he could sing anything. Outstanding.
Union J. Love the gay guy's voice. Powerful yet smooth, rather like a pint of ginger wine.
Maloney was stitched up by Barlow because Barlow knew Maloney couldn't do justice do a Buble song. It was pure murder. Especially the final money note. Ugh!
And finally, At Last, Jahmene Douglas, singing the Etta James song better than Etta James and she sang it like she was born singing it. But Jahmene, with his issues and all, gave birth, right there, right then, on stage, in front of millions of people, to a glossy rich career where he'll sing out his damaged soul. My only hope...is that  he keeps a fragment of it...


Roasting a small chicken today and to go with the bird some sweet parsnips, peas and mashed potato. Pudding will be a canned affair. Pears probably.


Now I must get baking a Chocolate and Vanilla Swirl Cake.:)

Cheerio

Is it the Christmas lights I saw late last night on the drive to the station that finally put sparkles into my life or is it something more? Like Love?
A little of both.

After mum's release from hospital we made a deal that from now on she'd do the decent thing and let me go to bed early and in return I'd do everything for her. We've done the deal because we love each other and because we love each other we have to compromise.
And so this morning as we drunk tea together we touched hands in a 'knowing' way.
I know this might be her last Christmas, she knows too. She's also well aware that life is sometimes awful  for me/her what with pills and mess and eating less so she advised me this morning to do everything I want. Cooking. Entertaining. I agreed because if I continue to neglect my hobbies I'll go bonkers. My god-like friend Mr Hairy Suit said he couldn't remember the last time I'd made a loaf of bread. "Neither can I" I said as we sat in my kitchen with it's eclectic mix of styles. Eclectic? Maybe a kind way of saying I can't decide about anything. At any rate I can't remember when I last pounded some dough.

Today I'll lose self by making Nusskuchen, a foreign cake made with hazelnuts, apples, coffee and chocolate. And after our tea of sweet and sour chicken I'll serve thin slices of Nusskuchen on blue plates with whipped cream on the side.



I'll also bake some bread:)


Can't wait to see The X Factor...
Can't wait to watch some Snooker...
Can't wait to bake.

It was so cold when mum and me left the warm confines of the hospital last night that I wasn't sure if the slow water flowing  from my eyes was borne of the chill wind or relief that she'd got through another bout with her battle against ill health.
Of course I knew...
It wasn't the November night weather that made me wet around my eyes it was relief. Relief that I was taking her home. Again.

It had been an ordeal but somehow she'd got through it and I could only marvel at her determination.

She's asleep now. In her winter coat. On the bed. Surrounded by her stuff.
I'm glad.

The skin on my hands feels taut due to too much handwashing before entering Estuary ward. That's where mum is. Estuary ward. What a ridiculous name for a place filled with grey faced older women. Mum though, despite her kidney infection, looks well. These ailments of hers are leaving me drained to the point of exhaustion but but but we'll gather our laurels and get through this..

She's been a patient since last Friday when, on the advice from her GP, I took her to A & E where they asked lots of questions while thumbing through the faxed letter from her doctor, the very eloquent and charming Spaniard Dr Bajen.

And so...after a lot of disbelief mum finally agreed to go in...First to Acute Medical Unit 1 then along the bleached dreary mazelike corridors to the ward, which is painted yellow with insipid watery green curtains hanging tired from the high track.

Tests. Blood transfusions and drips. The whole medicine cabinet thrown down her neck. And still she has the temerity to give grief to the ward manager and HCA's by asking when she can go home.

No definitive answer. As you'd expect. And, as you'd expect, every one of the staff treating mum and the other old ladies with kindness and a firm hand.

I loathe Costa coffee because that's where I sit between visiting hours, makes sense you see on account of there being only ninety minutes between shifts. 2:30 till 4:30 and 6 till 8. Might aswell hang out in the coffee shop with a book and homemade sandwich, I couldn't and wouldn't pay £3 for a cheese sandwich so i take my own. Or. Enjoy a Marks and Spencer treats delivered by hand by my darling friend the ever so astounding Mr Hairy. It feels so good knowing I can rely on him in my hours days months of need. No questions asked, no thanks required, just good solid shoulders and a heart to match.

I'm going to bed now. It's been an ache of a day.

But after breakfast tomorrow, I'll make my face up, pour myself into something sensibly gorgeous have a sausage with Hairy then with my heart and tum filled head out once again to Estuary ward.


By the way I loved The X Factor  but was devastated beyond repair when Rylan lost out, I really enjoyed his theatricals, couldn't sing very well but entertained me no end:)

Impulse

........Bought a green and white sofa bed for the kitchen, secondhand of course, but that's ok. Being a proper Londoner I did some ducking and diving and managed to knock a few shekels off the asking. Lovely jubbly :)

Then we went for a coffee in Birdwood and as I sipped my Americano tears fell. It was the piped Christmas music wot did it.

Popped into Boots for lippy..er...three actually. Lovely colours all suitable for a lady with green eyes and silvering hair. Which reminds me...I'm fed up with sticking clips in me barnet so have decided to go for the chop. a la Dame Judi "M" Dench.

As we meandered (mother free) back to the park 'n' go I accosted a Star Wars character (purely for charidee) see photo. I love a humanoid in uniform opposite Debenhams!

Another bargain purchase was a lilac leather handbag. Soft or what? The old lady who served me ooohed over it.


Cooking tonight...A lot of Hot Dogs. Woof woof.

A picture of our chief food taster.

Good enough to eat

Mum doesn't want to go shopping or read the papers so a quiet, worry filled morning for me.

As it's a chilly day I'm going to make meatballs for tea starting right after I've finished this post. Preparing something as long winded as 18 meatballs removes me from the sick room and into the kitchen, a place which often burns and hurts yet soothes and saves aswell..I'm often there you know washing cut fingers under running water or waving my hands about after touching the sides of well baked casserole dish. But I don't mind, it comes with the territory. Kitchens if they're good and proper ones are dangerous happy places.
A small space which is priceless.

I have brand new shelves to stare at, courtesy of my friend Mr Hairy Suit. He not only bought them but erected them too. In a flash. Which was remarkable considering I couldn't find any tools. But he did it anyway.
In return I feed and water him.

I'm going to miss the charity shop-run today but I expect mum and me will pop out soon enough.
But now I gather my bowl and knife and prepare meatballs with Radio 4 to my right.

Sturdy Table Floored By Old Lady

.Mum fell over last night breaking only a table.
And so after packing her back into bed and binning the table I served Mr H his warmed up chicken casserole.
Lovely.

Naturally enough after this hullaballoooo sleep didn't come easily so into the hot kitchen I went only to sit and ponder.............
Love and appointments which at the moment are what my life consists of. Loving my one remaining parent who, at times makes me feel nauseous, not becuase of the way she looks nor because of the things I have to do but on account of not being able to save her. Love makes me sick. Her little life at home with dad was simple but full and rich. And what she's got now doesn't compensate. Food, care and affection can't replace a life lost.
So yeah I thought about these things as Mr H washed up and eventually went to bed only to dream of blue tongues.

As I write this mum is drifting in and out of sleep and I am making Nigel Slater's Sausage and Potato Pie.
I do though have something to look forward to, a teatime natter with my good friend Mr Hairy. After chatting with mum he'll sit in the kitchen opposite me forking his way through a large wedge of freshly baked apple cake. Lovely.
Another lovely precious thing I can't live without is football. And games don't come any bigger than when England take on a two bit team like Sweden. We all know that Roy's lads will score well heavy but there's always the sickening thrill of the little no-hopers sneaking one past Hart.
So tonight mum and me, and a little later on Mr H, will hurl nothing but encouragement as Shakespeare writes off Strindberg.
:)

After The Blood Test We We Had A McDonalds

Cooking is a life saver, literally and metaphorically.

Having spent the last few hours trying to keep my spirits up (mum yellow, me drained etc) I've finally calmed down but only after flicking through a secondhand Gary Rhodes recipe book (today £1). In it I found a couple of dreamy dishes, hot pickled red onions and lemon spotted dick. Both most definitely my cup of tea.


Talking of tea...Mine will be late tonight on account of Mr H doing some overtime, but the cidered chicken casserole braising in the oven is good natured so won't mind hanging around.

This supremely easy Mary Berry concoction  is one I make time and again, quick to prepare and doesn't cost the earth,,,

After a few chicken portion have browned nicely put them into a casserole dish, then add to the pan a can of tomatoes, some chopped garlic ( I used 5 cloves)  2 tablespoons of thyme lemon and parsley stuffing mix, 5fl oz cider or wine (I'm using Bulmers cider) lots of black pepper and finally a good large dollop of non diabetic apricot jam.OK.....Mix it all together making sure you scrape in every bit of chicken sediment....  then pour it over the chicken. So easy. Cook in oven for about an hour but can be left for much longer without much risk of damage to pot or body.
A flash of microwaved shredded  greens will be the base for the chicken, love the colour of barely cooked greens, so vibrant and real. Mashed potatoes too. Really addicted to them now. The truest comfort food of all.
No pudding tonight on account of the lateness of the hour.
And on account of sitting on mum's bed eating McDonalds. Stunning fries. Hot crisp and gone. McDonalds are, to me, salve to my mental abrasions.


It's been a day of spectacular differences.
And days like this leave me wanting to hibernate for ever. Love. Anxiety. The usual villains. But after a small plate of chicken I expect I'll buck up.

.

.........Awoke very early so took advantage of it and, while Monty sat on the kitchen table waiting for his laser show, I sipped sweet tea enjoying his company. 'Very soon' I thought, 'my meditations will end and another high speed day will begin'. So for a few moments I felt calm.


Yesterday saw me dashing into town for an eye sight test then dashing back to braise some bacon then slicking on lipstick and tidying up my hair so as not to scare my guest the ever so punctual Mr Hairy Suit, whose recent pics of sunset over Southend made me gasp.

Dinner was late but excellent.
The bacon fell to bits, the carrots and parsnips tender and large, the mounds of well mashed buttery potato going down so well with heaps of Branston pickle. The boys of course wanted pud so after a quick clear away I served wedges of Carrot Cake made with muscovado sugar, full fat cream cheese and delectable hair pulling out gorgeous Organic Vanilla Bean Paste, complete with black bits. This amazing cooking ingredient was a gift from Hairy and since using it I've become a fan.. Plastic bottles of Vanilla flavourings, however pure and innocent the makers dress then up to be just don't compare to the real thing.

So yes dinner was late but cool.

And so after removing Hairy from the premises I sat with cat to watch The X Factor ( Mr H surfing) but Mother had other ideas. Namely. Listening to the semi-final of the Barclays Tennis tournament live from the O2. broadcast rather well by Radio 5 Live.
Loving The X Factor tosh as I do I thought it wiser and more beneficial to my health to give in and sit with Mother.
So there we sat, the three of us, Monty wrapped in my pink scarf, mum falling asleep surrounded by border of magazines and books and me, jotting down recipe ideas whilst listening as Federer smashed Murray. And although this wasn't the evening I'd have liked I managed to pull some good from it, namely  the numbing/relaxing effects of listening to the radio rather than the shrill heart thumping excitement of watching Nicole Shirtlifter hamming it up.

Today, this morning, hasn't been much good either. Mum doesn't feel up to going to the post office/charity shops/ chemists so in we stay, until, in a short while, I'll pop out on errands. Mostly drug related...

There's a tv prog tonight about Hitler. I'll record it and not watch it with Mother.

Cheerio!

Last night and Today. Food Information Only.

........Loved the Guiness HP sauce. Burgers fell apart. Baps not as large as I would have liked. Chips good. Company excellent. Abba CD. Dance moves questionable. Onions fine. 

Today I'm making Hungarian Goulash served NOT with soured cream swirled on top but with Greek yoghurt. The remaining half pint will associate itself with canned fruit probably tomorrow. I'm ditching brown rice in favour of white, much less stress. No pudding because I'll have my paws in the sweet jar a little later on.

Also being lovingly made a Carrot Cake. I'll do a big one so it lasts a few days, the only prob I have with Carrot Cakes is that they need to be fridgified on account of the cream cheese frosting, whereas my other baked goods are housed in tins on the dresser. 

Which reminds me I need to sort through the fridge's contents, I found mould growing in an old jar of Lemon Curd.

Friday Fryday

.......Briskly pushing mum around the Factory Shop's car park I thought about chips. Not bagged oven chips or American style fries but traditional chipped potatoes fried in hot spitting oil. At home.
Then in we went to the shop which reminds me of a good old pal now deceased, Woolworths. Shelves full of home stuff from sieves to ceramic butterflies from glue guns to ladies shampoo, the factory Shop has it all.

I'd persuaded mum that a trip to the local store was essential on account of my dire need for two baking sheets. So in we trundled.......

We left a good time afterwards bagged up with the aforementioned baking sheets (which are guaranteed for years) and, for mum, three reduced in price novels and as an extra goodie pour moi....one large tea cosy.

I like the shop because it's plain, uncluttered and and sells stuff I need.

So onwards in the chilly wind to the nearest charity shop wherein we off loaded some cash buying:

For mum: 3 Books. 90p
For me: A small delicate yellow china Pre-1950's milk jug. £1. A soft as butter tan four sectioned leather purse.50p. 8 blue and white genuine chopsticks. 50p.

Did the usual English chit chat with old woman on till Mary.

Weather? Oooooh nippy wind.
Christmas? Aaargh not a thing in yet.
Aaaah is she having a nice day out. Grrrrr

I'm hardened to it all now


Then Co-Op for more and more magazines..And as mum waited in the motor wrapped up like a parcel with her blue badge pressed against the window I bought a bottle of Stone's Ginger Wine not because I drink a lot but because I'm happy.
Yes it's possible to be happy even when life is unsure, even when the next few weeks are unsure.

Tonight I'm making Hamburgers with red onion, cheese and Guiness HP sauce..... these mounds of gorgeousness will sit in home made Devon Flat Baps, which as I write are rising very nicely. Only one thing to go with burgers and that's a plate of home fried chips.
Now THAT'S happiness:)

Tin Heaven

...........Mum couldn't get a look at Potter's baking tins on account of the several steps down to the recently made-over cooking section of the old ironmongers in Hockley, but I did and it was smashing.
Shelves of of bakeware set my heart on fire but all I needed was a 1lb loaf tin for a malt loaf I'm making after sighing and caressing the exquisite stuff  I cradled the £5 poppet in the palms of my hands and walked up the few stairs to find mum flicking through paint swatches. I paid till girl Jo then after exchanging pleasantries about winter Jo opened the door and mum and my good self left the little store heading to the charity shops...

Books for mum.
Books and black lounging suit for me.

Spending little money yet coming home with bags of goodies has always and will always please me more than anything. The lounging jim jams cost £1:50, the book, 80p Only items which cost a lot were the aforementioned loaf tin and the newest Rimmel mascara which promises me the fittest fattest lashes EVER! And so I figured £8 for sexy eyes is really ok;)

We couldn't of course go home without popping in the bloody Co-Op so, after mum's blood test, which was in Hockley by the way, I bagged some courgettes.
Then home in sunlight to Mr H in a pinny.

He'd been left holding the fort, generally tidying, because his sister,  was paying a visit.

So in came mother and I and awaited our visitor, my sister-in-law. The divine Ms Worth.

Her visit was very short but we yakked away over beans and cake until it was time for her to leave. It was good seeing her again and hearing about the adventure she's about to begin in Dorset. I admire her for that. Starting out anew, afresh, way away from relatives and everything she knows both here in Essex and London. Takes a lot of bottle to sell your furniture and sit on another seat...


Back to where I came in. Baking.

I'm making a beef cobbler for tea and for pud a lemon puddle pudding.

Tonight's entertainment is on BBC3. Debate with Jake Humphry on Presidents and over on BBC4, 2 food programmes. One with Lucy Horsley and one about bread. Bliss.

Obama, Oh Mama

Last night.....Watched a cracking little doc on BBC 2 about Barack Obama then switched over to BBC4 after de X factor for another fly-on-the-wall doc (from 1960) which followed JFK around as he aimed for the Big Job. His pain in neck opponent was avuncular Hubert Humphrey, who, bless him, reminded me of my primary school headmaster, the one legged Mr Storey. An acid/fruit squash mash-up.

The X Factor drove me bonkers.
Yuk to District 3. Three loveable boys who should by rights be at home in their bedrooms singing into their razors.

Wiltingly excellent Jahmene whose money- notes chill me. How he gets his chords up there beats me. Eerily talented for an Asda worker.

Union J. Will be another X factor success story. Not only do they look terrific they warble well as well.Particularly admire their dress code. Waistcoat/white shirt.

There's something about Ella that grates on me. Of course she sings incredibly well but the 16 year old has no stage presence and, from snippets I've seen of her backstage, could be prone to strops if things fail to go her way. My God girl, accept you're an imperfect child, learn great things and get on with it.

Rylan or however one spells his name is such a luvvie I can't fail to admire him. And underneath the Essex creosote I feel there's a serious star begging to be let out. Not fit for Les Miserables or anything more like pained up nephew suddenly turning up in Albert Square on Christmas Eve.

James Arthur. Oh boy. Whatever he sings I see his innards. And I love that. Has to be in the final final.

Christopher Maloney. Shaky shaky? Baloney. Get rid.

Talking of shaky shaky. Mother was that this morning. Sick in car but hanging on in there for one of my chocolate muffins. The two are unrelated.
She is breaking both my back and heart but after I've penned this I'll settle her down with more tea and televised tennis from Queens. And as she catches occasional glimpses of balls with her one good eye, I'll clean and cook. Mostly cook:)

Post Over.

60 second news...............

>>>>>>Mum fancies Roberto Mancini. ( A woman's lustings never die unlike her organs do)

>>>>>>>>I've made Moroccan Pasties in bare feet. (Paul Hollywood  recipe) Bake tonight. Mother having haddock.

>>>>>>>>>>>Mum's in the kitchen...is there no hiding place:(

>>>>>>>>Fab lipstick Autumn Berries makes my smile even broader. Letter need posting anyone?

>>>>>>Dry clean skirt £4. Should have plunged it in bowl and taken chance on shrinkage.

>>>>>>>>>>>Weight now down to 8st 2lb

>>>>>>>>>>>All lies about Pies and what harm they do:)

>>>>>>>Now I must fly, I'm grubby

updated

It's best to rise early.
Lying in bed promotes sores and depressing thoughts so up I got, made a pot of tea and waited till colour came to my face.

Mum was talking to Monty when I showed up with tea. Her brown age spots dotted on her  forehead like drops from the tea strainer. She was perky and talkative though so I pulled up my ash chair and chatted. I'm enjoying these early morning conversations where all kinds of dreams and ideals flow, it's a real heartbreaker sometimes.

But our head to head was cut short this morning because nursie is coming and I have to clean the bathroom.

Later on, after the district nurse has left, I'll make some bread, a few jam tarts and then sit on my own with tea, wondering when on earth I'll ever start decorating the kitchen. It's gross.
Time for me now comes in hot segments. I'm either cleaning the mantelpiece or mum, baking goodies for everyone or secreting in my handbag letters from the council and making softly spoken phone calls thereafter. Gone are the days when, after happily doing housework or happily buying groceries I could sit.
Sitting now, is for the dying, idle or lucky.

For dinner tonight I'm making a storecupboard standby: Sausage risotto, it isn't a proper risotto but tastes terrific anyway!


Just taken a dozen jam tarts out of the oven. Nine are lovely filled with blackcurrant, strawberry and apricot jam, the three rebels sit oozing out sugarless raspberry jelly. I'll never go near diabetic stuff again.

A Couple of Ladies. A non stop post....

Off we went to the market where lots of people relaxed amongst the various stalls all of which were loaded with this and that and essentials like bird food, cow ears, umbrellas, dish cloths lipsticks and foamy bananas I loved it today and so did mum she even spoke to someone inside the charity shop which nudges the bank I nearly fell over the painted lady guarding the till was rather grand and mum seemed to approve and I liked her too so all well
We dithered outside Greggs on account of cackles of  young women trying to control their pink clothed charges how untidy they all looked not an ounce of finess or glamour mum decide she'd like a sausage roll so I queued up and bought one from Irene who smiled and looked a little flustered it was hot in the bakers then with mum munching we made our way to the RSPCA shop where I bought an old fashioned glass water jug mums crumbs littering the floor like brown dandruff and so we keft the shop in a mess and headed to Alans the dry cleaners where a round faced woman gave me my ticket for two pairs of trousers the cost being nearly £10 then into see Joan whose blooded up face broke into a smile the size of a boomerang God I love Joan we hugged and nattered she telling me all about her daughter's illness and how she went to Southend after being told about the cancers suddenly I felt right at home I left Joan to deal with a male customer who reminded me of Baldrick I scanned the weighty shelves not finding anything for myself or mum who by the way was in the car her insistence on staying car bound came as a great big whopping surprise but she's the invalid and what she wants she get I then mourhed bye bye to Joan who was still entangled in the chatterings of Baldrick but Joan being Joan left him standing as she hugged me to death kissing me firmly on my righht cheek telling me not to forget her when baking day comes around

I won't I said and ran towards mother whose pasty face made me want to vomit but I didn't I drove to the chemist had a chat with auburn haired Veronica and picked up my prescription my prescription.

Happy Cooking

......I've just spent a restful couple of hours making a large shiny loaf of bread and flat Cornish Pasty Pie.

The bread is baking in one of those cheapo big use once kind of foil baking tins and I have to say that after a quick peek the loaf is looking fantastically brown and shiny and is feeling as light as a petal.

The Cornish Pasty Pie izza a mash up of an ordinary Minced Beef Pie and a Cornish Pasty, both, by the way, Mary Berry recipes. And as usual I made too much filling (see below) so being inventive I used a large solid roasting pan in which to cook the thing.


Into the bowl went::
500g minced beef.
a large finely chopped onion
two small diced potatoes
half a cup of chopped swede
a few good shakes of Worcestershire sauce ( in a Cornish pasty pie?) Ssssh.
a crushed beef oxo cube
a few tablespoons of cold water
lots of black pepper and a little salt.

This lot was mixed and put onto the shortcrust pastry base then covered with the pastry lid. Crimped, slashed and glazed with beaten egg.
I'll bake it for a good while probably 45 minutes and serve with mashed potatoes and baked beans. Mum and Mr H will have their usual mustard on the side, I'll go childlike and have tomato ketchup..

For sweet....(love that word and alternate name for 'afters') I've concocted a sponge pudding which will be nuked for a few minutes.
See recipe below.

This is below.

Butter a 1 pint pudding basin and place some brown sugar in it. On top of the sugar put three tinned apricots then top with a very basic pudding mix. Margarine, sugar, egg, milk, flour....to which a teaspoon of ground ginger has been cleverly added.
I'll be able to nuke this on account of now being in possession of an excellent *Panasonic Microwave Oven so generously given to me by my friends, Mr and Mrs Hairy Suit. Thanks guys no more steamed windows...
A jug of Bird's custard is the only accessory required.

So dinner is pie and pudding. A fat affair. But a happy affair.













* My previous oven caught fire.

Spent a good time with mum this morning me sidling up to the bedside with a kitchen chair while she smiled... Does it for me dearie!
Yakked on like two over painted parrots then went out (after much to-ing and fro-ing regarding what to wear and painkillers) but I locked the door shortly before 11.

Hockley was lively.
Slow snakes of older people worming their way in and out of shops all seemingly in worlds of their own. Bump bump ooh sorry blah etc...

Mum bought her usual box of books, me grabbing yorkshire pudding tins, four dariole tins, blue plastic jug and I, Robot.
Also picked up for a snip Josceline Dimbleby's Mince Cookbook.

Having so many heavy bags hanging orf the wheelchair made getting in and out of shops a little difficult but an angel of say 50+ did aid our exiting of the sweet shop by rushing to grab hold of the door.

And as the wind blew so mum's fine hair stood up like terrified stick insects. She really must get it cut.
Me, I looked like a cross between a saint and a killer auntie.

Home now and as soon as I finish here I'll make dinner for mum then make hay for meself.
(bread and Cornish pastie pie)
Sex For Carers.com. is now defunct

Before another non-stop day in the kitchen I simply must have a word...
That word being Incredulous
To join in the fun of a Saturday Night at home I made a Victoria Sponge.

Fifty Shades of Duck Egg Blue

.I thought today would the ideal day for Mother and myself to pop into Homebase so with my Carer's Allowance in me handbag I drove to Purdey's Industrial Estate. A miserable looking community scattered with boring white painted buildings and large lorries. But I had to go there today because otherwise it would have meant leading Mr H around other home improvement joints tomorrow, and there was no way I was a gonna face that. For pitys sake this week has been bad enough so the thought of inviting more stress was out of the question. So Friday morning in Homebase it was.

The tired looking redhead leaning on the till got flustered when I asked for a little trolley for the little wheelchair. "Er...." she said and pressed a button which brought forth slowly another creased face old trout.
"Need a special trolley for the wheelchair" said redhead
Away went trout number two mumbling...
 But Mother and I were ok, we're getting used to dealing with sorts like this. I only wished they'd recognize mum as a legitimate, if silent, customer who is just like all customers; she wants to be spoken to rather than treated like she doesn't exist and prefers it when people don't talk over her head...... (by the way one of the worst exponents of that was blood taker Pauline who on Tuesday completely ignored mum speaking instead to me about 'her'.."When was 'her' last hospital visit?" etc etc.
I digress.

We got the trolley and redhead smiled apologetically saying "Sorry took so long"

Steering mum is awkward with trolley attached and I sometimes knock down a few things but Homebase was spacious so we glided calamity free.

First thing to load was kitchen wall paint. I plumped for Duck Egg blue. Ok Duck Egg blue is a regular colour, much gentler than sky blue but I didn't know there were so many Duck Blues. A lighter duck, a greyer duck and a gaudy duck...But as I carefully placed the tin the trolley I knew I'd found the right one.

"Tile paint?" I asked 50+ floorwalker Roy "Where is it?"
Instead of pointing and giving directions Roy took me there, oh did he...Took me and mum and wheelchair and trolley straight to shelves and shelves of paint.
"What culler y'want and wherz it going?
"White please Roy, splashback dear." Said I knowing my brilliant smile would bring forth one from 'im.
I was right.
A great whale sized smile enveloped his small face "Ronseal alright?"
Being a mischievous flirt I piped up..
"I don't know, is he?"
Laugh...You'd have thought I'd told the Joke of the Century.
Roy, still grinning, dropped Ron Seal in me trolley saying if  there was anything else just give him a call.

Next aisle was the brush one where I fingered through millions of expensive brushes made of cow hair or chinchilla or something but eventually plumping for two regular basic man made plastic types. Also picked up a basic Roller.

By now mum was fluttery and pale and I didn't like the look of her so made a bee line for Uncle Roy who immediately ran orf to get mum a cup of water.
Roy was kindly, talking to mum instead of me.

After a few moans and sips we trundled on choosing a small can of brilliant white gloss for the cupboards, cheapo polyfilla and sugarsoap.

We paid Redhead and she redeemed herself by offering to help me to my car.
"We're alright, thank you" And orf we went mother and I loaded with fun stuff for John's weekend:)

Going home wasn't a straight trek, we stopped orf at a charity shop where mum bought three Jeffrey Archer books and I bought a pair of sensible shoes for Mr Horsehound.

Home in never ending rain to a light dinner of Scotch broth and buttered roll (mum) and crackers and cheese triangles for me.

Apart from mum's weakness by the matt emulsions we enjoyed our shopping trip and that's what it is all about. Right Roy? !

The Mixing Bowl

Today into my enormous blue one I put flour, cinnamon, mixed spice and ginger...Then soft margarine, golden syrup, egg, milk and sugar..beat it well then, with grubby wooden spoon in sink, I scattered lots of slivered almonds into a greased fluted bun tin...
Mix made...And onto the almonds it fell in gentle loving spoonfuls.

When baked these funny little upside down delicacies are called Coburg Buns. Gorgeous with a cup of tea but wickedly good dipped into coffee.

The Baking Bug has really got me, got me so bad that I'm either baking or reading about baking or talking about baking and if I'm not do any of those I'm looking at three tiered cake plates loaded with bakedness.

Mother thinks I overdo it. I don't. I love it..one can overdo love. Baking and feeding people makes me happy and I need all the happy I can lay my floured mitts on:)

Cooking today will be Cumberland sausages with mash and Mary Berry's onion gravy. For veg... steamed cauliflower and tinned peas.
Pud will be Chocolate Castle Puddings and yoghurt.

Talking of tartness I found an old cook book at mum's...Elizabeth Craig's Simple Cooking published 1934:(
Brains, calves feet and cakes....Miss Craig....."It's no good telling me that you can't afford to be a good cook. You can't afford not to be one. The less money you have to spend the more you should know about cooking. If I had my way I'd teach every girl to make the most of every scrap of food. It's nonsense to say a good cook is born, not made"

Custard Creams

These beauties are the best biscuits I've ever made.

A mouthwatering butter cream filling sandwiched between crisp shortbread type biscuits. Divine.

To offset the richness of the custard creams, a few wedges of warmly spiced Gingerbread.

Tea Break Natter

...........Square Gingerbread baking. Love the way the warm milk froths when I add the bicarb.

..........Pizza for tonight so have some bread dough proving on the windowsill, wondering what the pigeons think as they hop around picking and pecking seeds and nuts. Window is closed so not a chance of them, any of them, entering the bungalow.

Seeing as National Baking Week is coming to its end I thought I'd go all out today by making some lovely tea time goodies.
Gingerbread, as I've said, is baking. Will if time and thighs allow, attempt to make a batch of Custard Cream Biscuits. Found the recipe in Jo Wheatley's new book. Seems simple enough just need to hunt down some unwarped baking tins.
Talking of cookies, I made oatie ones recently which went down well with everyone, went soft after a couple of days but still tasted delicious:)

Also being baked is a large regular white loaf.

If I'm still awake after all that I'd love to make another Jo recipe, this one for Jam Tarts. I have plenty of jam; blackcurrant and raspberry and strawberry, would have liked some apricot but am too bushed to do yet another Co-Op run.... So red tarts it is then!



Poetic Moment.......

I'm lost when baking.
Lost in the bowl of happiness
Don't come and find me
Because I like it there

Kitchen Doings

....The Malt Loaf I made recently had me thumping the walls on account of it not turning out EXACTLY as I'd hoped. Nothing wrong with the mouth experience, it tasted divine but I'd idiotically let it bake a tad too long resulting in a crispy collar, which, as all bakers know is a very bad thing. But being undeterred I managed, with the aid of scissors, to snip away the hideous hardness. No-one wsas any the wiser.
But, as with everything homemade, it's the taste that matters and this brick of a loaf was delicious. Delicious in its stickiness and moreishness. And abiding by Malt Loaf Rules I left it uncut for twenty four hours ( I think!) At any rate all who had a slice agreed it was a corker.

And so to last night's curry.
Chicken Breast and Chick Pea in a coconutty Tikka Masala sauce. I like coconut cream so plumped for it instead of my usual single cream.
Basmati rice flavoured and coloured by dashes of turmeric. A big  bowl of cucumber raita to which a Cox's apple, two grated carrots and three teaspoonfuls of Sainsbury's mint sauce was added. It was delightful although an awful lot was left standing at the end of the meal, still I liked it.
A dish of shop bought mango chutney added sweetness and four coriander and garlic naan breads and two  towering piles of home fried puppodoms gave the table a nice Indian feel.The plastic daffodils were a bit English though.
Drink came rarely. My guests, Mr and Mrs Hairy, had soft drinks, where I was cajoled, nay bullied into a wine spritzer. Mr Horsehound kept clean by sipping cloudy lemonade.
We had a fine evening which was made even more fine by dishes of homemade Vanilla Ice Cream with Oat Biscuits being served for pudding.
The making of the ice cream took 8 hours. Make rich egg custard. Cool. Add mucho double cream. Vanilla extract. Freeze. Mash. Freeze. Mash. Freeze. Remove from old freezer. Stand for a few minutes then spoon out to aaaahhhhs. It was worth every penny and all the effort.

To relax after the meal we watched the recorded Great British Bake Off. I wasn't surprised by the judges choice of supreme baker... John Whaite 23, law graduate.... how the boy sweated and with his eyes rimming red and watery I thought he was close to collapse as he presented his final bake a Heaven and Hell Chiffon cake.
The 'losers' were magnanimous in defeat which surprised me a tad, had visions of tetchy Brendan storming orf set. Never thought that about Max though, always knew he'd be a gennelman. And so another year, another star baker and another big gas bill for the BBC.

Talking of gas bills..I'll have the oven on later baking a mince and onion pie. So will, being aware of rising fuel costs fill my grungy oven to full capacity. Pie in middle. Potato Boulanger on top and on the bottom a nice rice.

........England take on the Poles tonight..in Poland....in their quest to qualify for the next World Cup. And don't anyone dare mention 1973 when they er...didn't.

Also tonight the Final of the Great British Cake Off. Where I'll be a mightily unhappy Glo if balding bore Brendan wins. I like Max (and his glasses) thinks HE should win and NOT the pernicketty unsmiling hang 'em all Brennez. I bet he's an AWFUL neighbour.

Mum and I went to Sainsburys where, as I hauled he out of the motor realized to my sickening horror that I'd left behind, on the draining board, me shopping list. Oh my giddy aunt how my belly rocked and rolled, but I did it. I trolleyed mum around gently gliding up and down aisles not forgetting one single item.
I know this FOR A FACT because I checked the list on my return:)
Conclusion? I either have an amazing memory or I buy the same old stuff every blooming week!
(With the addition, this week, of creamed coconut and bottom ointment.

Anyway we paid Paul on the til and left a stream of ordinary shoppers in our wake wondering how two seemingly regular type girls could heave so much shopping about and still have time to hug each other. Yes we cuddled, did mum and I, right by the sugar free squashes.

Home to eggs and sleep.

Now I must fly...>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Sunday Lovely Sunday

.............Late start to the 'rest day' but already have a lovely piece of silverside braising and a 2lb Malt Loaf baking.

The loaf is something I've been aching to make for a very long time and I can't wait to see and taste it. According to Mary Berry and other more ordinary baking people one should wait two days before slicing, if that happens in the HoHo household I'll be very surprised. There are, as one can imagine, shed loads of recipes for the sticky tea time treat but the one I've plumped for is from the BBC Good Food website. I have of course trawled through many other recipe sites and even my own vast recipe collection but the BBC one tickles me fancy the most.

So earlier today, before I'd even downed a cuppa I had sultanas soaking in hot black tea and Malt Extract. How excellent it looked in the Mason Cash bowl. So dark, brooding and rich looking. if it had been a man I'd have jumped it:)
Anyway I left it to soak while I prepared, what will be, a very late lunch.
Seared the beef then put it in my biggest casserole on top of quartered onion and sliced carrot, seasoned... then stocked it with a pint of hot oxo. Lid on and in.

As mum was talkative this morning I was late in getting the papers but after filling her up with drugs, weetabix and unsweetened tea I strolled unwashed to Mr Chakarakabangdums wherein I failed in my attempt to buy JUST the papers picking up on my way to the till (manned by a sour faced female) a bottle of sweet chilli sauce and jar of diabetic raspberry jelly.(reduced in price)

How the sun bleached and blazed on my slow trek home, so stunning was the brightness I slowed to snail pace.......I relished the breeze and gentle nod to the old man and his white dog who stood by the pillar box I, and them, it seemed, were in no hurry to get back. In fact I felt so overcome with love of freedom that if I'd have had the nerve I'd have whistled a happy tune and gone for a walk but I couldn't of course, which is depressing but at the same time character building because adventures postponed make future adventures sweeter. I went home.

Home to Monty sunning himself on the settee and mum slumped in bed like a plastic doll with its neck broken. I dropped the papers on her lap promising I'd wash her hair at noon and sit with her while it dried. We do deals like that, mum and me good self, because we have to, otherwise she would get depressed and I would sink with guilt.

The aromas coming from the kitchen are heaven scent.......

Now I must fly:)>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

 The exquisite silver lining....only wish there was one in my current list of concerns. However I fear not. Constant worries and fears over mum is making even the jolliest of shopping trips a heavy tiring event. We're both worn out, like the soles on our old shoes, like my broken splitting nails, like her bent body. But beauties like this bag shed intermittent sparkles of light in my increasingly dark existence..

The bag of my dreams...As a child I was influenced by Mary Poppins and have loved large bags ever since, especially carpetbagger types. First one I bought was when I was 18, it cost £10 which was a great deal of money then but I was able to get it because I was earning at the time. This one cost £34 and I am not earning but through careful financial management of my Carers Allowance I can once again pull out a lampshade from a bottomless cavernous interior!


It hasn't been good today.
The aforementioned mother can barely stay upright and has lost her appetite again. But it'll come back she reassured me before again falling asleep. She's a warrior of sorts who doesn't talk to God anymore because, she said, he doesn't do anything. Her hand tightened around mine as she said that and I too wondered about the Almighty but serves no purpose to rile Him he already has all the cards.

Tonight before we watch The X Factor we'll be eating Chicken Breasts in Honey and Apple sauce, served with couscous, I'll have some soup in a saucepan though just in case mum prefers it. Pudding will be zingy Lemon Puddle Pudding with Ice Cream.


Now I must fly>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

England v. San Marino

I hadn't forgotten.



Go get 'em lads

:)

Well Done Mother

Me

Me

Because if you hadn't wanted to stroll along the High Street for four hours I'd have never gone into the Royals shopping centre and from there into TK Maxx where I found a Gharani Strok leather carpetbag reduced from £95 to £34. It's not often, in fact it's never been known for me to dish out big dosh for anything much except maybe lamb chops. But this astonishingly bold big and beautiful bag had me whimpering. I had to have it.

So yes mother and my good self had a major girl's outing this morning mum even accepting the offer of a nice cup of tea and hot sausage roll in Greggs. Loaded with shopping bags we downed our tea whilst chatting about our buys.....
Mum plumping for chocolate mints, crime novels and flesh coloured tights. I went a bit potty buying not only the aforementioned suitcase, oops I mean bag, (it is rather large) but also another bag in Primark :( Then into Boots for make-up then into Poundland for a dozen black curlers. Yes curlers. As I'm on the verge of complete collapse (too many late nights and not enough fibre) I decided that my funny growing out kinda hairstyle needed a little something else, a small lift, a little oompa lumpa. So I invested in a bag of black spongy rollers.

I'll do the deed tonight, wash hair, towel dry, then mousse up and wind strands of silver hair around blackest sponge......... then pick up Mr H from the station.......

Monday...Daft.....updated

.........Walking in the rain with mother, jar of Malt Extract and giant fry pan (big enough to hold cat) I love it. So much fun in the charity shops with mum asking for non-existent gloves and me buying the ugliest faux ostrich handbag. Still, we had a laugh:)

Then local mini Sainsburys for washing powder and custard tarts. My protestations regarding the tarts fell on old deaf ears, she much preferring shop bought fancies to my fruity tea bread and choco/vanilla marbled ring. Silly old girl.

The Malt Extract will be used in the baking of little loaves containing sultanas and other yummies, can't wait to play with it. Apparently it's used as a food supplement too for people who, like mother, are off their food and on their last legs.

Being 'cooked' today are two Sainsburys beef puddings which'll be steamed for an eternity and served with tatties and sprouts. Mr H, bless him, won't be included in the sharing of this mum ordered feast on account of him working the dark late shift.
And so bearing that in mind I'll dose myself up on coffee in order to stay perky for the deep long drive to the station (2 miles) as the clock strikes midnight.

I have a million things to do this afternoon ( phone calls regarding blood letting, ironing, fixing clothes horse, general household mismanagement and watching Tories on the telly......so.... I'd better crack on


Recipe book of tea time delicacies. All I need now is a small fireside table and doilies:)
Also bought this morning a pair of deliciously soft salmon pink leather gloves.

 

...........Large milk bread proving on windowsill.
Wonder what the resident pigeons think. It's so sweet seeing their smooth heads bop up and down as I take out my frustrations on a pound and half of bread dough.
Talking of frustration...yesterday had me pulling up a chair so I could sit by mum's side, thought I needed to be closer to her. Sitting half way across the room kind of leaves too much aching space between myself and the woman I love. And all that love welled up yesterday because not only does she look more unwell but she's talking oddly too. I can't go into what she said suffice to say her words had me running to the kettle and pigeons for comfort.
Bed time was disastrous.

.......Painful love or not I rose this morning and proceeded to bake but not before more heartbreak from mum. She's so fed up with not being able to walk unaided, wash herself, get dressed, of hitting her head on chairs and walls and generally feeling like the life she once had is unravelling like a ball of wool falling down a hillside on a dark and windy night. My words not hers. She just says 'bastard'.


........And for tea tonight I'm cooking Lamb Chops with Honey and Apple sauce served with carrots and pasta spirals. Also being made....a Chocolate and Vanilla Marble Cake with chocolate dribble to faint over whilst watching The X Factor.

....Lunch will probably be beans.

:)

..............Took mum shopping today.

..........And as we trundled along passing shops, madly parked cars and people I scooped myself up and away from the street and its hardness.
And, for a few minutes, I was not in Spa Road but in another place.
In this other place the weather wasn't volatile, instead it sleepily shrouded me in its late summer warmth.
Where I stood wasn't bricked or kerbed or clattering with transport, where I stood the ground undulated. Its firm warm earth studded with heads of wild nameless flowers, laced and patchworked with grasses of cat eye and apple green. I stood unsteady, lovingly, looking around wondering if one false step would see me tumbling down to the circle of blue which called itself a lake. As I teetered I never made a sound not even the noise of breathing would be heard. A sudden victory of birds taking off shuddered me from this reverie and licking up the scent of this meadow I threw myself down........

A few thoughts

........Mum's been a diamond today. Behaving impeccably when nursie suggested yet another drug change. Must be all the fine food and books she's been devouring lately. Crime novels and ham rolls seemingly ideal partners.

.........The nice Sainsbury's delivery man (bespectacled over 60 smelling of soap) delivered 99% of my online order, the only upset being the non availability of dried Marjoram. All the other essentials though were brought to the door on time...nay...a smidgen ahead of the arranged time. Still, at least I was dressed. And very nicely too I may add. I resisted the warm urge to banter with the bearded giant suffice to say his short visit was without laughter.

............The bells from Mother warning of imminent arrival of aforementioned nurse Margie, big lady with breasts like ill-set blancmanges, her rapid attention to mum's blood pressure, blood sugar level and bed sores was admirable. She was gorn within ten minutes. And that's what mum and me good aching self prefer. She's not a talker is Marge.

......Major clean up of dusty furniture in drawing room aka front room, I do not and never have said 'lounge' as 'lounge' is something in airports. And the only flying that goes on in the bungalow is me dashing from one room to the other to appease and please mother. Her requests, bless her, are endless. Especially for pink drinks and ladies intimate apparel. Recently I was under her bed looking for a book when suddenly stuck right in my face was a pair of tights she'd lost a month or so ago.


..........Talking of beds. I'll be doing hers later.


.......Food. I have another loaf proving. Only this time I've enriched the dough with a little milk. Should be interesting, so I can't wait till later this afternoon when I whip it from the oven inspecting every inch.

...Also going in the oven is a beef casserole. Picked  up a Swede yesterday so half of that will be used. The other half in some Cornish type Pasties later in the week, probably Friday.
If I have time I'll make a lemon pudding.

........Harking back......Yesterday I watched Ed Miliband's impressive speech. The boy is out of the shadows methinks. A breathtaking without notes Blairish in style onslaught about all what's wrong in Cameron's Britain and how beautiful life will be in a One Nation Britain with dear leader Milipede at the helm. I loved it.

..........My knees are better.


............Talking of better. Mr Hairy Suit took Mother and I in his modern car all the way to the hospital and back again with a quick lovely detour to Rochford market where the suave fit Hairy pounced on a decent miltary style looking jacket in the RSPCA charity shop. Suits him. Takes years orf him too. I on the other hand bought a large black hat and red cape. Oh my giddy aunt I love them. What else? Oh lots of plums. Back to Hairy....I think he enjoyed his foray into the unquestionably murky underbelly of couture.

......As mum split her solitary Weetabix this morning she said I looked lovely.


............Last weekend's X Factor drove me potty. I found the incessant sobbing of every wannabee tiring and boring. If it carries on like this The X Factor will live no more. It is formulaic to the point of embarrassment.

.......Now I must fly. I hear bells................

Updated

The Labour Party Conference amidst a day of cooking and loving.
I'm in my element.

More later....


It is now later...
Made large white loaf, another Yorkshire Teabread (better than previous one) a rich dark bolognaise sauce for tomorrow's lasagne (bechamel coming later). So plenty of cooking done this morning. After a little sit down and light munchies I'll make tonight's Fisherman's Pie.
Smoked haddock and canned tuna in white sauce topped with layer of sliced tomatoes and covered in creamed potatoes. Usually serve peas with this gorgeous pie and tonight barring madcap ideas will again serve peas.
Pudding will be something light and fuss free, probably remainder of yesterday's crumble.
I'm leaning heavily though towards a chocolate puddle.
I love cooking, as you can clearly see, but sometimes my meticulousness for doing things right...in other words doing it myself... sometime gives me the pip. Why I can't open a packet or raid the freezer occasionally like wiser housewives beats me.
Ok self deprecating rant over.
So before fish pie and choc pud... leg stretch, ham roll and horror flick.

Sunday Special £7:95!

.......Cooking today:

Roast Chicken with milk gravy
Green beans, carrots and petit pois
Boiled potatoes in their skins
Sage and onion stuffing
Redcurrant jelly (my fav)

and for pud...Apple and forest fruits crumble with custard

A bottle of wine on the table too. Rose probably.

Really looking forward to all of it, especially the milk gravy, a real comforting moreish addition to the plate. Making it is easy. Lightly fry a finely chopped onion till soft but not brown, then add some flour and stir well, add some cold milk and two chicken oxo cubes and stir till thickened. This isn't of course an authentic recipe as made by our American cousins but it tastes and looks gorgeous all the same. 

The redcurrant jelly adds sweetness........... and a splash of colour always looks good too. 

My crumble is a regular favourite, simple and quick to make and never been known not to please. I like it.
Some puddings will never go out of fashion and this beauty is one of them. I'll have you know I've fooled around with many a crumble, tarting them up with this that and the other but simplicity always win.

Being soaked as I write, another bowl of sultanas waiting to be made into another moist Yorkshire teabread. So essential with essential mid morning cuppas.

Yesterday's poppy seed loaf was divine, is divine, tasting like nothing on earth. All plain ingredients mixed then baked with love and perfect timing resulting in a loaf to please the baking gods.

Now I must fly...:)

Some meals work out perfectly. Last night's one did just that.

I took a mixture of chopped shoulder and loin pork chops and garlic and gently fried them till juicy and almost cooked.
Then added a handful of sliced chestnut mushrooms, dried sage, pepper and salt. Turned it around in the pan to cook for a few more minutes. Whilst gently stirring I thought about not much, I find I cook better that way.
Had tea.

You'll notice there aren't any onions, well not proper legal onions, just the little upstart masquerading as an onion; the ubiquitous garlic. I love it. Often where a recipe calls for a clove (what's the point I ask) I invariably smash in three or four:)
Garlic is cool.
Anyway there aren't large onions in the recipe, which, by the way is called Roman Cobbler, a gem I found in a paperback written by Joscelin Dimbley, wife of one of the Dimblebums, can't remember which.At any rate it is a fantastic recipe and one I used to make a lot till I went worthy and started concerning myself about the cheese/cholesterol thing. More on that later..... I tend not to fret about health anymore. Mum by the way is looking a little grey but I wheeled her to the shops today, she liked it as much as I did.

Back to last night.

Ok meat cooked and placed in large baking dish. Now to the glorious topping which was firming up in the fridge.
I flinched sickingly on first reading of the recipe...here's why............. I had to take semolina, milk, egg, cheese and butter and make a gnocchi type topping. Thought semolina was for kiddies puds I thought not grown up's savoury mains. I risked it.
How the gluey mix boiled and thickened making it hard to even turn a wooden spoon.
But when the semolina and nutmeg flavoured milk was fit to go I added the aforementioned high cholesterol mix of egg, cheese, butter.
It looked divine. So substantial, so impressive. It was then spread our onto an oiled swiss roll tin and left to stiffen.

And so............Meat cooked..... I took the the semolina from its cold home, sliced it into fingers and laid them on top of the pork. A generous layer of grated cheddar was sprinkled on and into the oven it went till golden, crisping and bubbly bits spurting from the edges.

I always serve this with sweetcorn as it marries so well, bobbles of tender sweet corn as yellow as a daisy go so well with garlicky pork nuggets.

Savouries finished I withdrew from the fridge the best made Lemon Meringue Pie I've ever produced. I mean it was impressive. No sugary wet seepings from the golden meringue and a good wobbly lemony curd sitting fine on crisp dry bottomed shortcrust pastry.
Even I patted myself on the back.

Some meals are memorable and last night's one was certainly that.

Today I'm going for quickness by making  Salmon Pasta.
Tinned pink salmon mixed with lightly fried onions then turned into a pinky sauce by the addition of single cream, tomato puree, seasoning and a careful amount of cayenne.. Too much and it'll mask the flavour of the fish.
I'll boil some spaghetti for it to sit on. Green beans will probably accompany along with slices of homemade poppyseed garlic bread.

No alcohol to drink just water.

Lovely:)


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