Words on my mind. too biz for explanashuns.

Footie.
Tonight.
Us and Holland.
At Wembley. Where I grew up. Blahblah. Where I lived in a spaceship from race 2 to race 8. Kids eh?

Pearcey. Psycho. Blond. Getting on a bit. Brother of man of questionable views.
Keeping silent over Top Job.
Clever.

"The Special One"
Back in Blighty.
For why?
House hunting and all.
Mmmmm There's a Foreigner in the mix what am I gonna do?

My hair looking so spectacular in Sainsbury's a man said something.

Feeling fresh and fruity.... a big bottle of lemon scented floor cleaner awaits usage. It's the daffs wot made me buy it.

More on the domestic front...
On account of the ageing process (not mine) have to ditch braising steak in favour of hard boiled eggs.
Me no want to get old:(

So. Later on. Tonight.
Pearcey to take the strain.
England team with its managerial nightmare fiasco debacle thing will step out onto Holy Ground to play little Holland. I don't think I can take anymore...
And talking of strainers, a quaint little silver one holding within its jaws 2 tsps. of very loose tea, made just about the most perfect cuppa I've ever wallopped.
Thanks Sweetie.

Now I do stuff with only one thing on my mind...

The National Anthem Being Played At Wembley.
God, I can't wait.
:)

Spring continues to tease.

Had a quick tidy up in garden, boxes thrown away, watering of veg, refilling bird feeders that sort of thing. And as I stopped by dad's ashes a ladybird sat on his head. Loved that. Feeling in no way idiotic or sentimental I had a few words...Told him all was ok with mum, her foot bandage now deposited in the bin and her legs glossed by lots of E45. I don't know who was most happy, him or me. Me probably after all I'm on the front line.

Anyway after all that I did some washing, strenuous work on account of being machineless, but like a 1930's London housewife I tossed some sheets in hot water then swung them on the line to dry. A beautiful drying day by the way.

Mum popped out to see it suggesting I take it to the laundry...Ashingdon don't do laundrys dear I said, everyone and his uncle has a washing machine, it's only dinosaurettes like me who applaud the Victorian way of doing things.
Nutter.

So a natter with mum in the kitchen over tea and homemade bread and diabetic jam (not bad) She rarely comes up with anything life enhancing or amusing but as old invalids go she's not a bad thing to have in-house.

As the birds sang we exchanged menu ideas for the rest of this week and beyond..... Yes of course we did...I informed her that I buy I cook and she agreed. End of. One thing I will not do is be told what to do with chops. Any chops. So for today it's pork, lamb later in the week.

Lots of things to look forward to:

Good film this afternoon. Based on true case. The Staircase Murders.


Sainsbury's tomorrow. Must take a handbag to give to my favourite cashier, Veronica, she's a bag lady too!
and
England v. Holland.
I'm smiling just thinking about it :)
Food info in tomorrow's post!

Cheerio!

Blub

Purple. Black and white. Gold. Burnt Umber. Crimson Red. pink.
I looked liked a sweet lady mosaic gone barmy as I bought diabetic blackcurrant jam.
Weather holding up nicely though.

Cooking wise I'm making a beef and veg pie, more bread and a simples Yorkshire Tea Bread with glace cherries thrown in (Ran out of sultanas).

I see that Sasha bloke caused a stir on the Hollywood red carpet last night. Imagine Ryan Seacucumber getting splashed with make believe dead ashes. Nigh on turns me stomach. I expect it took him a hour to brush off the Brits humour. Twonk. Bless. Stole the show and all that.
Loved Ms Streep's, frock. Looked lovely but reminded me of Gold Leaf.
Anyway.....I suppose she feels alright this morning as would Angelina Jolie, massive media coverage.....pose of the century or what!!! Gorgeous woman.
And the *Gwynnie went to some actress who sobbed a lot making all the right sounds... but cleverly not a tear did fall. Soppy.
When I cry my eyes get filled with stingingly bitter mascara and all hell breaks loose on the cheek front. When actors sob nothing runs.
If I were an actress and won a prize I'd simply accept with grace, smile, thank like everyone who ever knew me, pause, smile, look stunned, pause again, milk it to death then walk away quietly...
You'd never see me sobbing in public. Although there was this time once when overcome with alcoholic snowballs I did drop a tear.

Talking about balls and drops...I see there's a new series coming on ITV1 about the Titanic. Will either be a spectacular televisual feast or rot. Films about the stricken liner are a plenty so I'm hoping for something more, other than the captain and failures on the communication front....and icebergs. Please entertain me ITV. More depth maybe...
On a hopeful note....Stars Ken Barlows's son, Linus Roache who I have to say knocks spots of daddy in the looks dept;. And definitely on the acting front. Never rated Bill Roache, a wooden actor who has never left me wanting more, only plus is his immaculate hair.
After all is said and done I will defo give it a go.


Signing off now.
My ear hurts so I'm going to make a beef sandwich.

*Award winners who blub excessively

Cardiff and Liverpool...One of the most exciting matches I've seen for a very long time. I felt sorry for the Welshmen as Liverpool sealed it with the very last punch of the net. But being a good sport and good egg and all that I harbour no hard feelings towards Dalglish and his team, it all went to make outstanding sport on this very *British Sunday.

I'm off to sleep now with crazy thoughts about starting another Blog. A serious one. It won't be a ditzy home for double entendre or footballers I can tell you.

Nightie Night All.



* Beef, snooze, Harry Hill.

Carling Cup Final and A Roast. Sunday's Don't Come Any Fitter Than This

Come on Glo..Up ya come!

NO! Petite fan being difficult!

Ankle and Calf. No problems. Parking...Yes!

Dalglish HAS to play Luis Suarez...

Carroll will probably dirty his boots.AND his long long hair. Swoon...

Lucas. Out. Knee probs.

Meanwhile Cardiff manager Malky Mackay has headaches too.
His captain, Mark Hudson, is dealing with farm problems. I.E. Trouble with calf.

Likewise his reserve Goalie, Tom Heaton, who did SO well against Crystal Palace, is struggling with a bruised ankle. Caused by a knock. Probably against the aforementioned Palace. Number one Goalie, Dave Marshall had better watch his back. My bet is Heaton will miraculously recover...


So...
Nothing quite makes a Sunday like Roast Beef and a kickabout.

My prediction:

Cardiff 2 Liverpool 2
or
Cardiff 1 Liverpool 1
or
Cardiff 1 Liverpool 2 or 3

French films and Farmhouse bread

I baked this Farmhouse beauty late last night, and, after letting it cool, wrapped it in foil leaving it solitary on the kitchen table.

And so to this morning...
We had a couple of thick slices....and realized that nothing beats homemade bread... The supermarket shelves can't hold a candle to it.

And so for today's treat..
Home made Irish Soda Rolls with additional poppy and sesame seeds. These will hold home made hamburgers and home made onion marmalade.
So simple yet so good.

Went out this morning and bought a few old bits:

The Magic Cottage by James Herbert. 50p
A lilac Georgette scarf. 50p
A lilac and mauve 1960's whirly psychedelic style patterned jumper with sequins dotted across the chest. £1:25
A satin cobalt blue blouse for mum. £1:25
A pair of dangly peach coloured earrings. Faux pearl. 25p
A Victoriana style cushion in shades of pale green, lemon and sage green. 75p
Three books for mum. Two Agatha Christie and one about Coronation Street. £1

And from Sainsbury's:
Hair stuff. Specialist Shampoo, conditioner and hair spray for women with silver locks who want them to remain that way.
Smoked Salmon. For mum's fish fetish.
Stockings. For me.

I'm off now to enjoy a chocolate biscuit or two whilst watching 'A Prophet' (2009) a French film with subtitles about a young Arab man who goes to prison and rises to become a top Mafia man.

Sounds fab!

Being Cooked Today

A creamy Fish Pie. Cod. Only. Tried to tempt mum with the hard boiled egg extra but she declined. Cod looks good, firm fleshed and pure white. Parsley from the pot outside to give extra flavour and a bit o' colour. Also a smidgen of nutmeg in the sauce. Mashed potato with butter will be the naughty roof.
and, for pud...Chocolate puddings
Two small pert ones for Mr H and me. Mum blobbing again with her pointless sugar free raspberry jelly.

Talking of jellies...made earlier...a fruit cocktail orange jelly. Simply drain a large can of F.C. make up the jelly in the usual way but dispense with some of the water using instead the juice from the can.
Then tip the fruit into a glass dish and after pinching one or two bits of grape pour over the jelly. Don't add pineapple or kiwi to any jelly if you do it won't set.

Another delightful day weatherwise. Sun shining down upon the pavements and a cool breeze gently sweeping roundabout the houses.
Been sighing as I turn the pages of my newest cook book (Mary Berry) even the District Nurse was impressed, herself too a keen chefette.
By the way mums scalded foot almost new again...
Scab fell off, probably in the carpet somewhere.

Now tea, oatcakes and horror film:)

Bottle It

Weather sublime.
A sky open and as blue as blue can be.
And the glorious sun streaming through the window warming my back as I leant against the draining board.
And then a perky mother pressing folded cash into my hand telling me to go and buy Mary Berry's Complete Cookbook.
And so it was that by mid afternoon I not only had bagfuls of Sainsbury's groceries in the boot but also Mary Berry.
It's times like these that I wish I could bottle my feelings, so that when wedges of despair separate me from you, I could pop the cork on my magic bottle and gulp in days like today.

Being cooked tonight:

Pork Chops.
Garden peas.
Parsnips.
Charlotte potatoes coated in Olive oil spread. Health matters.
Gravy and lashings of tart apple sauce.

For pudding:
I think a nice rice.



Manchester Utd. v. Ajax
Channel 5
19:30

Masterchef tonight, the task being to cook a nice meal for 200 guests.
Ummmm.
Cooking for three or four gets my apron strings in a twist.

(By the way there's some footie action tonight Inter Milan v. Marseilles or somebody. Foreign.)

Having said that I've just made a St. Clement's Swiss Roll, never done this one before, my Rolls usually the jammy type. But this one looks and sounds so yum I had to bake it.

The cooked sponge is now resting under a damp teatowel, probably lie there until I've finished my tea and boiled mum's eggs.
Then an orange and lemon syrup is poured over it and again it's left to rest...Not over mum or her eggs of course but over the sponge.
When it's all sunk in and the cake is fully moist, I lay down some orange curd and whipped cream.
I'll probably just look at it or a mo. then do the rolling up..always a tense time, the roll usually splits in a small way on its upper side, but doesn't take away any of the goodness and pizazz.

Later on I'll be treating Monty to a small piece of unfortunate pollock.

Felt a bit silly buying the papers in my Oxford Bags. A stronger gust of wind and I'd have been orf the ground:)

Quick Bits

................Recording "I am Legend" tonight, will look forward to watching it over the weekend.
Unless I get an offer.

Instead of using a 2 inch round biscuit cutter to make the cobbler topping I used a teddy bear cutter.
One going this way, the other going that way. You know...Feet to head feet to head. Looks so funny. Brushed their bellies with low fat milk.

Mother is watching John Travolta in Pelham 123 with a bulking load of boxed bandages on her blanket. These delivered by chemist man just before six, a little smiley chap not out of place in a Lionel Bart musical.

I fancy an Indian.

Must dash, potatoes just pinged and tum just roared.

Cheerio!

Early a.m. pre-dawn infact. A bitter darkness of spirit enveloped my mind. "Hell" I thought as I literally hid under the cover...
But.
The hands of the clock did their slow dance..............

So happy and filled with the spirit that I lunged at all things yellow in the charity shop, you know the one, the one wedged between the tattoo parlour and Alan's the Dry Cleaners, anyway I bid a merry good morning to Boss Lady who, with her customary flare for words groaned...Morrrrrrning.!
Poor lamb I thought and headed straight to stuff.
Cut a long story short? Ok.
Stood at the till 10 minutes later holding:

1. Yellow cotton fringed thing. Big enough for bed use, hardy enough for table top use and pretty enough for the back of a settee. £1

2. Four nutmeg coloured flowered cotton table mats. On second thoughts could come in handy for sticking under spaghetti chin. 15p

3. Cute small primrose yellow jug. Usage information unavailable. I don't see beef gravy in it. 40p

4. Tall-as-a-sunflower and exactly the same colour Vase. £1. White artificial flower a must.
Sticking with the yellow theme....

5. Four butter yellow melamine plates. "Ideal" I thought for picnic days.

6.One large oval...YELLOW plate. Its usage undeniable...Fruit holder. 15p

7. A thick blue hardback book of inspirational verse. I opened it at today's date. It helped. 50p.

And so I left happy.

Also did mother's money errands, having a bit o'banter with Mr PostMaster. Something to do with not having any pension left to live on that sort of thing, you know. Laugh? YES! I could have smashed the glass which divided us so relieved was I.

Wrote note ( letter with 1st class stamp) to Phil, my mate, head of housing and all that at Westminster Council (bastards) to tell him that all was paid and that if he had any queries he could call me!
Love You!
Pillock.

Have a really busy afternoon ahead so must say fare thee well.

But not before telling you this...Very early this morning a beautiful daffodil lay lifeless on the earth, in the corner actually, under the bare tree, but now, after some sun had warmed its stem it stands lonely but defiantly.

Analogy overload?

Must dash now, I have food to prep, bandages to wrestle with and big yellow things to play with :)


Today's tea is:
Beef Cobbler
Baked Beans
Not a lot of pud because I'm having a real blow out tomorrow!

England Job: The Curse

Stevenage v. Spurs

No sooner has Harry Redknapp been branded England's next must-have coach, his great team, Tottenham Hotspur get a smacking from little warriors, Stevenage...
I say warriors because, unless my ears are playing up, I'm sure I heard the crowd chanting Zulu type tunes. At least I'm ASSUMING it was Stevenage fans...(You must make allowances for age, bed baths and evaporated milk.)

If memory serves me correct, when the Zulus realized the Brits at Rourke's Drift weren't to be messed with and, showed as much, if not more courage than the great Zulu nation, out they came chanting songs of RESPECT...
One line from the film went something like..
"They're not laughing at you, they're praising you as fellow warriors" Or something along those lines. If anyone wants to correct me please feel free.

Anyway, the booming tones of fans sounded terribly like fighters who have met their match.

Stevenage, Spurs, Scary job vacancy, and the Zulu nation. All in one blog post.
Not bad for a lady blogger.

In a lather over windows, spurs and dove soap

I'm in Chuckaway mode so instead of doing me dinner am in the throes of pulling down curtains and sweeping away cobwebs and knick knaks.
Menopause or mother related madness? I just don't know.
Still if it makes the joint cleaner and more accessible then let's rip.

Regarding dinner...It'll be late, very late because Tottenham take on Stevenage in Stevenage in the 5th round of the FA Cup. Nothing spurs me on, on a Sunday, than Boiled Bacon, de-webbing and footie.

By the way gave tiny mum a strip wash this morning then soothed her legs with Moonflower Body Creme. Her new blue and white sailor-type jim jams looked so cute on her that I lost my voice, she....so tiny, so unknowingly wise, so full of grit. After her wash we talked, her in bed, me at the end of the bed, we talked about Dove soap and life after death, we both agreed both were desirable, one being easy pickings, the other a matter of faith.
She has both:)

Now I must fly into the arms of Harry Redknapp:)

Grow Me Own

"She's doing WHAT?!

I bought a Grow-Your- Own- Veg magazine.
As if I haven't enough of my plate! (joke)

Anyway....whilst mum ate her porridge and Jezza Kyle ranted I learnt was that to be self sufficient you first need money. Er...Seeds cost a packet! And tilling machines cost the earth! So I suppose I'll pop to Poundland buy a pair of yellow gloves and packets of seedy things and have a go.
Well at least my heart is in the right place. Even if my brain ain't:)

At the mo there are leeks, potatoes and onions embedded outside, none of which were planted/sowed by me but seeing them being inserted heightened my love of the outdoors...so, when I get a blessed moment, I'll put together a little list of to-do gardening jobs.
Although knowing my penchant for mad- cap schemes I'll probably end up with thousands of *Shirley's hanging by me outdoor tap.


Back inside now:
Being cooked today are Faggots (shop bought) and Pease Pudding, (made by me).
Pease Pudding isn't much trouble to make, just need to remember to soak the green split peas overnight (can use yellow peas, but I prefer the vibrancy of green), then put the peas into some chicken stock along with a quartered onion and bring to the boil, remembering to BOIL RAPIDLY for ten minutes otherwise you might fall very ill, then heat down, cover and simmer for over an hour or so until tender. When tender, mash'em adding salt pepper and butter. If the mix is a little on the dry side add a drop more stock till you get the consistency you prefer.
Plate up hun...

Other culinary joys likely to be executed today are...
Another large loaf. Probably knock that together whilst listening to Any Questions (Radio 4, 8 p.m.)
Might, if time and mother's needs allows, bake a Lemon Meringue Pie... doubt I'll do it but it's a fantasy worth holding onto.

Bye Bye:)

* A breed of Tomato

Big Bread

Loved last night's Masterchef.
Or should I call it Mistresschef.
That flippiing Shaneanananananan or whatever her name is, is giving me the pip. Talk about Big Head!
Why, it's as if the 29 year old knows the outcome already. BTW 29 going on 49.
Her fake surprise at being told how marvellous and fabulous her plates are irritates me no end.
Yes, she does present a good plate of nosh but please don't seem surprised/stunned when Greg and John tell you so.
In other words no false humility please.

Meanwhile the real stars of the show, for me at least, are Eamon and Aki, you get the whole caboodle of emotions from these super amateurs. I adore Aki's face, panic and unclean clothes. My twin perhaps.....
Eamon cries. And you know how much I love real men.
I was willing Greg and John to keep him in and so they did, methinks Shannenenenenen has some competition...
The Scottish girl was toast.
Tattooed Jay is kinda cool and hot and knows his onions, he isn't my type of man though, his eyes are too sunken, but as male cooks go he's fairly awesome. The other little chap, the one who looks scared all the time, whatsisname, anyway, he delivers every week but lacks something. But what do I know?
All I ever cook is safe as houses grub, I don't pile food up and have it surrounded by pools of jus or parsnip cream.
I simply care and cough up homely dishes.

Talking of regular food, the bread, pictured above, tasted like bread should taste. Of ovens and warmth and sat on the bread plate with the unevenness and charm of all fine home made creations.

Back to Masterchef.
The bit where they cooked for farmers and jam makers in Cumbria made me truly salivate, not because the food looked so chewable but on account of FINGERS. On several occasions our chefs used their index fingers to shove lamb and venison and herring and custard onto the guest's plates.
I LOVED THAT!
I use mine a lot.
I've been known to eat with my fingers especially when entertaining, ensures a closeness, an intimacy if you will, that stainless steel does not.

Anyway I hope Aki wins. She probably won't. The glory will go to Miss Big Head. Shaleennannaaa
:)

Bye bye:)

Arsenal v. AC Milan

A corker of a loaf baking.

Masterchef.

Fluffy hair.

I'm over the worst:)

Updated

I'm glad it's sunny.
A light on.

My mind feels like it's a mosaic. Fragments.
Fragile.
Handle carefully.

On way back from station tears dropped.
Delusions of the darker kind.
So utterly tired of winter, people, the never endingness of mazes.

But after a shower I expect I'll pick up.
I have the back door open, letting in cold air and sunlight. An hour ago I fed the birds barefoot, not because I didn't want to mess my slippers but because I wanted the brown endless earth to shock.

After talking on the phone with W.C.C man Phil, I felt a little better. Calling the Head of Housing by his first name kind of takes the sting out of going over and over and over the same bloody stuff. He even asked how I was, I lied...
After I hung up I felt satisfied that another irritation had dissolved so made yet another pot of tea. 

I've changed bags, made up my face, scented my body with Opium and will now boil a couple of Mother Eggs.

17:15...

Just as I was about to make a flan mother yelled. So I left the safety of the kitchen and ran into the front room. She had been sick.
A mad dash flurry of activity ensued, on my part naturally, she, being pale and exhausted . leant as I told her against the bathroom sink.
Why am I blogging about this? Because it's sweet release. 


She has just told me that her pork chop needn't be cooked but  that I was to roast mine.
I'm not in the mood for a bit of a dead pig.
I didn't tell her this of course, I just left her in the arms of Bradley Walsh and his Chase.
If I'm lucky I'll get to do the ironing which I should have done this morning.

Reminder List of The Good Stuff:

Wetherspoons in Leigh on Sea. Book lined shelves and a jolly decent Chicken burger. Life's not all about napkins and tips.

Red lipstick. God it looks divine.

St Clement's Roulade.The making thereof sometime next week.

Roast Beef. Sunday. Roasted and fat and bloody and glistening with oil. Mmmmm baby. Kill that cow now.

Silent men. Oooozing promise by a tongue left still. Yipppee.

My clear complexion.

30 tummy scrunchies on the kitchen floor whilst listening to Woman's Hour.

Masterchef.

The book of Job.

Kevin the cat from over the road. His timely afternoon visit to the conservatory made me laugh. Cheers Kev. 

Mr H's telephonic reminder that tomorrow is Sainsbury's Day. No wonder I have a barrel load of boyfriends.

My playfully dark sense of humour...

Now I must check on Mother's bib and then make a nice apple flan..



Bye bye

UPDATE ON THIS MOST BEAUTIFUL DAY.

ALL GOING WELL ON THE MOTHER FRONT. Nursey quick and pleased therefore me pleased. Although have had to order some more comfy sterile dressings for the coccyx area.

NOW...TEA AND OLIVER STONE'S EPIC SAGA...........JFK.

with tea and bikkies of course.xxx

Oh and I have two Valentine's Day cards on the mantelpiece.

Big Lol:)

St Valentine's Day

It is the day of Love.

And this is the Lovely loaf I made yesterday.

And last night five minutes before midnight, we all had a slice. Mum in the armchair, Mr H. at the kitchen table, me by the sink. And smiles were all around when the knife went in.

We Loved it.

Today I'm roasting a couple of Pork chops for mum and me, Mr H. will have some bread on his late return.

After tackling household stuff, I'll make another loaf... later this afternoon I expect, nothing fancy just a plain shiny brown loaf.

Mr H., mother and me will oooh over it. Mum in bed, Mr H. elbowing the table and me polishing the sink.

Lovely:)

Some things are worth waiting for.

Update from this morning's loaf post..

I'm making some Granary bread today, will top it with sesame and sunflower seeds.

A loaf fit for kings, paupers, infact, all.

Bread, a truly classless food.

May be I should have a go at advertising!

Just before 3 p.m..............Turned out a freshly baked loaf, the kitchen filled with a nutty warm aroma, and the loaf looking lovely and imperfect.
By imperfect I mean lolling ever so slightly to one side but still a fine Split Tin Loaf type shape, the seeds still deeply sunk into the shining toffee brown crust and its bottom, perfectly toned. Almost a shame to slice or slap it...

But slice it I will and slap it I will with butter and strawberry jam and not just for hungers sake either but in celebration of mum's careful slow visit to the kitchen and her unaided rise from the armchair. Yipdeedoo.

More updates later on I expect.........

Nicky Campbell BBC1 The Big Question. Lady Bishops?

I'm Not getting in a lather over whether or not the Church of England should have women bishops, , all seems pretty petty to me. If I, or any of my crew, needed to see a Top Christian we wouldn't get the pip if the person turned up to the bungalow wearing lipstick or sporting tuffs of nose hair.

It would be tenderness that mattered.

As mum had a bit of a bad night and looks peaky I thought it best that I, instead of Mr H, made haste to get the papers. I needed, you see, to dissolve the bits and stones of anxiety which shot around my innards, so half dressed, I marched up the hill.
Felt bloody good.

Now I will sort out the kitchen and conservatory:)

Being cooked later today:

Braised Bacon joint with veggies
Canned Lychees and ice cream for man an I
and
Orange jelly for mama

As Mother gets deeper and deeper into her bed clothes and Mr H. laughs at Blazing Saddles I nip out to rearrange kitchenalia.
Why now?
Because because because I have some free me time. So after penning this I'll potter...

Earlier...........
While our chicken and veg roasted I moved the big brown Argos dressers from the kitchen into the conservatory.
And by doing so, the falling to bits armchair, which was originally in the kitchen but for some weeks now has been disintegrating in the aforementioned conservatory could be reinstated in its rightful position...KITCHEN CORNER.

(Mothers are SO in the way in the house.) The whole bungalow has been turned upside down since her arrival but life has a way of sorting itself out and so it came to be that my favourite old chair is now snugly cramped in the kitchen between small window and 1960's dresser. (Given to me by neighbour)


No seriously, honestly, I never felt quite right when looking at the armchair (circa 1970 given to me by another neighbour), seeing it lonely with its back against grubby glass and no cat or me upon it, kind of felt like I'd ditched it without a care but I did and do care.....
All this heartpain was because of a bed...

Mother's bed.

A complete painful rearrangement of the drawing room was needed so....to make room for the rather lovely pine bed (lucky mum) we relocated the dresser to the kitchen which meant shifting my old armchair from the warmth of the kitchen to the chill of the really terrible conservatory. I do like the conservatory but it's never quite had a personality. One moment it's a tinkley airy place for drinking tea whilst sitting on peacock chairs with cream cakes and air fresheners. The next it's a mucky shed, stuffed with bird seed barrels, grungey mop and men's pliers.
Poor mixed up kid that conservatory.

But after today's tea time shuffle, it has the makings of a Ladies Play Room:)

Talking of Playing.
I am now in possession of the biggest Jug I've ever seen:0

If Mr H. gets a mo I'll ask him to take a pic I will then upload it to here.
It really is the daftest looking thing:o

I So Don'T Need This

!. Undefrosted chicken breasts
2. Lost Bed Sore Cream.
3. Reduced Blue Mixing Bowl. Argos. Sale on But Not For Long.
4. Ditto Batter Jug.
5. Weight Gain on the husband front.

Decided to store away most recipe books on account of number 5.
Slide under Mother bed to recover number 2.
Turn Mr H. out into the cold to buy numbers 3 & 4.
Yelled and prodded number 1 'cos I was in a temper at forgetting to take out breasts late last night.

But amongst the thorns...Manchester United v. Liverpool (Simpering footballers, no handshake offered by Suarez and all that...) and England v. Italy (Cauliflowered eared and Lamb Shanked Rugby Thighs:)

Talking of Real Men...
Harry Hill has a hairy chest.

"Yeah my new assistant is a small bird, about this high, not a lotta knowledge but a good gel"

The mucky saga of Capello v. F.A. waddles along, and I'm ecstatic. Nothing puts an extra beat in my heart more than a silly fracas over choice of England Managers.
As long as it isn't Terry O'Neal I'll be alright.

I see Fabio is back on continental soil already, what a rotter. And after all we gave him, millions of English Pounds and all that. Didn't even stay long enough to thank supporters for their support.
Typical Italian.

Well blow you.

England will rise from the cinders like my legs rise when I've had a bad day. Up they come, torn and scarred but willing to give it another go. Backs and Walls and all that.

Talking of Backs. When it gets to night time, round about 9 I'd say, my back gives me what-for. I seek relief by rubbing it but my hands only reach a little way up. I'd ask Mother to rub it but her left elbow is bandaged and her sight isn't very excellent so she's out of the frame. Oh well, we all have our cross to bear.

Going back to Football Catastrophes, I hope England don't have one when playing with the Dutch. Good team, the Netherlands, not a team to ever take lightly, should be feared and respected. Chuffed to hear Pearcey will be in control. always liked and admired Psycho. (See above HOT PIC)The best manager we never had?
I tell you all this kerfuffle over who will lead England into Euro 2012 has put iron in me marrow.

Talking of marrow and meat...I'm making a nice beef stew today, it'll be stacked with tons of root veg...parsnip carrot potato leek all simmered for ages in two oxos. I'll drop eight dumplings in too. By the way last nights chops were lovely but the bungalow walls were almost shattered by the sound made when Mr H and I stuck our spoons into the soft squidgy chocolate puds. There are no words to describe how smashing they were. So I'll stop here!

Must dash I have a new iron to play with..................

Cheerio!

On the menu ~

Pork chops, roasted
apple sauce, served in a shallow blue dish
mashed potato, whipped with butter and warm milk
glazed parsnips, sweetened even more with brown sugar
and
steamed kale, a lovely frilly friendly veg

*

Individual chocolate up and over puddings served with a little cream
but not for mum...
for mum...
sugar free raspberry jelly. Poor darling.

Have been fulfilled today by soothing green soup, faintingly fine home made bread, kitchen chatterings and the Capello/Redknapp hoo hah.
I love it!

Radio 5 Live 7 p.m. "What Now For The F.A. and England?"
Can't wait:)

A kind tall lady worker in the Co-Op stuffed some tissues into my hands when my left eye played up. Rivulets of mascara'd water ran down my face turning my perfectly made up eyes into punch drunk Panda Punk!
Didn't concern me how I looked though it was how I felt that mattered,.......shattered! Keeping up with every day mundane matters/tasks/ is taking its toll on my back and brain. But I'll keep calm and carry on. By the way a very good friend of mind recommended Eucryl tooth powder for those stubborn stains. Tea mostly.

Anyway I paid for four papers and butter headed out into the snow packed car park, where not a soul was to be seen..
The car park by the charity shop however was very different, a couple of slow older people battled with sludge and baskets while a business man pounded the path in his inappropriate glossy size tens.
Inside Joan greeted me, her big cherry face breaking into a warm smile. "There she is" she said grappling me nearly to the ground.
I do love Joan....... even more so today................ on account of her letting me have a double duvet, Mickey Mouse shorts and Afghan jacket.......all kind of cut price:)

Have made lots of leek soup and a wholemeal loaf for dinner time.
I made the loaf late last night leaving it to rise by the radiator. Blooming big it was at 7 a.m. and the sight of it cheered me up no end. The soup was made as I took in the incredible news...

So whilst Mother slept I cooked, listening to the News.
Fabio being given the boot by the F.A..... too shocking and cruel for words John. can hardly believe it. All kinds of conspiracy theories swishing about in my head...
Will Ordinary Harry grab the gauntlet? That's what I want to know. Where will Fab go next? Chelsea, Inter, Somewhere else. I just don't know mate.
Looking forward to watching the F.A. press conference at noon, which will, I'm sure enlighten us.

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

Am loving my Afghan;)

The Queen and I...with update at the bottom...

"Oh what a glorious day to be a small busy lady with a dodgy knee"

Just trudged around the thick iced regions on Ashingdon Road.
Very nasty indeed Sir!
But kitted out in white fur coat, grey beret and black tank girl boots I soon made light work of collecting Mother's pension, getting the papers, paying rent.

Someone said that when two Englishmen meet their first subject of conversation is invariably the weather.
Correct.
"Oooooh" Older lady with red anorak dragging excited-small-at-home-child
"Steady!" LOL white haired man with one arm as I tiptoed abruptly to my left on account of sludge and heavy newspapers.
"Oh, had to shovel it for hours...." men talk outside number 28

But we got there in the end. Some of us unscathed. Which is more than I can say for some poor thing who'd left half a pint of blood outside the Post Office.

Feeling a little idiotic but with tension building up in my arthritic legs I decided to walk in the road.
Far less dangerous!

Today's Eatables:
Men Food. Meat Madam, Meat. Will feminize it with a light-as-a- spider's-leg dessert. Something with fruit or something. Will be spectacular on account of loving every joyous minute of prep.
Will, if time allows knock together a fruit cake, icing not allowed.



God Bless The Queen.
60 years of Service. Think endless banquets and all her openings.
Sadness. Think castle/divorces/Blair/Thatcher/real bloody conflicts/scrutinization of daughters-in-law/Camillagate/French tunnels/the Duke's heart and mouth.

Family joy. Think Grandchildren. Royal Ascot. Shooting.

Money Matters furore. Think tax, let in price for Buck House and family pocket money.
Spectacular change in wardrobe. Think strawberry pink. Now not so matronly more cougar/Goodhousekeeping chic.

Elizabeth has behaved in a right royal way...Always there, saying very little.
Filled out a bit, but looks good.

All in all not a bad Monarch, one thing is for sure when and if Prince Charles's botty polishes the Throne .....it won't be as squeaky clean.

Just made theeee most lusciously sweet red onion marmalade. It tastes so good I might have it warm with a cracker and nut of cheddar.

Spent ages on 12 custard tarts and what happens...I end up having an altercation with 1lb of sweet dough.

The delicate-as-a-flower raw sweet pastry split and kind of exploded resulting in just 8 tiny tartlets.

All flipping morning I was doing them, the custard part was fine, sweet and clean with a perfect consistency. It was the dough that brought forth grief.

However little I handled it, the mound just gave way. resulting in many rollings and re-rollings all of which are bad news to frail raw pastry.

But I persevered and had, at the end of it, 8 reasonably sized custard tarts.

Deciding that life is too short we all had one listening to Wales v. Ireland. (Wales won).

The tarts were crumbly and ever so creamy, a very pale set custard but with just the right amount of wobble, and, with a dusting of freshly grated nutmeg, the little things were perfect with tea.

I think though the next time I do something for mother, I'll make a Big One:)

BTW..She has pencilled in a notebook a few fancy tea time recipes she'd like to try...me to make.....Oh yeah....Anything under a 7 inch diameter is no go baby. You either get large or get nothing at all:)

The roast chicken didn't give me grief though, neither any of the veggies or Yorkshire puds, all fine on the dinner plate.

The rice pudding was excellent fare, caramelly in colour on account of using a mix of evaporated and full fat milk, the butter melting to give an deep amber skin.

I am now officially zonked.

But not too shattered to check whether Mr H. has done a good job of the washing up then I'll crawl into the drawing room where mother lies stately.

:)

Cheerio

I fed the birds then fed mother.

Cooking today, probably round about tea time, will be a chicken, roasted and served with the usual suspects of glazed parsnips and buttered peas, carrots currently giving me the pip!
For afters, rice pudding made with full cream milk and sugar substitute. Have to resort to this because otherwise mother wouldn't be able to join in.
Also keeping me kitchen bound will be the making of a dozen custard tarts, think I mentioned that yesterday, at any rate they'll be made sometime this afternoon. Probably while watching Columbo and sipping life saving char.

Isn't the snow awful?
Had my heart doing all sorts of pumpings this a.m. There I stood in olde dressing gown, quite vile on account of missing belt and buttons held together with old tie and saftey pin, anyway there I stood in kitchen peering out like a schoolkid at the almight white stuff. Slipperless.
my very first thought being. Birds.
A robin was circling the bird table as if to say WTF.
So having a heart and slight bout of melancholia I bounded into the bedroom to find an old old pair of boots.
Within seconds and before I could say "acutely aware of the feelings of others" I was sweeping away snow from the table with the sleeve of my red dressing gown.

Mr H. will sometime today, probably after watching the Nicky Campbell show on BBC1, shovel away snow-on-the-drive. Neighbours are already at it. Laughing too.
Doesn't take much to bring out the Blitz Spirit.

Mother on the other hand is asking whether or not she's taken her pills and does any of it matter anyway.
Yes my dear it does matter......... just as empathising with birds matters on this Winterd day.

By the way. Didn't watch The Wrestler last night on account of my back and eyes. My back ached and my eyes bringing down their shutters just before 9. Before 9!
Age + Graft+Talk+Food+Just Tired :)

Awake now and looking out onto garden and road....a museum of white iced architecture. Deathly still save the occasional leaf tremor as a sparrow disembarks a chilled branch and lands on the food laden table.......
:)

Burns's Haggis v. Henry's Rib Roast

If I get a move on I should catch the beginning of what promises to be a corker of a match between two great rugger teams...England and Scotland.
So will dash off some spuds, prep some beans, and dilly dally over tarts. (Mother hankering after some small custard ones)
All good news to my small ears.

She enjoyed the braised bacon yesterday and is looking forward to a steak and kidney pudding tonight, also on the cards but not in a foodie context is a film called 'The Wrestler' a stormer of a movie according to IMDB contributors. A must watch.

By the way I'm all in all colours today. But will, round about kick-off, get into my pukka England Rugby shirt so generously thrown to me by a gentleman friend. It wears like a frock, coming to my knees...I do so like LARGE rugby lovers.

By the way again, I have to dash to Boots (not now stupid) and clear the Collection 2000 lipstick shelf... I love their Crimson. X

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

ENGLAND!

Had a jolly good potter in the garden this morning and was joined by two robins.
As me and my gardening friend spaded and churned and planted and patted, the two robins gambolled, skipped, their capers making me smile. In awe mostly.
They bounced from tree stump to bird table to fence to water butt stopping stock still when either of us stepped a step. They exhibited a mad kind of braveness, flying close by to us humans and landing only feet away, one even watching me, his interested head and black bubble eyes burning into me as I gazed at a leek.

I don't do much gardening but when I do I become transfixed by the wonder of sodden earth and all the grubs brought about by tilling.

My friend and I finished the work and for a few minutes leant against the doorjamb, looking at my spindly brown youthful apple tree...I posed this question...."Where is the sweet flesh, the red, the green, the skin, the pips?"
My co-gardener looked a little bemused, stumped even.
"In its memory, I suppose".
And for some reason that twanged a chord, for a moment I saw the tree as a 'being' a living structure capable of storing memories. Memories. Some how I'll never bite into an apple with quite the same thoughtlessness again...

Being braised as I type is a nice gammon joint. The small beauty is lying on a mess of leeks, carrots and parsnips, and it's belly bathes in hot simmering stock.
I'll slice it a bit later and serve it with a couple of buttered potatoes. Mum will want mustard with it but I'll plump for onion chutney.
Pudding will be strawberry jelly and evaporated milk for Her Majesty and for me a quartet of digestives. Chocolate probably.

Cheerio :)

Words fail me, said the poet

his library set on fire

Structuring verse?

a colourless pigment of his old imagination

Rummaging, he catches sight of a flame filled notebook

In it, his past

Woe is me, he cries, as alphabet letters blaze

A friend bought me a radiator.

I fiddle with icing because a friend prefers iced cakes.

I gave a cheery pro-Britain mug because I knew it would cause an uproar.

I made a Bolognaise for our friends not because I had some extra lean mince but because they are fun to be with and buy me yellow blooms.

Mum told me "daddy loved you very very much"

Very late at night I pick up Mr H. from the station because I don't want him walking past the petrol station, the houses and pubs carrying his heavy bag.

I cleanse mother's face and legs not because I have to or should but because I don't want her to forget she's a Woman. Make-up adheres better to a scrubbed face and socks stick better to moisturized legs.

I reply to texts from mates because sometimes they come at just the right time. The idea of a pal dropping by for coffee'd conversation kind of disentangles me from bandages and vapour rub.

Different grub and different jokes but the same love.

Being cooked today:
More fish I expect, served with chat and char:)

Looking forward to Masterchef tonight. Which is a bit rich considering I've just dropped a frozen pie into the oven.
Whatever next?
Tights? Instead of stockings.
Sad? Instead of chipper.
Savings? Instead of splashings.

This temporary dissing of excellent home cooked food is because I can't bear to hear the sound of a tinkering knife and fork when mum is glum.
I'm coming out in sympathy so will quickly enter the kitchen, cut into the hot Sainsbury's steak and kidney pie and swallow rapidly.... without much joy or company. Lone dining is sometimes best. Not often just sometimes.

Just for the record...I'm actually KEEPING a log of everything she eats, even a lone cream cracker gets noted.
:(

P.S.
My left thumb came up last night, all mauve and hot it was. Kept tapping it but it wouldn't deflate.