bubble bubble

Rhubarb, ginger and soft brown sugar.
To be topped with an oaty crumble mix.
Before we get to enjoy the sweet we must have the savoury.

For Mr H and me...Corned beef with green beans and goat's cheese mash
for mum, old cold gammon, tiny unpeeled potatoes and English mustard.

Hoping she'll say yes to a spoonful of the roo, but won't get grumpy if she refuses. Again.

Bungalow in an awful state due to a few things.

1. Knees.
Blogged earlier about them but providing they don't deteriorate further I'll say no more. Blasted ugly lumps. Being a sufferer since 1999 I've been unusually lucky in as much as I rarely see docs, last time I saw a hospital consultant was so long ago I can't possibly remember. "No cure" she said and closed the file on me. Gordon her name was, a stout fierce looking lady with thick clouds of black hair. She was kind but hid it well.

2. Huge amounts of emotional turmoil.
I am my own worst enemy. I am a clot, a pocket clown who gives to the point of exhaustion then makes the mistake of holding out my hands for a bit of the same.

3. Preferring to be conservatory bound potting up strawberry plants in old mesh basket.
I didn't have a hanging basket liner so used three sheets of the Mail. Soggy old paper anyway.

By the way, the back garden looks and feels more spacious than it's ever looked and felt. Had the pleasure of watching two infrequent visitors...sparrows. Along then came a robin sitting proudly on the bird table. Almost posing. Were his black beany eyes really copping an eyeful and I ironed in the nude.
Whatever...I felt all loved up and so continued to press.

As I type Mother is slouching cougar-like waiting for her feed.

Must fly>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>