Bit dark out.
Doesn't match my mood though.
Funnily enough.
I should be depressed because mum is being kept in hospital for a couple of days.
Tests.
But I feel strangely alright, bit tired but ok overall. I must be suffering from some kind of mental aberration. I'm so worn down I'm almost UP. A kind of flight or fight mentality has kicked in/broken out.
It's amazing what the mind can do when it needs to survive.

Anyway...

Two docs, one consultant. All very fine professional people who talked a lot yet managed to say very little.
"Time...tests....waiting....."
They went on.
Nurses excellent. But they didn't know anything either! They were "kind and pleasant" said a washed-out mum.
"Especially Nora" I said.
(Huge woman with parched brown hair. I liked her too. No nonsense, no waist. But as gentle and loveable as a sleeping bear.)
She was the one who, by the way, gave me the best tasting coffee my lips had ever been wetted by AND had the sense/heart to bung a few Rich Tea biscuits in the saucer.

Time went........
Arrived at 9.
A busy place running alive with the sick and their companions. Only got in temper once when wheelchair bound mum, a porter and me were waiting in line to check in at the X-Ray dept....A couple of bleached haired pink jacketted vulgar hard faced probably drink soaked tarts/chavs tried to push in. Yeah right....Dream on you nasty bastards.
It's at times like this when you KNOW you could kill or at least draw a little blood.
Mum wasn't aware but Adam the porter was.
"I hate people like that" he said as he pushed mum along to the room.
"Don't let 'em get to ya" I said, silently wishing their downfall.
Ok over the top. But I felt raw and anything and everything was hurting.
I had to get mum through this day and didn't need louts taking liberties.
They tried and failed:)

After 10 hours...
Mum was moved to another ward where I did my best to reassure her. Where I found the words God only knows, but somehow they popped out from behind my arid tongue landing like drops of Evian on her dry pasty face.
Left at 8.
My walk to the outside was made light knowing that a pal was picking me up.
A real tonic.
A friend.


Now I must.................fly? Not on your nelly, I'm taking it easy...
Tea, bed and a motherless quiet stillness...



:(

Bit cloudy.
Matches my mood.
But I'll plug on:)

Mother is dressed. Ready. But definitely not able or willing to go to the hospital.
But go she must.

Now we must fly.
Wish us luck.
:)

Supper

Spiced Pork and the Humble Cabbage.
A smashing little supper.


Either pork belly or shoulder, sliced
red onions, quartered
carrots, sliced
mushrooms, left whole
green cabbage, shredded but not too finely

Curry powder, at least a tablespoon
Soy, a good shake of the bottle
Garlic, at least four cloves
Pepper, as much as you like, I like it very much

Chicken oxo cube
Enough water to make a little gravy, don't want the pork floating about in gallons of liquid.

Fry pork.
Add onions, carrots and mushrooms.
Add curry powder, soy, pepper, oxo and water.
Stir till it all bubbles up.
Lid on and leave for half an hour or so.
Check it now and again.
Quick stir then make yourself a cup of tea.
Then.
Dunk cabbage in boiling water, leave for 30 seconds, remove , add to porky mix.

All done.

I tend to serve this piled up on boiled rice but have had it with mash.
Rice or Tatties? Not a lot in it.
But.
Mango chutney is essential.

What a gorgeous day.
Sunshine... but not too hot as to get me in lather, a silly breeze.......... just enough to brisk my cheeks and a jolly good runaround in Sainsburys.
Barbie was wearing false eyelashes:(


Between 7 and 9 spent some no-fun time with Mother. Her laying on the floor, me carrying her from a to b and signs I'd rather not mention. Lol!
But all is not bad because as I drove past Roots Hall (Home to Southend Utd) my phone rang and being mobile aware I ignored it till I got to Sainsburys car park where I checked my voicemail.
Mum has a hospital appointment tomorrow for a thorough going over by the assessment team.
Wheelchair will be waiting!

Now I must fly and I wish I could, fly I mean. Imagine taking in bellies of breath and with a swoop of your arms and a push from your heels you're up...I feel a poetic piece brewing...

Ta ta!

Prose Poem 2. Carer

Am faced with keyboard not knowing what to write.
"Write what you know" say publishing giants...
"Whose bones hurt most?" I thought, cradling mum's veined body
"Hers" said my half bent self
For I am lusty without failings , she, contorted, without identity.

Angela Norris


Had a bit of a day so decided to steam a couple of shop bought Steak and Kidney puddings instead of making my own.
For pud? Raspberry jelly inlaid with jewelled canned fruits!

:)

Prose Poem 1. Wordless

Instantaneously their thoughts were the same. And being close... each echoed their liking.
There was no space between them not even a paper thin crack. Alone, except for the prowling cat on the split grey path and singing birds aloft ragged branches the tangled lovers knew.

Angela Norris

Just seen off the very likeable district nurse Janet, who did what needed to be done then, on my path, had a few words with me.
Words which enlightened and calmed.
She also made me chuckle.
Which, for a busy Monday morning was remarkable, I don't usually do chuckles so early in the week.

While all this went ton Mr H. skated around the garden borders doing a little something or other. He loathes being outside but I don't feel guilty, after all my cup doth overfloweth:(

To keep a smile on my face and hope in my heart I'm reading an anthology of poems called "Staying Alive" real poems for unreal times....
Edited by Neil Astley no relation I suspect to the pop singer whatshisname Astley, you remember...Never Gonna Give You Up...Never Gonna Say Goodbye...Never Gonna Hurt You....
In it are examples of prose poetry which I've fallen in love with. Looks awfully familiar to the type of verse I've been known to write...No rhyming, no iambic tetrameter.
See below*



Absolutely must fly on account of needing to make beef sandwiches, the marinating of chicken thighs and general mismanagement of time.
:)


* On Walking Backwards

My Mother forbad us to walk backwards. That is how the dead walk, she would say. Where did she get this idea? Perhaps from bad translation. The dead, after all, do not walk backwards but they do walk behind us. They have no lungs and cannot call out but would love for us to turn around. They are victims of love, many of them.

Anne Carson


:)

:)

England 1 Norway outplayed.
OK.
Good for Roy's Boys and so onwards to the next match against Belgium.
Who, by the way, was the only country to award us a point in last night's Eurovulsion Song Horror Show I may though be in error as I only caught the last dying moments of the atrocious music fest.
But ant any rate thanks Belg, looking forward to seeing you Saturday at Wembley. Won't however be as generous.

Too warm and active today to faff around with major cook-ins so have just put a fair sized Brisket of Beef into the oven for a long slow cook.
No veggies floating about just stock and a little cooking wine.
On account of the weather I thought it more sane to eat in the cooler part of the day. Like 19:00 hrs or thereabouts. Floated the idea to mum who thought it a good idea...
Bless her heart....The hardy lamb had yet another pain-filled night, this right arm of hers is giving her what for and nothing seems to quite do the trick.
Yesterday I massaged it using lots of weapons grade moisturising cream, it helped she said and so in a roundabout sort of way helped me because any improvement, however slight, is satisfying.

But back to today which is going to be Wonderful...
Beef, gardening, reading poetry. (Prose poetry being my new 'thing')
All the above proving beneficial .
Food keeps me active and beautiful and it's yummy too.
Gardening affords physical improvements and emotional nourishment.
Reading mellows.


:)

ENGLAND V NORWAY

I said England v Norway...X

My whole day is planned around tonight's MUST/SHOULD/ HAVE TO WIN GAME.
I'm already in me shorts and waving a miniature England Kit about. No brekkie just enthusiasm.

What to cook though? For tonight's pre-match tea...That's the thing matey.
Probably do a quick tuna penne thing with plenty of corn, tomatoes and green stuff on the sidelines.
Pud?
Lemon cake with ice cream.
Then settee bound for the highlight of my week, KICK-OFF!



Now I must fly but one final thought...

If I could be anywhere, other than here right now, I'd be with Roy.

It's that time of year again when..... Andy Murray grumps around the courts, chickens get burnt on the barbeque and I wear floaty frocks!
Love it.

The French Open starts on Sunday, he, Murray meets a Japanese player (Ito) in the first round...should be a doddle for the Scot. But in his group is his mate the ever so resilient, ever so brilliant killing machine, Rafa Nadal. Prepare for War. Tennis Wars are the only Wars I adore! I'm simply gushing over the the thought of Wimbledon, can't wait to watch it with mum eating Sainsburys strawberries and dairy free cream. Weight? Heart? None of the above. Just love the taste.
I'm hoping she'll be fit enough and upright enough to sit in a real chair alongside me watching our favourite televised sport. Love All...

Chickens were made for scorching, burning and glazing. On a bbq. Preferably with homemade sauce made earlier in the day long before the guests arrive, this leaves more time for chattering/drinking/kissing.
Salad would/ should be under wraps in case of a) bugs b) poisoning c) thieves. A cornucopia of breads should be available. Butter for the thin and carefree, spread for the twits/worriers.
Boneless breast is the absolute ideal body piece for al fresco eating, but make sure to flatten the ample booby otherwise it might not cook through resulting in old people dying.

Talking of which I've already caught the summer food bug because instead of making a fish pie for tonight I've plumped for homemade burgers with red onion relish, stupid lettuce washed shredded and dried, potato wedges encrusted with spices, buttered mange tout (what?) and big buns.

Now I must fly.
Oooodles to do and dreams to dream.
I'm such a girl/wacko/

Yesterday was fraught.

Nurse in for the dull affair of checking bed sores, but after a long three way talk we discovered lumps in mum's armpit.
What?
"The little minx" I thought. That's why she insists on washing her arms in private.
"Didn't want to worry you" she cried
I said nought.

Nursey got on the mobile to Doc who came within half a hour. And what a kindly gorgeous Spaniard he is.

Ok. Mum waiting for call from hospital to go for an assessment.

Nothing today is too much trouble.

Nearly half ten, way past my bed time, but before I head bedwards I must jot something down.

Today was lovely.

Monday in shades of lavender

.....Sunlight on the grass as I sat serenely on the back step potting up ten lavender plants.
Monty goofed as a spot of compost fell on his head. Silly boy.

I've placed the green plant pots in and around a few flowering shrubs and by carefully placing one of the pots next to the apple tree I managed to cover a hard crack in the dried up soil.
Something saddens me about dryness.
Which.... led me to fill three watering cans with water from the Water Butt so as to refresh the new baby plants and ease the pain of scorched earth.
My empathy has no bounds.

Had a quick natter with mum about potatoes, Saturday's Eurovision Song Contest and England's warm-up match with Norway...Heaven help Hodgson if it goes pear shaped. Can't wait for all of it! I feel a major cook-in will be necessary as will a long sit down.
I love events!

...After washing the dirt from my hands I made a 'risotto' adding mushrooms, peas and tomatoes to the easy cook rice...Along with curry powder, garlic and s&p. Decent little mix this, goes with any kind of meat, especially good bangers which is what we'll be eating tonight.
Pudding is being a pain, probably plump for tinned pears and chocolate custard!

Now I must fly........................
:)

An alomost perfect Sunday...

Spent most of the day pottering in the garden.
So out there was I that I forgot the potatoes were simmering....Oooops! Managed to scrape them off the bottom of the pan. They were alright...
Other than that and the fact that mother is motionless and refusing to eat I'm having a sweet and lovely day. Baked a smashing cake. Read a little. Txtd. Watched Nicki Campbell prog about Religion v. Sects. Did my nails.

Baked a couple of Bramleys for pud, the flesh went marshmallowy and the skin taut, shiny and brown. Deep in the cavities I pushed a few raisins and brown sugar then topped them with spoonfuls of golden syrup. Baked them under the gammon joint. Which was so pink and tender it almost seemed a shame to carve it. But I did. Thickly. And plated it up alongside steamed cabbage, the aforementioned tatties and a couple of fat parsnips. I had a spoonful of mango chutney with mine, Mr H. plumping for Branston pickle.
I like odd mixes.

Ok back to garden games.
There were many.
Firstly dragging an old old table from A to B, then covering the cracked and warped thing with a Sunflower tablecloth.
Dusted orf a few chairs slinging them thereabouts.
Eagerly await the first hot day...
Eager to munch al fresco.

Also re-homed the garden bench back into its right and proper place...under the Japanese Maple. Not content to just drop and leave, I placed underneath its varnished wooden slats two wooden slightly faded sleeping and curled cats.
By the side of the bench, a table from an ancient nest of tables, and on it one real plant and one artificial.
So much pleasure from things so simple.

I also placed my gorgeous green and cream olde worlde watering can by the weed infested rockery, some of the weeds are quite striking so may live another day!

There's much more I want to do especially by the herb garden and bins but that'll be for later in the week.
:)

Now I must fly, have a Sci-Fi film to watch.

:)

A Quick Badly Thought Out Post

After a fab sleep I woke to banana toast and Roy Hodgson.

The two are unrelated. Sort of.
I very much doubt that Mr Hodgson would embrace such a girly breakfast. But as breakfasts go it's a corker especially when it's made for you. Mr H. peeling orf his yellow rubber washing up gloves in order to grill me bread and honeyed nanas.

Hodgson.
Roy, has said that he expects, nay demands his pampered players to behave well during Euro 2012 and would therefore like to see the skilled brats drinking coffee outside a nice cafe and drowsily tiptoeing around museums. Er..... Can't see Mr Rooney with a guide book can you?
This England coach means business.
I like him already.

Yadder yadder....

I have a long to-do list today so better get a move on.

Bacon. To braise. (Ideal for mother's gums)

Cake. To bake. (Ideal for friends, family and sanity)

Fruit. To saladyfy. (Two cheap tins decanted into glass bowl)

Creases. To iron away. (Yeah right)

Plants. To tend. (My little green babies)

Monty. To mother. (Cat won't leave my side, feels he's being excluded on account of football and mum)

Violent film. To re-watch. ('Law Abiding Citizen' revenge, torture, perfect viewing with a bag of milk bottles)

Readers Digest. To flick and fondle. (Recipes all in large print)

Euro 2012. To look forward to. (And Wimbledon, I ask for nothing more than a summer of sport and love and cheesecakes) Not necessarily in that order.

Ok now I must fly.
Mother needs to be air-lifted into position, Monty needs a smacked arse and Mr H. needs...me!

Cheerio
;)

Aaaaaargh! Oooooh! Mmmmmmmm!

What a morning.

Firstly a big chummy thank you to my mate Reg, who brought to me this a.m. a bag of home made scones.
Reg, you see, is a cook and like all cooks deems it right and kind, nay essential, to share his baked goods.
And so it was that, soon after 9, three shiny squares of sweetness were laid before me.
I resisted the call to devour his offerings preferring instead to wait till after I'd been out. Shopping....


First stop saw me and my current husband the unshaven Mr H. walking uneasily, unhappily around Hockley Garden Centre. Why?
Because the moment my tiny feet landed on the gravel (always get out of car like a lady) I felt the most unpleasant of feelings.
Brushing it aside as peri-menopausal madness I and Mr H. proceeded....Many plants, much garden paraphernalia and the always present husband/wife nightmare. She walking three steps ahead, he pushing a cart thing.
But even the sight of middle class/upper lower class going about their horticultural business couldn't dispel the feeling of rampant evilness I felt within.
My Lord it was as if I'd stepped into Hades itself.

I looked at giant Rhos, herbs, Marguerittes, grasses and peonies but still the presence of something wicked clung to my mac belt.

Yes, it was a gloomy day weatherwise, but I was happy, and had no reason for such a down turn in spirits, morning was going well, mum was kind of ok and I had Reg's scones to nibble on when watching Chelsea play Bayern Munich but blow me down there was summat awry here...

Being a soldier, I soldiered on insisting to myself it was nothing more than being in a unfamiliar place so soon after having me porridge and being in a state of grace after Reg's unexpected arrival.

"Tut tut" I said to Mr H demanding we leave Hockley Garden Centre and go along the road and around the bend leaving Lower Road to its own devilish devices.
"Let's do the shops, especially the one next to the chip shop, I gotta a good feeling about that".

I was right...

2 Recipe books. One about Cheesecakes the other a general cookbook from Reader's Digest.

A glass water jug with gold bands and delicate grooves.

A pair of lemon flower curtains, polyester, ideal for conservatory.

2 Kilner type jars, square, perfect for holding walnut halves and other cake essentials.

For mum three little murder novels and one book about Heart Throbs.

A white oval fluted ceramic baking dish. Can see all manner of tarts being baked therein. Could be used for Mackerel though.

15 pieces of heavy handled cutlery. (Denby)

The lady who served me was a small gorgeous creature, 80+ , blue eyes, white shiny hair and no visible ailments. She was pretty in a murderous auntie sort of way. A slip of a girl in pink with a flowery demeanour. Her smile was outstanding, broad genuine and I bet, when she was a gal, her comely face shredded the heart of every male within spitting distance of her neat and tidy home.

I emptied my purse unto her and left telling her to have a nice day (I'm young and modern). She laughed telling me to "have fun with my bits"...

But back to the garden centre...Not literally, only here in this post, I think and I may be wrong, often am, but I think it may have been assembled on a burial site or something of that ilk. Remember.... Hockley village is only a broomstick handle away from Canewdon, which was notorious for Witchcraft. Maybe some of the evil happenings kind of rippled along the Ashingdon Road did a right into Lower Road and...took root. Evilly.

Utter poppycock?

Wiki 'Canewdon' and you'll see...

Must dash now have to taste one of Reg's scones...I bet it's heavenly...

Recent pics. Lovely.

Gentle Glo...

Leek Soup. Baps. Rock Cakes. Lemon and Poppyseed Traybake. And My Phone.
All homemade. Except the phone.

A dinky bag for a dinky birthday mum.

Fruity Salad. Pittas. Yoghurt and Tahini Sauce. Felafel. Mango Chutney. So Yum.

Heart-less

The Sainsburys butcher said:

"We don't do hearts any more" *


:(


So for tonight's tea I've made heaps of Felafel.
:)

I love vegetarian food but I'm a carnivore at heart...

*So fair lamb, where doest thou hearts go?

Dog cans?
Cat pouches?
99p Moussaka?

I just don't know but

Wherever thous goest, dear hearts, I go too.
Except maybe along the moussaka route.

:)

I'm hankering after a nice lamb's heart.

Many moons ago I was totally involved with them, used them in so many ways. Mostly stuffed. Nowadays I'm lucky if I see a couple lying lifeless on the butcher's slab in Sainsburys.
I know this hunger for offal won't die away so I might pop along to the ancient town of Rochford to see if the butcher therein has any.

Talking of hearts. I'm all.

Baking and cooking and fussing and soothing .............and that's just for the postman who today delivered 12 lavender plants. They were boxed and on the front of the box a heartbreaking note. "Fragile Live Plants Open Immediately"
Big Sigh.
Ripped open the top and there they were 12 plugs, young, in the dark and unaware of their fate.
Which will be............. to be potted on in plastic containers then, after suitable growth occurs, be transplanted into their final resting place. Bless.
Probably by the front door.

By the way I've survived today on: jammy bread, porridge and a bowl of apple cake and evaporated milk. Laziness or Love?


I digress.
Hearts.
To look deep into the still heart of a lamb is a shocking dismal affair, it's not so much the lack of a beat, it's the purple tubes.
Before any stuffing takes place the aforementioned tubes need to be cut out. Snipped if you're squeamish. I have no qualms about either dissecting organs or gutting fish. Animals were made for it:)
And so to the cooking of a major organ.
First wash it well then either make yourself a fine homemade stuffing or buy a box of Paxo.
In my past I've made a stunning onion stuffing but also played it safe by filling the small cavity with some good parsley lemon and thyme via Tesco's.

The current favourite for the heart filler is a mix of cooked rice, bacon, parsley and ubiquitous onion. I will then skewer them with a few cocktail sticks. Don't want the kapok spewing all over into me rich sauce now do I? Which is made of, hold on to your hats.....Condensed tomato soup and redcurrant jelly, seasoning to jolt.
Then when all is secure, bake for a good while till hearts go tender and blood thickens the sauce delightfully.
What to serve with them? Mash. To soak up the juice.

By the way I've never tried Tripe. Hate it visually so not a good start:)



Tonight I'm cooking a more expensive piece of animal flesh.
Rump and chips.
Enough to make my working heart skip a beat. Lol!

By the way what do human hearts have to do with the most powerful of emotions, love. The hearts I've seen, mostly on the telly, are glutinous, rubbery, ugly shiny brick-red affairs which, to my mind at least, have nothing to do with the greatest feeling of all...
You know the feeling, the one....the one which makes your heart Stop!
The one which makes you sing even though you can't.
The one which enlivens then stupefies, emboldens then makes you go all red, makes you courteous, childlike, wild and tame.
Love is surely made alive, not by a sticky but essential organ, but by the Grand Master of the Universe. Our Mind.
It's there, in there, that the intellectual, emotional and spiritual action takes place, the heart just pumps along in perfect harmony.
Am I naiive?

Don't know when I'll do the hearts but it'll be sooner than you think.

By the way I'm in engulfed in a creative rainbow at the mo so watch out for some weird and lovely posts!

Middle Aged Woman Chews Up Young Oral Specialist

No sooner had I sat in his chair when young Mr Ali bent my ear with the enormous benefits of a White Filling...
"Ok stop right there......... it's not about the colour" I smiled loudly
"It's about the hole, now please fill it with the cheap stuff."

Guffaws resounded around the hi tech operations room.

He did his stuff wholeheartedly and gently.

We're running away after he's polished his final molar.


Being Cooked Tonight?
Jelly Babies
:)

Just made an apple and almond cake.
Enthused over the making of a carrot cake later in the week.
Equally spirited over the thought of Felafel, chicken casserole and braised stuffed hearts.
I like to cook.
Especially for people.
Me? I'd live on digestives and fresh air!

Felt alright today which isn't surprising as it's been a corker, won't think about tomorrow though because I'm sensible!
After all who wants to mess up a fine day with thoughts about dentists:(

So for the rest of the day I'll carrying on doing what I do best:)

Tonight's tea:
Corned Beef, mash, peas and pickle followed by fudgy chocolate pudding and ice cream.

Him and Me Both:( Updated:(

More Later?
:)


Dajill Ali was young, enthusiastic and tried endlessly to get me to buy new teeth.

I was having none of it.

"These crooked custard yellow teeth of mine haven't held me back" I told him.
And I meant it.

Admittedly the gap between my two front teeth is wide enough to hold tight a pencil or something. So?
And my bottom ones, although a bit in and out, haven't stopped a host of lovers throwing themselves off of anthills over me.

So I stood my ground telling him all I needed/wanted was a wash and brush up and a bit of amalgam for £48

"A White filling would look better" saith Ali (£125)
"Amalgam" say I
"Ok....you have a lovely smile, ever thought about having them whitened?" £300

I couldn't believe this, here was I laying in his chair listening to his hard sell while the hole in my toothypeg gaped. NO pain though.
"Yes, I have"I said laughing.
"Thought about it. Hasn't everyone?"

He laughed too!

Then the bombshell...
"You will need to see the hygenist" he said solemnly and that will cost you an extra £49"
'Oh boy' I thought, the NHS is in the hands of maniacs a.k.a the Tories.

£48 for a filling and de-coke then more dosh on top of that to see a hygenist who will do nothing but a deep cleanse below the gum line.... and then tell me how to use a toothbrush.

I left the new building in Southchurch Road feeling a little cheated but back I'll go on Wednesday because I don't want to end up with a mouthful of china.
:)

Mr H. will be late tonight due to malfunctions of the electric kind at work, so I think I'll do a lentil bolog for Mother and I.
At least she doesn't need any work done...The poor darling swallowed her teeth years ago. LOL!

Bugger.

!

Look good!
Feel unreal!
Must be Friday day!

Oodles of sunlight showing up cracks and splashes and lengthy lawn, don't mind!
Mother needing woman-to-woman talk. Ok! Kid and Old Lady sharing earned wisdoms. Lump in throat with tea.
Change of handbag, lipstick, priorities. Cool!

Deep and meaningful Radio 4 dumped in favour of Magic! Skipping around table instead of slogging!
Sitting on new bench looking at young plants. Lovely! Digitalis growing out of its head!
The crumbs of the lemon and poppy seed cake being spooned into my freshly lipsticked mouth. Daft!

Thank goodness a neighbour's spire high tree was shedding its pale pink blossom today because it left my dishevelled lawn blanketed in beauty. And by jolly jingo did I need Beauty.
Mum was being a pain and....
Terry The Talkative plumber came...
He twiddled and talked and talked and twiddled. But did the job famously. Leaving with a unfunny joke about old boilers he also smacked his calling card into my hand telling me NOT to use it to pay for groceries!



I was run ragged by a sad listless mum consequently making a pigs ear of a batch of wholewheat rolls. I hate wasted flour and time. She twigged my mood asking "What's up Ang?"
I fibbed by murmuring something about sleeplessness and the meaning of life. She bought it.

Mr H. didn't escape my wrath/philosophy either, he managed, God knows how, to lose a *book I'd just bought. Won't bore you with pointless details suffice to say I was so sad/livid I sank into the kitchen armchair refusing to eat/cook/ talk.

So ants-in-pants did I feel today that I ended up ditching perfect pork chops in favour of a lacklustre Chinese Take Away.

Now THAT'S what I call depression!

But tomorrow will soon be here so I'd better run along to meet it...
Night Night
zzzzzzz

:)










*Schott's Food and Drink Miscellany

Pollack. Not good enough for Reg.

Wednesday is Grocery Day. Perfect parking. Trolley of essentials. Humour with cashier whose a Royalist and user of hair thickening shampoos. Barbie.
Thursday is Plumber Day. Mr Someone or whoever. Dyed chestnut brown hair. Huge teeth. Fair rates.
Then comes Friday Day.
A day for chilling, sipping and just generally loosening the clips from my hair!
A cool relaxing start to a Fab Weekend is assured.

Now into the kitchen I go to generally potter and make a Lemon & Poppy Seed Traybake. (Aussie recipe)
Talking of baking (do I do anything else?) I'll be tinkering with a newish version of Strawberry Cheesecake. Condensed Milk being a major ingredient. I'll glaze the strawberries (decently priced from Sainsburys) with melted and cooled jam, won't though have perky nipples of whipped cream all over the shop. Vulgar.

Really looking forward to the weekend.
Possible action outside so hope the weather gods take pity on us mortals by allowing the sun to shed warmth on our dried up old patches.

Talking of dried...I noticed my lower arms are looking a little crepey, so will, after showering again, slap on Industrial Strength Aqueous Cream. It's tested and Paraben Free.
While on the subject...
I consider myself quite fortunate in the Ageing Skin Dept;
My face is wearing well, no parchness at all and my feet are as smooth as pure glass.
Boo boos a.k.a Zonkies are doing alright. Holding their own in the War With Gravity.



Now I really must fly.
Good cooking waits for no man.
Talking of cooking and Man...

One of my male friends made for Mr H and I, a fish fing. Some kind of white fish (pollack probably) was mixed with various veggies, a sort of sauce and baked.
I liked it as did Mr H. but Male Friend who, from now on, will be known simply as Reg was spitting feathers over it, didn't rate it at all. "Disappointed" he said afterwards
And that's the trouble with Cooks/Chefs however many times their guests lick the plate, (incontrovertible evidence) the cook will never be satiated/satisfied.
There'll always be summat wrong with it.
And so it was with Reg and his Pollack.

Bless Him.


Cheerio!

More Drivel. Better Than Yesterday's. With recipe update

A flat haired 70+ woman pulling shaggy tawny mutt accosted me by the post box. She meant no harm, just wanted a little light conversation. I did my bit by nodding my head in agreement over the terrible weather. We parted life-long friends.
One day I will BE that woman.

Cost of dry cleaning black mac. £3. "Be ready Friday" said smiling Annihagupta. "I do hope so" said I because I'm British and know the art of conversation/passing the time/chattering. I like Annihagupta she's Asian, old but British. And wears lots of gold. Rather like the gypsy type women in the Pie n' Mash shop. Only their smiles are not as glowing or sincere.

As I walked I pondered. Bread. Buy some or bake some.
Bake. Problemo solvedo. Will have a wedge with cheesey pasta bake. Later. After I've phoned: TV licencing folk. Westminster City Hellhouse. Docs.
Found out about Birth Certificates (copies thereof for licence people) knee pain (crumbling sounds in left one) and the ten ways to turn a Man ON. Permanently.
Ask Jeeves?

Tube of Ibuleve Muscle Rub from Expensive Corner Chemist, £7000. Mum can't wait for prescription. Thank God dad left her some thick envelopes.

No time to properly cleanse hair so dry cleaned it with Batista Dry Shampoo. Clean, but I look a little electrified.

As Mr H is on lates I'm saved the trouble of making a proper man/woman dinner, but I will have to feed Mother, probably...

Sausages with Barbeque Beans tonight.

Bake good quality snorkers and serve on top of:
Baked Beans............... mixed with fried chopped onion, sliced celery (optional) green pepper (essential) 75g brown sugar, some Worcestershire sauce, pepper, French mustard and a good swish of ketchup.

Bubble bubble then enjoy with crusty bread.

General Drivel

Hello! Beautiful Baps!

Roast Chicken. Creamy and browney. Tray into Mother. "Not now Ang". Plate now lonely and ovened.

Hot Rhubarb Crumble. Reddy and purpley. Served with Vanilla Ice Cream. Clotted Cream One. Massive inch overload. Will fast tomorrow on account of vanity and heart concerns:)

Great New Lipstick. FIRECRACKER. Oh my God it's gorgeous and nothing lifts a woman more than a new lipstick. Although there was this man once who lifted me above the headboard but that was a long time ago and I probably wore Destiny Mauve then.

Firecracker....It is the lippy I've been searching for since 1974.

(Complements my green eyes too!)

I hope Essex boy Ali Carter stages a miraculous comeback against the evil O'Sullivan. Unlikely though seeing as Ronnie is potting balls like the clappers. Still a girl can dream:)

By the way I've lost some of the spongey hooks on my new corset.
There one minute, gorn the next.
Hope they didn't drop down in a car park.

Possible pork chop tomorrow.

Dear Mum

Early part of the day...Blissful.
Latter, not so.

Umpteen tasks to be done meticulously or not at all and all at break-neck speed. Reason being I was stressed beyond belief by Mum's needs. And therefore needed perfection in all I did. Wholewheat rolls turned out well. She had one with slivers of cold bacon. I had one with blackcurrant jam leaning against the sink watching pigeons. I like pressing my hips against the sink, it's the coldness. When out-of-my-tree with fed-upness I feel everything a millionfold. And so it was that when I leant, pressing my hips and tum into the spotless silver sink I wanted sex. Not of the avarian kind you'll be glad to hear. But with a man without face. Just a body would suffice.
Such is the power of the mind that even one as screwed as mine still has the capacity for filth on a major scale. I think death is to blame.

Mother.
Love you darling but your bathroom mishap (non-radiator related) coming just as I settled down to watch Maguire v. Carter was plain shitty. And so badly timed. My heart's jumping dear, can't you see it banging against my chest. I want to do what I did last year namely to eat digestives unencumbered by rubber gloves and lavender floor wash.
I bit my threadbare tongue because she's not to blame. For anything. But being on my feet constantly is taking its toll, matey.
Tea. Orange juice. Usually spilled. Lost tablets. Mad with pain. Annoyed with doctors/David Cameron/God.
"I could kill God for what he's done".

What could I say to that?

£10 on magazines won't bring daddy back.

Mr H was late home tonight on account of going to mum's flat to collect her post.

Now she's cursing the tv licensing people and B.T.

In her failing yet still beautiful blue eyes I see very little except a lostness.
The lostness of wife-hood.
She looked small in the bed and as Maguire and Carter slugged it out (good match) I said to her without trumpets or sarcasm "Give it all to me"
I wasn't referring to the letters.




Night Night:)

Bag O' Bits

After doing the doc/shop/chemist run I took myself OUT of the task related arena and sped along to the charity shop, where a Glenda Jackson lookey-likey manned the till.

Wasn't in there long.
But long enough m'dears to find'n buy

1 squashy cream coloured cushion with apple green foliage detail. Perfect for resting my head as I sunbathe on the new bench. Will seat two though. Mustn't hog it. 50p

1 pair of unused Pretty Polly Hold-Ups in Black. 50p. Packet creased, contents flat as a pancake. Can't wait to wear.

1 pair of beige evening gloves. Long with ruffles. Decadence for 50p.

1 pair of Calvin Klein Boxer Shorts. For me to wear when feeling sporty. Could prove interesting given time and opportunity. 50p.

1 small box of Lavender Bath Salts. 20p.


And as Glenda Jackson packed the gloves into the pants she secreted away an info leaflet about Hawkwell Baptist Church.

"£2:20 for your bag of bits" said smiling Christian Glenda

"Many thanks" said bad bitch I leaving the shop feeling well satisfied.


Cooking today:

Odds and ends.

Fluffy Haired Afternoon.
New Garden Bench With Bird Detail.
Boiled Bacon.


My Life.
Today.

But Who Knows About Tomorrow...

Coiffured Barnet A.M.
Used Troughs.
Lentils.

Ain't Life Wonderful?

Fusilli a la Desperate

Mum fancies some pasta but not a bolog.
So I made some cheese sauce then mixed in corn, petit pois and cooked pasta shapes (wholewheat fusilli).
And to add dazzle I've topped it with grated cheddar and smashed cheese and onion crisps.


Will serve as soon as Mr H. returns with Garden Bench...

Saw Roy Hodgson's press conference.
Looks avuncular. Sounds a bit Dutch.
Good luck mate!

Wednesday 2nd May 2012

Some days are so-so
others downright awful
a few not too bad
but
rarely do I have days like today

Blissful.
Enchanted.
Happy.

Big Smile...

Oh the Joy!

Of seeing mum sitting at the kitchen table enjoying leek soup.
First time for months.

Of watching snooker whilst baking an apple and almond cake.

Of checking the News 24 whilst making a beef cobbler. Wot no snooker?

Of watching snooker while concocting a Mandarin Rice Supreme!

Of planting up some violas in a big container on the kitchen table whilst...John Virgo commentates on...the snooker!
Kitchen table a veritable dust dump.

Re-organizing spice and herb jars whilst.....Ronnie O'Sullivan and Neil Robertson size each other up. Very tentative playing from both boys. One slip....

Ironing still creased.
Dust still lying untouched.
Cat not beat up.

But feeling totally relaxed in the bosom of the bungalow.

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

As I went about doing odds and ends I spotted a Robin.

Each time he gathered..... twigs, blades of wet grass and other natural homemaking bits of kit from the surface of my soaked sodden lawn and cracked uneven patio. Even diving under an old chair to claim more wood.

When he had enough he'd dart quickly back to the space he called Home. Namely a deep dark crack in one of the newly pruned Conifers.
It was sweet and humbling watching the industrious little fellow, no crying over cost or colours just a feisty wee thing making a nest for his family.

I need to make a grocery list now, then make a Cobbler, then 'do' mum, then re-arrange the bed, c then empty the trough under the leaking radiator, then iron clothes, then organise my recipe books...

I wonder how the Robin and I fare against each other in the race to make a decent home.

Weathers being beastly again.