....On way back from station I had the misfortune of having to pop into the blasted Co-Op. Not for fancies but for domestic goods all made of paper...
(Mother doesn't do economy)

Being cooked today. A light dinner at 1pm of back bacon, canned tomatoes,  eggs and mushrooms, (no eggs for mother she doesn't like the look of them) then for our tea homemade minestrone soup. If an Italian Mama suddenly burst into my kitchen and witnessed what I was serving up as Minestrone she'd knife me! Probably end up in the back of her car wrapped in a sheet or something being driven hastily to a ditch for a quick burial.
But my version of minestrone is damn decent and never been known NOT to please. To mop up all the bits of bacon, rice and veggies I'll make a cheese and olive scone. No alcohol will be present because 1. I don't really like the taste and 2. I'd rather spend money on eatable bits and bobs.

Last night's tea was very fair.
A sausage risotto (seem to have an Italian thing going on here) at any rate it was excellent. Didn't use risotto rice of course, just humdrum regular long grain. Lots of veg jostled with the rice...including tomatoes, peppers, carrots, onions, mushrooms and celery. I baked the pork sausages rather than pan fry them then when the rice and veggies were cooked to perfection I dished up laying the obliquely sliced snorkers on top. Being adventurous I stirred in some dollops of redcurrant jelly.
As I love bread I had some on the table. A mixture of Polish rye and wheat bread bought n Sainsburys and an ordinary old roll.
We all loved it. And the one true sign of a good meal is NOT barking on about it whilst eating but by the Silence. Captivated by the sight, entranced by the aroma. A colourful plate of food stuns and shuts up even the loudest of chatterboxes.
For pudding last night I made a simple steamed chocolate sponge but added a few fresh raspberries.. A chocolate custard topped it. (Raspberries on special offer in Rochford market yesterday. Popped there on way to docs where mum had blood drawn)

Now I must fly.
:)

.............My boiler was installed yesterday.

Two men, one called Dave, the other man's name I can't remember didn't fill me with much confidence when, after an hour or so of banging and thumping and other noisy things, located the new boiler perilously and stupidly too close to the worktop.
I'm a woman. And they knew it. And that's why they stuck it there. But I'm not a normal woman. And so I told Dave and co; that the boiler was too low
Dave wasn't pleased with my opinion.
Then, the two Romford boys couldn't turn off the water."Where's ya outside stopcock love?"
"No idea, mate" said moi.
"Well get on the phone to the water board will ya and get someone round here pronto"
Blow this I thought as Toby answered the phone at Suffolk and Essex Water Company.
Blah blah yadder yadder, boiler, stopcocks, no findy one, can you come and help me, sick mother etc, me blowing a gasket etc.
Within 30 minutes White van Man arrived and in a very short while after a bit of banter with Grey Van Man found the outside stopcocky thing and turned the water OFF.
He, he, he, this is good I thought, no serious malfunctions...
Meanwhile Mother was watching the classic British bank robbery film "The League of Gentlemen". That kept her quiet.
"They done it yet?" Her only verbals
Oh God.
And just as I was beginning to fret, Mr Hairy Suit turned up..
They, the Plumbers, didn't take to him ONE BIT:)
Mr Hairy you know, is a man of many talents, he knows things about engineering and stuff like that and so when he went red and ballistic regarding the placement of the little lady's boiler, he WAS NOT flavour of the month.
LOL!
I took myself away, back into the drawing room with mother, where I belong. leaving the two hammer heads and geek to thrash it out. So sexy.

Whilst all this was occurring my front door was open and later on as the ordeal was coming to a close we had an unexpected visitor. More on that later.
Back to Dave, his mate and me and my mate Hairy.
We were never going to see eye to eye on er.... anything. But I knew that come close of play, the boiler would be running and I'd be able to wash out Mr Horsehound's pants in the sink instead of stewing them in a big saucepan.

Talking of big. Hairy Suit had brought round a new set of taps and after a tete a tete with the lads agreed a price for the fixing of the aforementioned vintage style taps.

And so...Water still off, Hairy keeping tabs on things, me sitting on the edge of the settee and mother asleep I allowed myself a little time to fantasize.

Then a call. from the kitchen "Could ja phone the Water Board again" There's no water coming through.
"Um" "That's because it's turned off at the mains" I piped up

I felt like kicking over his tool box. On the phone again to Toby at the water Company.
"We can't turn the water back on, can you send that nice man back please. I'm very dry here"

Full credit to Essex Suffolk Water, they turned up mob handed, 4 of them spilling out of a big white van and erecting a safety barrier in case old dears fell down the hole they were about to dig:(

Dig it they did. And before you could say 'Right said Fred' my water was running again:)

And that was it...
The boiler is higher, the heating is on and mum doesn't need a kettle to wash but........... there's a hole in the wall.

I don't know whether to laugh or not....

Oh yes the uninvited guest I mentioned earlier.......... After handing over the money Hairy and myself were bidding fare thee well to unshaven Dave and his lampost of a mate when I heard a gentle thumping in the dusty hall.
A blooming great frilly coated Poodle was careering down the hall heading towards the drawing room.
"Whoa" I said disbelieving my eyes
As I sidled up to the giant mutt his mummy, who is the daughter of the couple opposite, ran breathlessly up to the doorstep begging forgiveness.
"OOOOOOOh sooo sorry, he won't hurt you, but he might just lick you to death!"

Giant Boilers.
Romford Crooks.
Stupid Dogs.

The End.

This fellow has been hopping around on my fence.
A Pied Wagtail. They like most habitats, lawns, car parks etc.... and are resident here all year round.
Being held in his short sharp beak, a yellow insect.

I'm having a good time in the kitchen this morning having made a Bara Brith (yeasted), this is a warmly scented loaf/teabread and gorgeous served buttered with a nice cup of tea. I usually slather honey on top when it comes out of the oven, but I'm out of honey so a spoonful of golden syrup or malt extract will have to do.
Also made a large white loaf and, for after the lamb, an invention of my own....Boudoir biscuits soaked in orange juice then covered with Bramley apple puree and custard.

Back to bird watching>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

.......The garden is still a lovely place even when it's cold and I'm tired and running low on bird food.
Patches of various birds waited impatiently...hopping from branches to fence from ground to tv ariel as I brewed my first pot of tea.
As the tea bags browned the boiled water I went outside (foolishly in my awful pink fluffy dressing gown) and as I loaded the first of my three tables I wondered if the birds knew how much pleasure they give to flightless, hopeless me.
They know nothing of course, all they need to know is where next doors ugly mug cat lurks and when Lady Bountiful braves February frosts to make sure that their bulbous bellies say bulbous.

Mum told me, from the untidy confines of her single sized pine bed, to stay in, keep warm. She doesn't know me, not really, even though I slithered out backwards from the warmth of her virginal womb (mum was a good girl). She still sees me as a child, one who needs mittens and advice, one who empathises with creatures who have it tough.
Recently mother has proffered advice and scoldings, both unwanted, both unnecessary, both resulting in silences from moi. I'm 56, for God's sake woman let me go.

Thinking a lot about Dad lately and what he would make of my domestic set-up. A dying mother whose vocabulary can still stretch to the occasional caustic comment. (Mostly regarding my choices on about everything) to how I'm doing/coping with the Duracel Bunny of Cancer patients. He'd probably give me a wink, drop me a few quid and tell me that what I'm doing as regards mother is admirable and that he's well pleased and to keep going till either mother or I are dead.

I made two wonderfully tasty pizzas last night, one was a plain cheesey one, the other hit the spot with chorizo and peppers. Everyone liked them. For pudding...A bowl of ice cold lychees.

Today I'm roasting a small lamb shoulder ( ready rolled ) and with it I'll serve mint sauce of course, redcurrant jelly and veg (potatoes, sprouts) I'm looking forward to peering through my new oven door and seeing the meat shrivel and crackle, jetting off blisteringly hot fat.
Pudding will probably be canned fruit.
Also being cooked today...Some bread.. and a cake as yet undecided.

Plumbing men are coming tomorrow to install a new boiler. I lightheartedly asked for a blue one, you know to match my walls, no way said Dave with a chuckle.Unfussed really about the colour, just looking forward to having hot water on tap again. Boiling kettels for everything is time consuming and a bit too retro!
Keeping with domestic trivia. I hate Argos. Two Polish guys collected my faulty cooker yesterday and failed to hand over a receipt which would enable me to get a refund. Mr Horsehound spoke to Donna and Emma via telephone. They EXPECT I'll be refunded by Tuesday.
If, on Tuesday, the lady in customer services fobs me off with some drivel, I shall refuse to leave the store.

The birds are calmer, satisfied. Full tums:)

It was sunny this morning and I felt good despite my brand new cooker being faulty. (Oven only knows how to work on full tilt, result being... loads of burnt cake bottoms. Distressing and painful for a cook like me.)
We've contacted Argos and man will be around some time to sort it out.

On the loving mum front, I still do. Her two appointments at the eye clinic were educational. In a nutshell she has diabetic maculopathy and a little glaucoma. Drops were prescribed by the doctor and an invitation for laser treatment. I could barely lift my weary bones from the plastic chair.

On alighter brighter note the party I threw for Mr Hairy's birthday was a mixed bag. The oven as I said earlier was on the blink resulting in blackened fries for the little boy and overdone pork chops for the grown-ups. Red cabbage was ok though. The black cherry trifle was smashing, even the chance of dripping wax from tiny coloured candles didn't disuade Mr Hairy Suit form grabbing the biggest fattest spoon and helping himself to loads.
His birthday present was a plate of apple and cream buns made with yeasted dough, apple puree and whipped double cream. The buns were nicely iced with a simple vanilla glace icing. Rivulets of the lovely stuff making for a little decoration. He was over the moon.
He said he loved the way I'd decorated not only the trifle and buns but the kitchen also, balloons and happy birthday banner adorning the duck egg blue walls and yellow curtained window.
 I love colour and giving parties.

The terracotta and green front room is chaotic.
Mum's belongings are growing at a horrible rate. So many books, bags and jumpers litter the lounge that I feel nauseous every time I enter, what was once, my tidy own sanctuary. (Mr Horsehound and I had a bit of a blitz on mum's area this morning and the stuff we found under her bed was sad. Cancer tablets, two Bounty bars and a pair of black patent shoes, which, when mentioned to mum sent her off the radar. She wanted those shoes, they were going home with her. I've learned to keep my own counsel and agree that everything will be ok and that the smart 2 inch heeled shoes will be worn in London when she's better.

Talking of hope...My Sunday chicken has been jointed and is being grilled instead of oven roasted.
Brentford are playing Chelsea in the 4th round of the FA cup.

The sky has turned from a beautiful coloured pencil blue into smudge grey. But.
Daffs by the door are surging forth...............

Mum cries constantly.
My boiler is broken. No money for a new one.
My Carer's allowance might be stopped by Mr Cameron.
I await the postman...

I emailed the BBC's news website to let off steam.

My economy buy new white gas cooker is being cleaned and polished after every use. I like it even though it's smaller than my old one.
I'm still baking excellent puddings. Last night's steamed blackcurrant jam pudding was magnificent. Large, dome shaped, fat and sweet.

Mum has two hospital appointments. One tomorrow, one Friday. We're sure it's glaucoma. We're hoping something can be done because she can barely see.

I've also planned a small birthday party for my friend Mr Hairy Suit. I won't be so indelicate as to mention his age (yes, men care about that too) what I will say is he looks and behaves half his age.
I've been thinking hard about the menu, which is unsurprising considering how many people I'll be cooking for. 6. And how different their tastes and needs. But I've decided to keep it simple. More on that at the weekend I expect.

God it's cold in this room. My hands feel dead. The skin taut, purpleish, nails look ok though.
 Mum is sitting in the front room in front of a calor gas fire so kindly given to me by an old friend. By the way when the plumber came yesterday to check the boiler he said we should all be dead really on account of a hole in the boiler and the possibility of carbon monoxide poisoning.
After all the tinkering the boiler now has no cover and the draft coming form all the holes and gaps is positively arctic so I hung a couple of table mats and a bright new tea towel over the offending gaps until someone refits the casing. Probably Mr H will do it tonight:)

  Just returned from library.
Mum looked so at ease and pleased I couldn't help but be happy. Wendy, the lady in charge, took mum under her wing showing her where the large print crime novels were, I stood back, allowing mum a taste of her old life...
In addition to her six murder books mum allowed me to take out recipe books. One by the lovely Mary Berry the other Nigel Slater's Kitchen Diary. I'm excited, satisfied and warmed by them already. Waiting for the kettle to boil I had a quick flick...There's something sensuous about loving food. The few sentences I read were teeming with adoration and perfect mash. I wonder what Nigel would think if he knew I'd be opening a can of Spam.