Colour on a Foggy Day...updated

'Buttermilk' it said on the Dulux tin and a gentler more dreamy colour I'm sure doesn't exist..., well not in a tin anyway.
It looks smashing on my kitchen walls.
And with new green gingham seat pads and green gingham cotton pelmet my kitchen has taken a leap into the countryside.
But what really sets my heart a-flutter is the sweetest, humblest green gingham wipe-clean waterproof polyurethane PVC tablecloth.



I made a red lentil bolognaise, yellow cheddar cheese scone with orange cayenne pepper and a very white cook- in- the saucepan rice pudding yesterday.
Today's offerings are baked Cumberland sausage and hills of featherlight mash and green beans chased by yellow pineapple upside down cake.



Just taken a dozen Coburg Buns out of the oven.
Coburg Buns. 
Small sponge cakes flavoured with cinnamon, ginger, mixed spice (apple pie spice) and golden syrup. Topped or should I say bottomed with flaked almonds. The nuts, you see, are put into the greased fluted bun tin first then topped with the cake mix. All very quaint. These little fellas don't stay fresh for long so are best eaten straight away..
In between checking on an increasingly crotchety mum and ironing I made a simple flour dusted loaf. 
I felt the need to get stuck in. 
Nibbled on dried apricots to keep going.

Talking of keeping going.
I needed to on Sunday evening after getting a real verbal bashing from mother. So vitriolic was it I felt nauseous in my pleasant kitchen. Mr Horsehound and Mr Hairy Suit were witnesses and even these men of the world were taken aback by the unnecessary outburst.
Later that night, as I tried to sleep, I wondered where her strength came from and wouldn't it be wiser if my dear old bean employed it in a more fruitful way.

On Monday morning as we sat together drinking our early morning tea, she apologised. 
"Draw a line under it" she said. 
And I did.
I try to understand. 
I do.
It's the frustration of failing eyesight, resentment at having to live here with me and my male entourage and, if that isn't sickening enough, she winces with pain fairly regularly. So it's no wonder her tongue lashes out in my direction. 
In my kinder, more mature moments, I say ok mum, let rip.
She never lets me down.