I Now Know What Old is

Having spent the last two days in the company of Young Hairy Suit (a.k.a 14 year old who never stops) I am physically and emotionally exhausted. Oh Boy can that young man TALK and EAT. I, along with his dad, could barely keep up with him.
We spent two days hanging out in shops and cafes and houses and pubs. Eating, drinking and spending money like tomorrow never existed. Great fun though.....

Markie Boy is a wonderful child.
Growing taller and more charming by the day, a real chip off the old block.
And what matters most is that he sees life for what it is...A laugh.
No quibbles about calories or cost he lives life to the max. Dad and me though worrying constantly about how much fat was in the bean burger and would the hole in the wall machine spit out any more dosh.
Somehow we survived and after a brief game of 'no rules' snooker at his house I came home thoroughly fed and watered and completely loved-up. By the way Markie boy wants to marry me when I'm older! Yes thank you Mark that's quite enough from  you YOUNG MAN.

For two hectic days I played the fool, dancing and cuddling, squeezing ketchup bottles willy nilly, feeding Mark's insatiable appetite for play acting (mostly when we were eating) and losing my old woman self in the scintillatingly simple universe that Mark inhabits.

Priorities

The garage needs tidying, re-arranging, given the Gloria HoHo make-over. The hall needs to be finished...half painted and then left, a common occurence I like to think. The garden needs a brisk loving hand.
However I won't be doing any of these jobs until after Mr Horsehound has finished his Autumn holiday. A week a away from work to rest and play. A week in which two of those precious days will be spent in Paris. With me.

Night after night of looking across the tea table at his reasonably handsome but pale old face made me think "Oh boy, you need a break, man".
So I got going......

I thought about holiday cottages in Suffolk/Essex,  and, tranquil and interesting as they were, I decided on a hotel in the middle of Paris.
I, along with Hairy Suit, did it all online. I booked our passage on EuroStar, bagged a big room at Grand Hotel des Gobelins  57, Boulevard Saint-Marcel and then Hairy and I trained it to London to pick up the tickets at St Pancreas International.
Mr Hairy Suit was constantly in attendance and constantly amazed.
We exchanged Sterling for Euros, had an outrageously over-priced piece of cake and cup of tea but it was worth it.
I was doing something wonderful.
Keeping it secret lasted 24 hours.
I HAD to tell him. So Tuesday evening, just before we had a pair of pork chops I dropped his passport onto his dinner plate saying "You're going to need this"
Puzzlement, paleness, stutterings.
Then I handed him his small bag of Euros, train tickets and camera.
"What's this?" he cried. Literally.

He's been happy ever since.

Small things please small people

As I slit the head off of my lightly boiled egg I listened, enraptured, to a fifteen minute programme on blessed Radio 4 about Germany's engineering expertise.
The speaker, a German, spoke eloquently about metalwork, cuckoo clocks and how, in the 1930's the Volkswagen Beetle was designed by Herr Ferdinand Porsche after Herr Hitler wanted a cheap little runaround for his peoples.
A better fifteen minutes I have never spent....
Being educated.
Listening to Monty licking his bowl clear clean of its chicken in gravy cat food.
The hypnotic whirring of the tumble dryer.
The clinking of a teaspoon in the sugar bowl.
The egg, just as I like it, firm white body holding inside an almost liquid yolk.

Rock Stars Dancing Like Your Dad

UKIP if you want to, Gloria is wide awake

So the little thought of United Kingdom Independence Party has bagged its first seat in the House of Commons. And about time too say I.
Nigel Farage's often ridiculed party claimed the Clacton-on-Sea seat through a bi-election caused by the resignation and subsequent defection to UKIPof former Tory MP. Mr Douglas Carswell.

On the left an overjoyed Nigel Farage with an equally bouyant Douglas Carswell. Photo courtesy of The Guardian.

It was a thumping victory. and in so doing surely sent shock waves through Tory HQ because what'll happen next methinks....will other Tories jump ship?
I'm not excellent at prose but you get what I'm getting at.
If Carswell a once staunch Tory boy can wander off into Farage's arms who else will?
I forsee not a bombardment of defections but a slow trickle...
And as for Nick Clegg and his group they only managed to get 400 + voters to tick the appropriate box. A sad and worrying day for the Liberal democrats.
Likewise for Ed Miliband.
Politics, at the moment, is virile and interesting. And I can't wait for the General Election in May 2015.

Spoiler ALERT! This post reveals the winner of the Bake Off....

Nancy won the final of The Great British Bake Off and a very well deserved win it was.
She was consistently good, no gimmicks, humorous and I loved her hair. So well done Nancy.
And as usual the series was fantastic, lots of fun, tons of information, a veritable feast of entertainment. An all round fine way to spend an evening. Thank you BBC for a fine piece of tv.
Can I have another slice please?

Not a Nancy cake in sight but I'm very proud of my little efforts.Especially the scones.

Nasty Council. Deaf and Idiotic Too

I've just received a summons, or rather mum has, for non-payment of council tax.
In the weeks after her death I spoke to a couple of people from Westminster Council regarding her arrears. They wanted to know why she was behind with her payments.
I told them she was dead.
"Oh" came the reply
"Sorry. I'll see if we can write it off"
That was a good while ago. Never heard from them again. Till today.
A red letter too telling mum she has to go to court to explain to the magistrate why she hasn't paid.
Well unless his Honour is a whizz with the Ouija board there's not much chance of him getting a reply.
Damn these people to hell.

I'm slipping up.
Yesterday I actually MISSED the Liberal Democrats groaning on at their annual conference. This was due to being held captive by pots and pans and all things kitcheny. I did though, during a brief break, catch sight of a dark shirted Nick Clegg speaking to the converted. His cool wide eyed guy image in stark contrast to one member of the audience; a sleeping-head -hanging -to -one -side-middle-aged lady who, for reasons known only to herself, decided to catch a few zzzzzs while the Great Leader performed.
I love scenes like that.
I'm betting Cleggy hopes old sleepyhead won't let the side down tomorrow when he steps up on stage to give another speech. He will be praying she and other members of the Lib Dems stay awake...But I'll bet eagle eyed cameramen will hunt down and then zoom in on heavy lidded Liberals.
Snoozing is as part of Conferences as speeches.

The X Factor is really annoying me.
The weekend's offerings brought tears. Too many.
Odd choices. Why didn't the nice red haired cool voiced mum go through to Live Shows?
Gasps of incredulity in the Bungalow as Chloe Jasmine Whichello( who was on the show in 2006 and booted off) a  bleached - blonde girl with fake posh accent wiggled her way through to the next round. Her posing and showyoffness rubbed me up the wrong way. I don't mind posers IF they have the weapons to back it up. All this girl offered was a sick mix of Marilyn Monroesque/Princess Diana poses and pouts and a strained bluesy voice. I Like Marilyn, I like Diana I like Blues but I don't like to see a bad mash-up. Cheryl Ann Fernandez-Versini (singer? turned weeping judge) gave the thumbs up to whatshername and in so doing start a Marmite War. People will either love her or loathe her.
I know what camp I'm in.
Talking of excitement...


Euro 2016 Qualifier. 
Thursday 9th October
Kick Off 19:45. 
Wembley. 
England v. San Marino