Vecchia ma ancora (Old but still good)

Over the next couple of days I will post photographs of me taken in celebration of my coming of age (again)...

Had a dinner party last night.
Well maybe not exactly a dinner party more like a few old duffers slouching around my old oak table woofing down Toad-in-the-Hole!

Went down well though I have to say, the sausages were super, very meaty with lots of cracked black pepper, the batter which held the snorkers rose beautifully, reminding me of something Greek or something. But this was English food at its plainest tastiest best.

As for the veggies, I plumped for steamed Sweetheart cabbage, which I dressed with pepper, salt and butter and jacket potatoes oozing with more butter. Now the wet accompaniment was a big jug of Rich Onion sauce. I really went to town on this, sweating lots of onions in, yes you've guessed it, butter..Then adding some flour to make a roux. I then poured in water, an oxo cube, oregano, Worcestershire sauce and a huge dollop of tomato ketchup. It brewed for half an hour while I prepared PUD.

As you know I love puds, and I especially love pudding-up friends. So I served my chums sliced bananas on mounds of Cornish Ice Cream with lashings of Butterscotch sauce* and Shortbread fingers.
They were silenced...
I was ecstatic.
Nothing pleases me more than feeding six or four or even just two, because I'm in my element when fussing.

Awful weather today isn't it? Still it is November so what do we expect. Had a natter with the man from SpecSavers and an appointment has been made for next month. Not for Specs but to see if I can carry Contact lenses. I'm really quite excited about this having been a four eyes for forty years, should be quite an eye-opening experience (Sorry, couldn't resist). Anyway the appointment is made.





Butterscotch Sauce Recipe

4oz butter
2oz light brown sugar
2oz dark brown sugar
4tsps cornflour
300ml Single cream


Melt the butter and sugars together over a very low heat.
Whisk the cornflour into the Single cream.
Very very slowly add to melted sugars and butter and then stir like the clappers till smooth and velvety.
Jug up and serve straight away.

Pre-Sausage Nonsense

After my earlier rant (now deleted on account of feeling much better) I've made a rather deelish cup of coffee. And as I walked away from the kettle Monty grabbed my sleeve saying "Oy you pay attention to me or I'll scratch your varicose veins". Isn't he a love? The no-good toe rag will now undoubtedly follow me from the office into the front room where, on propping myself up with numerous cushions, I'll check the news. This news fixation comes from my parents telling me at a very young age that I should know what's going on in the world. They meant well.

Before I forget, I've found a couple of interesting recipes to try. One is for Apple and Cinnamon Scones, the other, for a Chocolate Fondue! I'm quite excited by the thought of that one. Wonder what I can dip into it? Any ideas?

On the menu today:
I'm on my own, so not much, just the ubiquitous sausage sandwich and one or two of the smashing Bakewell Maids I made yesterday. Will then resist the urge to eat half a packet of Starbursts on account of two things. 1. Sweets are for kids and 2. They might get stuck in me gaps.
Thank you very much I've had my say.

Trudged round the corner to my cleaning job this morning and was met by two very snowed up and cheesed off cats! My employer phoned this morning asking me if I'd feed the little 'uns on account of him being stuck up the line in Harlow or somewhere. So there I was at 9 a.m. clad in an off white fur coat dishing out Go Cat to a pair of frosty tabby cats. After doing what I had to do, which included polishing his Hugo Boss bottles and hanging up his sea of discarded jeans I returned home to Monty whose fascination with the never ending snowflakes made me feel like a kid again. I don't know why but whenever I see him entranced by the simplest of things I go soppy. What a prune I am.

For dinner tonight we had Latimer Beef one of my absolute favourites of all time, just for the record Latimer Beef is just a beef casserole which is highly spiced with ginger, curry powder, Worcestershire sauce and Horseradish sauce. A bit of brown sugar is put in to just to soften the killer blow. Had my own recipe for spicy rice to accompany it and some Garlic and Coriander Naans. No alcohol because not only am I getting a dangerous taste for the Port but am up to 8 stone. I think it's something to do with the weather or something.

Lists are something I like compiling so here's one.

People I'd Like To See OFF My Television Screen Forever.

1.Alan Titchmarsh because he's an embarrassment and tries to be a sex god when really all he is is an old gardener with a silly hairstyle
2.Paula Abdul because she's shrinking and looking quite middle aged even though she's rich and has dyed teeth
3.Fiona Bruce (newsreader) because she reminds me of Mr Spock and has dyed hair
4.Jamie Oliver (chef) because he's a mockney and should have his incisors chiselled.
5. Jeremy Clarkson because he shouts and reckons himself and instead of packing a six pack he's lugging a barrel.
6. Jonathan Ross because he makes millions of pounds by being obnoxious, he also has very little talent.
7. Any squawking screeching Weather Women.
8. Middle aged men with dyed hair. See 1.
9. The entire cast of EastEnders because I am addicted to them in a major way and this addiction is spiralling out of control.
10. All middle aged presenters who have taut faces and scraggy necks and are tangoed orange and held in by girdles. Act your age guys and gals. Like me!

More lists soon...

Great Green Grapes

I usually take cakes to Mum and Dad, but tomorrow I'm taking a Grape Infested Lime Jelly.

Jonathan,Tony, Monty and Me

What would I do without Her Majesty's B.B.C?
I've been listening in awe to 'Balance of Power' by Deborah Davies on Radio 4 and there's no doubt about it, dramas like this are what makes the Beeb the best broadcasters in the world.
Well done Aunty!
My listening pleasure continues in a tic with Jonathan Dimbleby's 'Any Questions'. Tony Benn is one of the guests and he's one politician who is always worth listening to.
Might not agree with the old duffer but my God can he hold an audience?
When that finishes I'll feed the foxes the cat food which Monty refuses to eat!
Then it's into the kitchen for the marinating of little chicken breasts for tomorrow's curry.
Then it's into the bathroom for the chiselling off of make-up.
Then it's cocoa, cat and kip.

Ssh! It's Sunny Don't Breathe A Word...

Dare I say it?
I dare.
It's sunny:)

And as I blink my brain awake I'm hopeful that it's going to be a corker of an Autumnal day. But 'twixt you me and the gate post Autumn doesn't officially start until the 22nd...but I won't say anything if you don't.
There's something safe and snugglesome about walking down the road to buy a nice cabbage wearing a woolly (that's me wearing the woolly, not the cabbage). And so as I tiptoe past the church I'll screw up my eyes because the sun is mighty too and that's fine , although it doth make more lines cometh.
Got a good feeling about today.

So I'll dress for Autumn, which means a white woolley, brown skirt and sensible shoes and off I'll go...
But then I'll come back and pull the blind down in the kitchen on account of the sunlight mixing it up with the batterie de cuisine which is hanging from my curtain track which makes psychedelic patterns on the wall thus sending Monty absolutely bonkers in the nut. Crazy.
So to avoid having the cat go beserk I'll do the right thing and cook in darkness!

Talking of which on the Horsehound menu today: Beef Cobbler, steamed cabbage and carrots and washed down (what a stinking phrase that is) with Lemonade:) For pud the very very very last puddle of Trifle:( I know I know, it's sad isn't it?

I see Andy Murray got beat up by Mr Federer, can't say I'm surprised. But credit where credits due, the Scot did well to get so far. But how on earth he ever got the better of Rafa in the semi-final beats me into a cocked hat. I expect Rafa had a tummy upset or something. Anyway, there's no doubt the boy (Andy) did well. So congrats to him. But no hug!

What else?
Dare I say it?
I dare.
It's still sunny....:)

Another Monday ! Another Soup!

God, it's 'still' out there.

My road is like a film set and I feel I am the only actor on it...
Nothing and I mean nothing is stirring, not even a carrier bag or sweet wrapper is floating by, there are no elderly people shuffling along or buggy pushing mums pulling toddlers in their wake. There are no people.
Even the unkempt bushes at number 98 are motionless. It's all a bit eerie. But eerie can be soothing I suppose. And I need soothing because I've just returned from an unproductive walk to my local charity shop. It was unproductive on account of it being closed, and will remain closed until the 15th, so no frocks and bric-a-brac for a while.

But let's not harp on about today let me harp on about the weekend.

The weekend was good.
It consisted of listening in amazement to the the dire football match on Saturday night, it was dire due to the fact that the England team struggled to blast plucky annoying Andorra into outer space.
And me? Well I'm still recovering but not altogether unsurprised. I think the England team need a kick up the arse.

Had a nice piece of Pork and a trifle on Sunday.
Had a trifle because I haven't had a trifle for a little while and I think trifles are funny, well my trifles are, because they wobble and anything that wobbles is funny. Trifles are a British invention and I think we have the Victorians to thank for this most silly of puds, anyway whoever invented it, I'm very glad they did.

And so after giggling my way through some over cooked Pork and two plates of trifle, I had another glass of Port and a lie down because I think a lie down is essential on a Sunday!
Pork, Port, Trifle or not!

Today's lunch was Leek and Potato soup followed by Corned Beef and pickle followed by the last sagging bits of Sunday's trifle. (I always make enough soup, casserole, trifle or cake to last two days, this domestic cunning stems from my austere up-bringing, and not because I'm a unskilled housewife!)


Now a fresh pot of tea! :)

It's All About Boiling

I'll bet all my handbags that Gordon Brown's face is in his porridge this morning because, according to former Home Secretary Charles Clarke, "Labour is destined to disaster"
Thanks Chaz, I'm sure the beleaguered boiling-with-rage Prime Minister needs to hear that.
I'm going to stick my neck out and say that Gordon Brown will be booking a removal van in the next few months.
I can't write any more about Gordon because I'm getting in a lather, and I can't get in too much of a lather on account of me having a lot to do in the kitchen today. And sensitive delicate flowers like me, shouldn't have choppers and boiling saucepans in their hands when they're overwrought.
I need peace to cook.

So I'm going to take a deep breath now, put on gauntlets and try to get Monty out of the wardrobe, (can't have him in there in case he strokes my new woollies.....) then I'll enter the kitchen put on a plastic pinny and Radio 4 and make a huge bucket of carrot soup and a dozen spicy apple fingers.

Also chalked on the board is :
Make Strawberry cake for the old people
Write sensuous love poem
Do something about my beard.

I Don't Want Ronaldo

An Arab Sheik has bought Manchester City F.C. and apparently he wants to whisk Ronaldo away from Manchester United for about 130 million pounds.
Can't see Alex Ferguson allowing his star player to leave, after all it's Ronaldo who makes Man Utd what it is.
I get in such a flap when I hear about rich men buying glory and happiness usually in the form of buying people, castles, gems and yachts and it leaves me scratching my head wondering why they can't be satisfied with humdrum happiness...

Take me for instance.
I'm getting on a bit and admittedly when happiness does come along it tends to comes in spits and spurts and dribs and drabs and that's ok and I'm very grateful for it, but to me real happiness has nothing to do with bending the ears of Estate Agents, floating around posh boat shows or traipsing round Hatton Garden, no, I get my satisfaction in Poundland.
But it's not only cheap shops which make Glo glow.
It's a lot of other things too.

Things like:
Stockings/socks/tartan tights
Day trip to London/Southend/Paris
Receiving compliments/advice/cuddles
Good chocolate/Werther's toffees/Nobby's nuts
The X Factor/Radio4/The Weakest Link
Pies/Puddings/Pies
Good films/books/diaries
Birds/foxes/chimpanzees
Telly/Radio/Computer
Soul/Chopin/Eurovision Song Contest
Ceramic birds/little ladies/big bowls
Flouncy skirts/woollies/white blouses
Boots/stilettos/slippers
Pearls/silver/plastic beads
Snow/rain/sunshine

People:
Boo
Mum and dad
The Duchess
John Humphrys
Morgan Freeman
Boris Johnson
Digger
Monty, but only when he's not swinging from a lampshade

I could go on and it's made me wonder how I could ever feel sad...

Sunday Nonsense

Cup Cakes: Wildly decorated on Monty's fav table. Occasional cat hairs adding not only texture but vitamins also.

Chicken: Stuffed with the usual plus a couple of chopped dried apricots. Healthy, cat hairs optional.

Billet-Doux to Jon Cruddas: Offering my full support, mainly in his office.

Nice letter to Gordon Brown: Offering advice on how older men should dress on holiday. Stuffed old shirts should not wear open necked shirts, even if blue does suit you.

Email to the B.B.C's Today programme: Demanding they sack Robert Peston, (that's him up there) his voice turning me from a placid creature into a venomous reptilian type thing. His voice soars and dips with annoying evil regularity. I can't say any more I feel ill.

Horror film this p.m: Enjoyed with one of the aforementioned gaily hairy decorated cakes and the miniature donkey formerly known as Monty clamped bloodily to my knees.
Sunday's are SUCH a thing!

Thank you.

Yesterday wasn't all bad.
I bought some fabulous cake decorations. Sugar Flowers, Jelly Diamonds, Sugar Strands and Silver Balls.
Gloria's cupcakes will be outstanding!

Munchies and Miliband

As I dribble my tea I'm looking forward to scouring the rocky roads of Southend looking for reasonably priced food. The soaring price of munchies has made me blow the dust off 'Rose Elliot's Complete Vegetarian Cookbook' I think lentils are looming.

Just heard that youthful Foreign Secretary, David Miliband (see above pic) is thinking of offering Alan Milburn the Chancellorship if he can get rid of Gordon Brown.
Hold on a min I've got to have another slurp and grab a damp flannel.

Being a political nosey parker the current climate at Westminster is doing all sorts to me, I sweat and pant when I see hordes of men in suits, often needing to be resuscitated when I clap eyes on David Davis. I'm a wreck because politics is like a drug to me. Can't get enough of it, gotta have more. Which brings me on nicely to the Duchess.
My good clean living gal is getting embroiled in local politics. Must have a chinwag about that Mrs Mayor!
Don't you laugh girly, life has a way of surprising us all. One minute we're ordinary, the next we're er...not!

Stapled to belly is a bit of paper which says:
Shops. Umbrella. Cut nails. Do Brows. Do something with a Chicken. Look out for the Mayor.

My Hairy Alarm

Monty jumped on me at five forty five a.m.
"Fish" he whispered as his mighty cat mouth delicately removed my earlobes.
"Whatever you say Mont" I half grinned "You're the boss".
So as I slapped on my glasses and slipped into my slippers I felt nothing but love for my half ton, fat tummed, angel chops :)


After obeying him I stood in the shower and started thinking about other things.
Things like:

Sausages. Toad-in-the-hole for tea
Prescriptions. I remember when they were twenty pence.
Spots. I'm not sixteen no more yeah, just go away !
Insect Bites. Buggers.
Heavy duty poetry. But not about the war.
Ankles. Getting bigger?
Growing my hair. Want to be wild again.
Morgan Freeman. Get well soon you wonderful actor you.
Coco Pops or Porridge for brekkie? Pops are fun Podge is worthy.
Trousers or skirt? Depends what zip I can do up easily


And as I gently scrubbed off yesterdays dirt with a big old purple brush I looked down and screamed out
"What's that?!!!"
Old age is horrid.

Monty was waiting and listening outside the bathroom and as I stepped over him he rugby tackled me.

Coco Pops.

The Blackest Show on Earth

Speculation over the future of Gordon Brown goes on.
Gutless nameless backbenchers continue to natter to the media like a bucket of old women whilst calmly awaiting the beheading of our great leader.

Wouldn't it be nice if these servants of the people did the honourable thing and just shut up.
I can see them all now, crouched amongst the empty House of Commons beer bottles, their unworthy heads full of concern over the cost of next years holidays and the prospect of having to go the job centre.
Brown has to go.
For their sake alone.

Blair's tongue has been lashing out too, and about time, it must feel kind of good for the ex-P.M. knowing he was right all along.
Gordon is a suburban bank manager with not an ounce of gravitas, star quality or chumminess. He is dull.

And Cherie must be doing an evil head spinning jig at the thought of old codger Brown being crucified and pelted with custard pies. You know I just had a thought, politics is a wicked nightmarish circus full of bizarre self-inflated clowns whose maniacal overblown opinions about themselves leave the rest of us in weeping in the sawdust.

The stars of the blackest show on earth condemn us, the paying little people, to a life of never ending pain.

I say bring on the horses.

Carry on Cucumber

I like today's Nature Quote of the day. (Scroll down a bit.)
Kind of makes me feel all warm inside :(

On the menu today Roast Chicken with a gang of unruly veg followed by Wild Banana Boats. i.e. sliced nana topped with too much ice cream, big nuts and shaved chocolate.

I had to have a cucumber this morning on account of my eyes and age.
Apparently they do wonders for women.

As I sip my tea and munch on a Rock cake I'm looking at the pile of poems I'll be taking to the infamous Poetry group. It's a nice collection but I don't expect I'll be allowed to read ALL of them out, so I think I''d better winkle the pile down to just three. Don't want to upset the natives. Eh, Dig?

Been a funny old day weather wise, clouds getting in the way of the sun and a dainty half hearted shower dampening my new trousers as I got in the car. But I like Saturdays.

Am so tired this evening so I expect my mug of Ovaltine will knock me for six at ten. Still that's what it's for, isn't it?

On the menu tonight, Spanish Omelette and the remnants of a strawberry cheesecake. But not on the same plate, that only occurs when I haven't got me specs on. Ho hum.
Tomorrow is Sunday and Sunday is roast Chicken and de-fuzzing of the legs day.

Toodle pip.

My London Day

London was cool!
London was wet!
And I was dressed like an elderly lukewarm commando.

Hauling a big green shopping bag loaded with magazines and chocolate cake, I bang banged my way along those rough dangerous old streets till I got to genteel Gloucester Terrace, till I set my sodden silly summer shoes on Mum and Dads bad mats.

Dad is morphing into a Toby Jug and Mum is giggling more whilst wearing azure blue eye shadow and pyjamas.
I'm thinking Hmmmmm!
Interesting.

As I perched on the edge of a hazardous old chair Dad climbed up onto his soapbox and I sang out 'Let the rant begin'.
He didn't let me down.

Mum cooked a large microwaved serves two spaghetti and prawn thing for my lunch. She forgot the knife and fork, the napkin and water. I said nothing just sat quietly gobbling me pasta with a tea spoon and as I tried to catch a prawn I proffered comments like 'Yes that's right' and 'I know, it's awful isn't it?'

And as the clouds gathered for a second time I thought isn't this wonderful?

Gamine and Chips

It was zingingly hot yesterday, so what was I doing clamped to a barber's chair? Read on.

When I was a silly young thing my hair reached my waist, but now as I enter my second silly childhood my hair is to my ears. And by jolly jingo does it feel good. No more the blow drying, no more my hair feeling like a helmet on account of the lacquer lavished upon it. And no more resembling a Charlie's Angel.

I decided to go 'gamine' a few years ago and it was one of my better decisions. But what puzzles, nay, annoys me, is the continual amazement from so called 'stylists' who all happen to be female by the way, when I say I want it 'really short' they look at me in a kind of pitying way. "You sure?" some ask "Yes" I nod. "It might stick up" they whimper. "I want it short" I insist.

Now about yesterday.

I was desperate to get it cut and as I didn't fancy driving to Southend I headed for my local barbers! "He'll do it" I thought as I skipped to the little barbers next to the bakers.

As I entered the male emporium, 'Head Hunters' there were two reasonably tidy grey-haired men waiting (one was eating chips) while a WOMAN of about forty-five liberally waxed up a young guy's hair, my heart sank as I sank into the burnt umber leatherette chairs. "I Want A Man" I screamed inside, I don't want ladies handling my locks any more, they don't do it right.
But I was wrong.
Anyway I sat amongst the magazines listening to Vernon Kay and I wasn't thrown out, so I made myself comfortable and waited.

The men were seen to by the lady barber in a slow and methodical manner.
"Blimey" I thought "I'm going to miss The Weakest Link at this rate." So as I couldn't do anything, I just let it all wash over me.

"Would you like to come over?" she asked looking at me a bit old fashioned. And as my legs dangled from the chair I chirped up "Short all over please, especially at the back."
She did a Victoria, she was not amused.

"Short?" she asked
"Yes short" I echoed
"How short?"
Holding an inch of hair between my fingers I said "This short"
"You sure?"
"Yep"
After spraying some water on to my hair she began cutting and chatting.
"I won't do a number four" she said "It'd be too masculine and you don't want to look like a lesbian....."

I sighed the biggest sigh ever, and as I watched her through the mirror I felt rather sorry for her. Here was a professional middle-aged woman assuming that all women who prefer short hair must be gay. I've realized that just because you've made it to forty or fifty you've not suddenly become wise or sensible. I did hope however that beneath her unimpressive rug of blonde hair she possessed a little artistry.

"What's your name?" I asked
"Lisa" she said "I used to work in the city in insurance, but now I do this, I prefer it. Max who owns this shop is away for the day, and he doesn't do ladies hair, but I do. I have to pay him half of everything so that's why I'm into other things too....."

Every few minutes she'd ask impertinent questions like "Do you work?" and "Where do you live?"
"I rob banks and live in London" I said winking at her. That shut her up.
So after much chopping and whizzing of the trimmer thing she said "It suits you"
"Yes it does" I said cocking my head to one side."And thank you."

Her parting shot was a gem.

"I do do home visits you know" she whispered " Some of my older ladies prefer it"
After hitting her over the head I left.

I Don't...Poem

I don't use the word Love much.
Only using it to express my feelings for Lipstick, Brown Sugar
and
People

I don't see People much
Only when they're here to FIX taps or save my soul
or them at number 88
who taunt me with holiday stories/good car deals and their holy God given grandchildren

I don't Neglect people who
Need my silence so they can hear themselves speak
and who
Leave jollier and wiser with a spring in their sodden feet
who call later saying
Thanks wanna beer?

I don't do Bad Things DELIBERATELY
Only when I have to
or
when I need a right red raw ripping laugh
mostly at nine with cocoa by my side
and a mirror

I don't WEEP much
Only weeping when
I accidentally crush a yellow shelled SNAIL
then I curse and breakdown
my imagination leaving me stock-still like the snail embedded in my boot.

I don't use white killing powder
except
to ANNIHILATE the ants which are marching around my conservatory
then I kill with ease


I don't play GAMES
except with people who are players
then I stab medals into my pock marked breasts
and count them like a child, one, two, three, ten.
I don't use the word LOVE at all
except when I feel it all over

I don't HAVE much SEX
except on my keyboard
where my characters do it all for me
I feel through them and I come with them
then delete them with swollen wet fingers

I don't use the word Love much
Only using it to show my Love
for Lipstick, Brown Sugar
and
People.

copyright Angela Norris