Sun. Coooool!.
Can here mowers already. The brightness as I look out of my window is lovely. So warm and lovely is it that I've kicked off my slippers and feel like waxing. Lyrical.

Mowing. (Lots of Laughter)..
Mine will be groaning later on. Not too much will be shaved orf just enough to make my frontage respectable.

Traditional Roast Beef Lunch. Yum.
Fair sized piece of Brisket roasted in melted lard then, when the time is right, a few knobbly par-boiled spuds will be added to the spitting fat. To soothe and take away the guilt of indulging in extreme animal fat I'll steam a little Sweetheart Cabbage. To soak up the gravy and mustard a crisp bulbous Yorkshire Pudding. And for pud an apple crumble.

But most exciting of all...
The Labour Party Conference begins today in Liverpool. Kicks off around 2p.m. with a Hiya from Leader of Liverpool Council, Joe Anderson.
Should be worth a watch. Ken Livingston will be putting his two penn'orth in aswell. Boo.

Tomorrow Harriet Harmon will bleat on in a debate called Britain in the World...Think I'll give the ghastly Harry a miss. Although I do have one thing to thank her for...A dopey recipe for Mince embalmed in a nice Crusty Loaf. Amazing what one finds in retro recipe books.

And then Tuesday.... everything on standby.... . My Leader's speech kicks off at 3. Holy HUSH in the bungalow when the Man in Debt to the Unions makes his Conference speech.
Should be worth a tea break or two mate.



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

Cooking Milipedes

3 x large loaves of bread.
12 x Chocolate Chip Fairy Cakes
1 x Strawberry and Cream Swiss Roll
12 x Sultana and Apricot Rock Cakes.

One of the loaves and all of the sweet goodies are for mum and dad. It's mum's birthday tomorrow so I thought a basket of homebaked treats would please her.

I've just caught David Milipede announcing his intention to run for Leader, and I'm still unsure as to what he is.
His mantra was one of 'out with Blairism and Brownism and in with Milipedeism.' He voice was soothing to the point of numbness, but underneath the scrubbing brush hair was a man much older than his years. Very old fashioned in a way. He didn't smile neither did he gesticulate much, there was of course the occasional hands-coming-together but all in all he was sober in his approach. He will not set the floor alight. But politics isn't always about barnstorming rhetoric, whooping and teeth it's about what politicians are elected for... delivering the goods.
This election will be thrashed out over the summer and I will love it, so what with the election, Wimbledon AND the World Cup your blogging old Glo will have her work cut out!


On a personal note just to prove that this blog isn't all about me....Mr Horsehound, bless his heart, suggested that he'd like to exhibit a selection of photographs celebrating me getting older.......
He now eats through a straw.

I will however give this artistic project some serious thought, you can be sure that if it goes ahead no Vaseline or tarting up will be used in production of these great pics.
I am nearly 54.
Every cry line, every worry line has been brought about by being a sensitive lady. I don't do bottling it up.
Be it emotions or pears.


Now a movie and one of mum's buns:)


Ta ta!

Milibundian News.....

While the bread rises and my towels dry, I must just have a word about the Labour leadership election.

I see The Brothers From The Slopes of The Great Milibundan will be competing against each other for the job.
Young Ed and old David will I fear cause havoc around the family's breakfast table.
If it were a Man Contest Mr Ed Milibundian would win by a short hair cut, his brother being a tad too ugly. But this is not a beauty Man contest it is a fight to go down in history as the Man who re-kindled the ailing Labour Party thereby stuffing the Tories and their Glory Boys.

It should all be spiffing fun"

A fellow, who might enter through the back passage, is Ex-Commie Mr Jon (I don't need an H) Cruddas.
A man with a decent enough boat-race but crippling credentials. It would, I feel, be a turn about too radical for the new Labour party. He ran for Deputy P.M quite a while ago but got merrily kicked in the hooter by Ms. Harriet Harpy.
I will though be supporting this lush bloke on account of my predilection for bad boys!

Another man who, with the help of electrocution lessons became Home Secretary, has ruled himself OUT of the running. But Alan (I could get it for you wholesale) Johnson was, in his youth, a vicious hard headed Union man but with the help of a decent tailor, could easily stand at the despatch box duffing up Cameron.
He smiles very broadly when asked about all this and I get the feeling he'll be backing one of the Milibundian Bros. He will not be supporting Jon Cruddas. I would though.

Very little time now before the Footie so with that in mind I'll reach for my new Horn and canter along the flowered hallway to the dug out.

Cheerio!!!

Gloria on Gordon

He's in trouble.
The suited and booted vultures are not only circling overhead they're talking to each other too.

Concerned aspiring colleagues are talking of clawing his house keys away from him, leaving him with nought but the clothes he stands in.
Political nature red in tooth, claw and ambition.

Because as Gordon checks his watch and soaks up the rays of a fine English summer whilst drinking beer, Cabinet hoodies huddle round sturdy tables salivating over the sound of popping champagne corks and his return.
They're gonna have him.

What shall I do Sarah, he says, I don't want to lose my job?
But Mrs Brown isn't listening she's tanning herself and thinking about book signing sessions.

Whenever asked about his current problems he says the same thing, sounds the same and looks the same, never do I see a Blairesque performance.

Brown is a shy man who looks uncomfortable in front of the camera, he's not a show-off.
He's not an actor.
He's not a star.
He's a Scot.

Labour are taking a pounding at the moment, and it's all Gordons fault.

The electorate can't afford meat no more and for that he'll lose his job.
It's over.

Comment ça va?

Ed Balls wants us to change our drinking culture.
He wants us to adopt the French way whereby beautiful families sit around the dining table sipping wine discussing Jacques Derrida. He also wants to see and end to mullered teenagers laying on park benches guzzling cheap supermarket lager. Methinks he's going to wait a long time, because not many working class families even share a meal together yet alone share the joy of good wine and conversation.
The middle classes however might allow Tristram a glass of a decent Chardonnay whilst talking about his violin lessons. He wants sober, well-reasoned parents to instill into their offspring the right and true way to guzzle beer.
The disinterested parents won't be listening to the government, and consequently will have nothing to say to their children.
The only chance of saving our bright youngsters from liver damage is to lock them up forever.
Ed Balls and this utterly incompetent government is drifting, is ambling about grabbing onto anything which makes them look a bit capable and caring.
They are failing.