Pheasant

Almshouses

I was in a friend's car when I saw it.
His mickey mouse legs carrying his beautifully curved bod dashed along the grey pavement oblivious to traffic then like the quick braveheart he was darted mad-cap into a perfectly laundered front garden.
"Oh Look" said me
"A Pheasant" said me mate with the air and confidence of someone used to the outdoors.
Giggle. I did. Never seeing one this close up before.
But before I could say 'roast' the cheery kind-of-out-of-place fella had disappeared into a bush and we, that's me and me mate, were doing thirty on our way to the countryside.

It's funny you know, how appreciative I am of little things, of small pleasures, because for the next hour or so I was scanning the side of roads looking for other interesting animals.
Didn't see any living ones:(


I do love cruising the countryside of Essex, especially the north, glorious green undulations with massive trees, medium cows and tiny Inns. So utterly English.
Greystoned churches built ages ago to thatched cottages with names like 'Elizabeth' and 'Yew Tree' stood dotted roundabout like pretty coloured pieces on a fantasy chess board.
How many laughs, tears and tulips had they seen?

Later on I had a full on close up look at a church, don't know its name I was too dumbstruck to find out, but this home of Christianity was so cool it was almost cold. Bitty rock and stones pitted and worn with years of weather and wars stood fine with a perfect sky making a good backdrop. I saw four gargoyles too, standing, which I thought was strange, standing on a tower, their lacklustre interest made for comical viewing.
I imagined...."How long have we been here?" said one "A few lifetimes, I expect" said another and THAT is what fascinates me about old stuff. The amount of life, death and bird droppings they have watched and suffered.
I wouldn't want to be a gargoyle I'd much rather be the pheasant... taking my chances...

I hope he got home safe...

Okey dokey back to reality.

Corned Beef.

:)

I Love Cooking...

And nothing pleases me more than being trapped in a kitchen, any kitchen, touching and making food.
Tonight's offering to Mr H. and Mother is Chilli Con Carne, rice and tortilla chips. I've had to scale down the chilli on account of her Majesty, don't want to add tummy trouble to her mile long list of ailments. The dark red chilli will be rich and packed with chunks of green pepper, slithers of onion and fat ruby red kidney beans. Have also included a sprinkling of paprika which adds a touch of sunset orange to the pot. Canned tomatoes dashed with tomato puree add even more exotic colour and, to beef it all up two Oxo cubes and plenty of black pepper.

I am not pure.

I don't baulk at the idea of using stock cubes, ketchups or shop bought chutneys to make my dishes better but there are things I won't use. Cook-In Sauces.
Whenever I see someone, usually a lady, in Sainsbury's, browsing through Sauce shelves I want to tell her not to do it.
Better to rustle up your own barbecue sauce dear by mixing together ketchup, vinegar, sugar, pepper, garlic, sauteed onions, water, mustard and a few other things...............(Who's got the time?)

Anyway.
An excellent sausage sauce can be made by swishing together honey and ketchup. Why bother with Mr Homepride? And you need a can opener or be willing to break a nail or something on a blasted ring-pull.
If one has a half decent storecupboard one can dispense with expensive salty syrupy dangerous goo.
I digress.
Tonight's excellent Mexican STYLE dinner/tea will be a little late because I've been nattering to mum, actually I've been bending her ear violently in response to her needing many hands to hold her together/upright.
"Never get ill, never get old" She said

So after dealing with her fears and pyjamas I allowed some private time out just for me. And during this exquisite brief sojourn I promised myself some things.

1. Not to jump ahead, to 2012. To stay in the Now.
2. To lighten my hair, a touch, a ray of sunlight over the steel greyness of impending middle age.
3. To widen my horizons, as necessary as home cooked grub and as exciting as life itself.
4. To freak out occasionally, losing it is good for the soul.
5. To be silent, silence gives grace to a woman, never been much of a talker anyway.

All this to-do recently with mum has given me the pip. She's a star whose twinkle has been dulled by loss, loss of her loved one and loss of body fat.
A once shapely vital woman has seen her immaculate stuffing and pretty manicured nails fall to bits. And on seeing this I've become not only a bit more mental but a lot more in love with life.

Life never fails to shock!

:)

Having A Pink Moment

Because it's Friday and my hair is getting greyer and England won on Wednesday and I'm looking forward to Saturday, here are a couple, well a few, actually a very lot of girly things I'm very guilty of...(dreadful syntax)
I'm gonna have fun with this!

1. Going gooey if I see a hairy chest. (and I don't mean mine)
2. Prancing around in front of a mirror modelling a new handbag
3. Wanting to squeeze puppies tummies
4. Wanting to hold babies in funny hats
5. Erotic underwear. Mostly from La Senza.
6. Nipping the top off a marshmallow and sticking it on my nose. Nose? Yes that's right, NOSE!
7. Gorgeous funny sensitive hairy men with big qualifications, who can cook. Not many of those about:(
8. Lipstick. Always, well sometimes, Pink and always, well sometimes, Red:)
9. Spraying myself stupid with my current favourite perfume. 'Beautiful' by Estee Lauder
10. Love poetry/Quotes
11. Candlelight. I'm so romantic
12. Torchlight. I'm so desperate!
12. Men who look like gorillas:)
13. Men who just look:(
14. Dancing to Disco tunes when I've had two double Ports.
15. Blowing kisses at men drivers who give way to me at a junction
16. Crying when I'm in a rage/in a tizz/feeling useless
17. Johnson's 'Dreamy Skin' body cream. One spread and I'm dead!
18. Snuggling Monty. And saying utterly idiotic things like "Izzooo mummy's babbykins"
19. Letting my imagination take me wherever I want to go. Mostly to someone's heart.
20. Thick Chocolate/Thin blouses/Thick saucepans
21. Dogs in bandages.
22. Gruff voices/Sexy voices/Gentle voices
23. Wearing combat trousers up ladders to get cobwebs/spiders and then calling for help
24. Winking
and
25. Egg-Heads with mighty biceps!

Crikey, I never realized I was so girly, must be my age!

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.

Sublime Humdrum

As a thimbleful of warm rain did its best to ruin my pretty white shoes I defiantly continued to amble along the road without a care in the world.

Sauntering past green Landies and fallen red bicycles, the manicured lawns of the super proud and the gardens of the uninterested I continued to mosey on down the road.

Looking up at a wonderfully marbled sky I thought about poetry and the chicken pie I intended to make, I then thought how life is a delicious heady mix of the humdrum and the sublime.

Today I had both.

Big Barry.....Poem

I'm so glad the night has come
for in its vastness I go wherever I like

so skimming over rooftops my imagination glides............

Big Barry at night in his perfect house of roses, bleach and photos
quells his fear of every day
with flat beer and Tesco cake
while his wife with friends plays up every night in the centre of a far away town

Old Mrs Lively pats golden Rex
till the old gold dog can take no more
she feeds him chocolate biscuits while pissing upon the floor

Big Brenda takes her washing in
whilst gabbing on the phone
Crushed Bill takes in everything
whilst planning his escape

Widower Mr Worthy
can't remember if its day or if its night
he calls his dead wife Laura
to come and fetch his plate

Kid-in-love yeah Lucy
writes his name
at least like a million times
each thick black letter letter proving
just how much she really loves him..
Steve Steve Steve


copyright Angela Norris

Back from my quick fire trip to London and all is the same. And so with an overpowering emptiness engulfing me I let chocolate and tears come together on my tongue.
Monty is on the floor entangled in the baked laundry and the sun is still shining and I don't know why, but but I wish it would go away.
I've lost track of Wimbledon, only game I remember watching was Murray v Gasquet. Sweet.
Don't give a damn about the Ladies final. Pointless if it's a Williams sisters party.
My new handbag is lying on my bed, it doesn't look so grand or pretty any more.
This is pointless.
Never in my life have I felt so numb, so completely and utterly devoid of a life worth living, so I'm sorry this is a bad post, but I can't think of anything good to write about.

Sorry Pigeon It Won't Happen Again...

I feel 'still' this morning and I don't like it. Because 'still' means 'lifeless'. And 'lifeless' means only one thing, unhappiness.
Talking of 'still' I have just disturbed a perfectly poised wood pigeon who was sitting on the garden fence, on seeing me through the kitchen window he opened his wings and angrily flapped up a few feet only to land on next doors garage roof. Silly bird.
Tomorrow I'll crawl in the kitchen on my hands and knees.

All On A Sunday And All...

Is summer fluttering its eyelashes at us. I'm a bit warm.
Daintily pencilled in my kitchen diary for today:
Attending to a hem.
The pressing of some flowers.
Crying over my lack of beer.
A poetic piece about foxes.
The baking of a Carrot Cake.
The making of gin from cabbage leaves.
Doing something with a two foot piece of broken trellis.
Politics.
The downing of many cups of tea.
Trying to disguise the rings under my eyes by covering them with wedges of Cheddar.
The application of Polyfiller. And not to walls.
Looking forward to watching a programme about Gordon Brown tomorrow evening.
Looking forward to writing about it.
Rafael Nadal v Federer this afternoon. Yummy Spaniard for elderly English woman.

Here's a silly thing I wrote after I'd eaten too much Bombay Mix

I saw a silly dog today
its tail was stuck right up
he walked a funny crooked way
he was a stupid mutt.

Thank You.

Earthworm

Sliding into the slimmest of cracks
the fattest earth worms slithers
Admiring its dexterity
and empathising with its need to slip away
I try to do the same.
But pounds and pounds of human flesh
and feet and feet of bone
deny me.
So here I sit cross legged on the stone
lip bitten in cold rage.

Do Not Eat

I've been perusing me cupboards and here is a list of what I do not have and why.

Tinned Rice Pudding:
It is anathema to me on account of it being too white and not containing bits of lemon peel.
Tinned Soup:
Because it is not soup as I know it. My soup needs a fork because sometimes it has a bits of cabbage in it. The thought of being tied down and having a spoonful of Heinz Tomato Soup dripped onto my lips keeps me awake at night.
Cook-In Sauces:
I bought one in 1985 and fainted when I opened the tin. I swore never again.
Canned Meat:
Because it reminds me of the War. Corned Beef is ok if one closes one's eyes and thinks of England. But canned Ham is unforgivable and full of water.
Instant Custard:
The country's supply of it should be chucked into a landfill site or poured over giggling women in baths who are doing it for charity and to get their picture in the paper. Do not use this product.
Tubed Garlic:
I must chop and mash my garlic otherwise I can't sing in Italian. I eat bucketloads of real garlic. I do not have any friends.
Cake Mixes:
If I see someone in Sainsbury's even LOOKING at these appalling things I tell the manager to evict them from the store. To make a cake is the best thing on earth. I don't trust people who buy Swiss Rolls.

And perhaps the foodstuff that makes me go most mental is

Cheap Sausages:
Pale insipid pinky winkies without any balls. When I see a bad sausage in Sainsbury's I spin round shouting obscenities, I cry out for the in-store butcher to be relocated and I weep for the wretched animal that had to be put to sleep just so people with no class or money can have a fry-up.
A real Woman's sausage is so powerful you have to kill it to eat it. A real sausage lives on your plate, it breathes and looks at you with contempt, it dares you to eat it.
I kill dozens of the blighters every month. And they love me for it. I float them in cider, I prop them up and against some mash, I slice them into a risotto and I squeeze them into a finger roll. And at all times the sausage in question is the best I can afford.
So on your knees you Cumberland Ring you, try and get the better of me you string of Toulouse, get me in a lather if you dare, you pound of big fat Venison bangers.
And melt me with your long lusciousness you violent Frankfurter.

I will at some time post a piece about what goes on in my kitchen.
And it's not all culinary.
Thank You.