I got a present today.
A set of car mats.
They are just what I wanted.
So thank you Mr Sweetie.

Unexpected gifts whether big or small always make me deliriously happy. Over the past six months I have been given Quince jelly, iced buns, gift vouchers, a bouquet of flowers, £20 pound notes, creme eggs, bike things, perfume and now car mats.
I like presents.

On the bill of fare tonight:
Sausages with loads and loads of fried onions in sesame seed buns served with chips* and sweetcorn. I'll lash some tomato and chilli relish on the bangers but not so much as to cause a catastrophe. There'll be no spicy droppings on my frontage.
For pud? Oh pud how you do so tease me...I fancy something lemony so I might whip up a microwaved lemon curd sponge, won't take a min to put together and only takes three and a half mins to cook. Whatever would Mrs Beeton say?
She'd probably think I was total evil.



*McCains Homefries. Sainsbury's chips are horrible!

Mrs Horsehound Does Mrs Beeton

I'm in Mrs Beeton mode.

Baking in the oven right now is a Carrot cake, in the fridge waiting to be turned into Meatballs are minced beef, Cumberland sausagemeat, red peppers and garlic.
On the kitchen table, in a mess, are heaps of old recipe books which, although loved are left to fend for themselves in the living room. And that me dears is no place for food books. So I'm in a flap wondering where to put them. Good friendly food books should be squashed together on a kitchen dresser but unfortunately my two dressers are already exhaustively crammed with stuff. Mostly books, but ornamental jugs, honey pots and plates are now rubbing shoulders with the likes of Mary Berry, Delia Smith and Nigel Slater.

The only answer is to stick some shelves on the wall, there's a small space by the small window which could be home to a dozen or so heavyweight recipe books. I have to do something.
One of the reasons we chose this bungalow was the size of the kitchen. It's not huge by any standard but compared to the galley kitchen I endured in London, my current one is like a kitchen in Buckingham Palace. Huge and well stocked. The only thing I'm not too keen on are the windows. Yes windows. There are three, not including the glassed door to the conservatory. Talk about letting the light in, still when clean they do like rather nice.

The infamous table is right smack bang in the middle of the room, not the perfect place aesthetically, but it feels right. And that's my guide always. Does it feel right? Two dressers, one harking back to the 1960's, the other, pine, and only a few years old. Both are indispensable, wouldn't have a damn place to put anything if I didn't have them. I don't think I could live with a fitted kitchen, I like the freedom free standing furniture gives, many a time I've humped the furniture around only to put it back in it's original position the very next day.
I'm a woman.

So as the cake burns at the edges and the books stand piled up in a higgledy piggledy fashion rather like a child's attempt at architecture, I sip my instant coffee in a plastic cat pinny. I don't think Mrs B. would approve of that.
Although she might like the cake...