Queen of Sainsburys

Yesterday.

I kept to my word.
Mostly.
I made a panful of Meatballs and some proud individual Queen of Puds (see pics above) only venturing into my garden for a quick refreshment break, oh and to listen to a battalion of drum banging children, a couple of gardens down, pretending to be rock stars.
It was quite nice actually, the sweet timbre of the continuous bang bang bang went well with my cup of strong tea and super sized Rock Cake. I didn't moan, instead I joined in with the nippers musical ensemble by working up a sweat with a bit of air guitar!
I hope no-one saw me...

Today.

Today I'll be melting my way to Sainsburys with the car roof open, and as I'm dawdling past The Blue Boar and The Monk and Fisherman all red and parched, I'll imagine I'm driving my metallic green jam jar along some high white mountain roads somewhere with a fellow dry dreamer by my side.
It'll give me a little lift I expect.

And with the warm wind roughing up my silver flushed hair and Radio 4 feeding my old brain I'll arrive dishevelled but full of intelligence at Sainsburys.
And after loading up the trolley with essentials and non-essentials, I'll give cashier number 3 all my lolly and then vroom vroom back.

On the menu today:
Steak. I expect.
Followed by homemade Mango Ice Cream. Definitely.

Have a smashing day everyone.

The Rise of Clive Stiffjoint part 1

Hello there.

I must just lay a few domestic issues on you.
I bought a ceramic frog and a gnome. The frog is called Bill and the gnome, Jessamy.
Only one tomato seedling has emerged.
I stuck a plastic sunflower in a pot of dirt and gasped as the passing kiddywinks shout "Pathetic!"
On the menu today something with bacon or something.
Oh, by the way, it's the Eurovision Song Contest on Saturday, for my international readers who may be blissfully unaware of it, it's a competition for half decent singers singing awful songs in outrageous outfits.
I love it.

Now here's a funny little thing I've been playing around with, I'll be posting the next installment quite soon.

Now don't start worrying about me I ain't lost me marbles, well not all of them, it's just that last night something big popped up.
I had a VISITATION.
I was alone as usual, the great one having decided to spend the night with his Satanist chums in The Swan With Two Necks public house on the Albermarle Road, when all of a sudden there he was. A whopping great alien. I kid you not. He appeared just as I was beautyfying meself with a rough brush and a pot of petroleum jelly.
"Oooh I say" I said "And what's your name and from whence do you come?"
"Clive Stiffjoint" he said duly whipping out a large map of the solar system and then stabbing a finger type thingy on a planet.
"Blimey!" I gulped "Are you a fanatical phantasime?"
Well he took umbrage at that and got a bit shirty with me.
"I need to live in Rochford" he said "With you and the others".
"Others?" I asked, scared stiff he was going to liquify me or something.
"Yes others" he said "Others of your kind".

Now, I can assure you that by this time I was dying for a cuppa and an arm around me midriff, because, although I am a woman of the world, I am still mostly unsure about how to deal with strange men. Anyway, all I had for comfort was my moggy Monty and all he was interested in was watching the shimmering light patterns on the wall emanating from this Alien bloke called Clive.

"Well I don't really know how I can assist you with your request" I splattered
"I'm just a housewife who has a giant pussy called Monty and a small Satanic husband called Ralph, I really don't get out an lot dear."
My protestations however fell flat on large ears, and he sat himself down on hubby's dressing-up box making himself himself quite at home. Cocking his great big head to one side, he folded all his arms into an intricate Celtic knot and then propped his suited and booted legs up onto me cheval mirror.
"You are a fine earth woman and I want you as my kickywick as your great poet said".
"Great poet, who's that then sweetie, Pam Ayres?" I choked
"No, 'twas the other genius William Shakespeare, does he reside in Rochford too?"
"Well not now Clive, because he's been gone a long time you know, but he might have popped into the Anne Boleyn Public House on the Rochford Road in about 1613, you know, for a swift half in between writing acts one and two of King Henry The Eighth, I just can't be sure dear"
On that he sprung up onto all his feet and BOWED. Yes, BOWED.
"I will come tomorrow" he said sticking his map into his flaps.
"Oh, lovely" I squeaked and duly collapsed.
To Be Continued...