Blitzed around the bungalow this morning dusting and stuff then strolled down the road in search of kitchen curtains.
My bare window is giving me the pip so... out with the old and in with the new...

15 mins later...
Hanging on the rail waiting for me....a pair of pale blue lightly flowered curtains. Big smile. Till I saw the length:( Will need cutting and stitching and I am so bad at both but will have a go this afternoon. I'm crossing fingers that there'll be enough left over to make a mini curtain which will hide the family of bins!

Because of the fine weather I've gone white mad.
White flowers on mantlepiece, small white birdie cushions on chairs and snoozing white ceramic cat in hearth.
White is a cheap and effective treatment for brightening Autumnal type rooms.

Yesterday, before lunch, I moved kitchen table and dresser BACK to their original positions. Sitting over by the wall, although affording more space, felt wrong! So after putting up with it for a good while I decided to return to my first love...Table in middle:)

If the kitchen is the heart of the house then a centre placed table is it's blood!

There's something spiritual about seating people in the centre of the room and me, like a flitting bonkers butterfly, settling down plates of delectable food right under their flaring hooters.

On offer tonight:
Chicken pie and mashed tatties.
Afterwards....An all time favourite... Bread and Butter Pudding:)

Now I must see to the kitchen curtains...X

Potatoes and the Big Let Down and a Little Religion Thrown In...

The Ivorians put on a bit of a show but all in all the match didn't live up to expectations. They needed a miracle. They need a wretched goal.
I once visited Canterbury cathedral and, in its environs, prayed with all my heart.
I digress....

Whilst they faffed about on my kitchen tv I looked up some recipes...Found one I'm keen to make...Irish Soda Rolls. A great stand-in if you run out of bread (unlikely in my well organized kitchen) will endeavour to get some baked soon. Would imagine they would be great with soup or filled with ham and stuff.
The Sisters of Mercy convent was where I bought flowers for my barking mad nan. She didn't like the Irish brogue but she did like their cheap petals. And I like Irish food on account of having, when I was a small thin child, Irish neighbours who, with nothing but love in their heart, plied me with their pies. I still remember the taste, it was divine. Thank you Mrs Varney.

Talking of yummy, I concocted tonight's supper out of desperation and a love of snorkers. Not wishing to do a toad or banger and mash affair I scratched my stubbly chin waiting for inspiration then, like a genie, up sprang, a kind of boulangere but without the liquid.
Boulangere is French and I visited Notre Dame many years ago and ate Croque Monsieur by the Seine.
I digress....

Put unpeeled thickly sliced pots, (500g) sliced onions (2) and five sliced cloves of garlic in a roasting tin. Dressed it all with salt and plenty of pepper and then coated it with oil. And then I had another brainwave, howsabout a good dusting of Cajun spice. Good. Will roast this for 25 mins then lay on top a few good pork sausages and continue to roast till done and brown...

Gravy might be an issue, might plump for ketchup or mustard instead. Accompanying veg another stressful decision...Do I do the pea thing or venture into more treacherous seas by dicing a couple of carrots, I just don't know, what I do know however is that vegetables can be an almighty bore. But not Sweet Potatoes. I would stamp on a butterfly for them. They are the sex toys of the veg world...brightly coloured, good sized and sweet on the tongue. Yumsy mumsy.
I once worked for the Methodists you know and whilst in their employ I had a rather good vegetable pie.
I digress...

My one remaining sweet tooth might be pleasured by the remaining apple cake and jug of custard. I loved Domestic Science at school except when it came to Herrings, for my CSE exam I quite oddly, chose to make breaded Herrings or something but when the day came I bottled it, never to see a Herring again. My teacher, the wide mouthed Mrs Lappin never forgave me. Bet she'd be pleased with me now though....
She stalking me round the school corridors continually asking why I didn't turn up for the Herrings. It was my first taste of fear.
I forgive her though.


Now I must prepare myself for more footie and more sausages.
Which one, I wonder, do I love the most?

Ta ta!