Now This Bike Thing...

Hello all.


It's not a bad little runner considering it's thirty years old. It has a jaunty plastic bag at the back a tingling screeching bell on the front and lots of creamy coloured lights. I like it. And today as I cycled to Henry's I felt as free as a lost pigeon.
I have to get a padlock or something because otherwise someone might steal it, and the thought of some stinking tea leaf lifting my little cycle gets me in a flap. No, I simply have to spend a fiver on security.

Other mundaness:

My left knee is ghastly again. Come up all knobbly it has and I think it's due to excessive exertion both in the street and in the kitchen. Therefore I've pumped myself full of hard line prescription drugs in the hope of seeing a joint reduction.

Today at Henry's was quite dull. I'm so sick of picking up fag-ends, Chinese take away cartons, crashed out bottles of vino, socks, medical things, bow ties and dead flies. As I wafted Lavender air freshener around I stuck my head out the upstairs window and wished so hard that I was somewhere else.


I've decided to lose myself in a sausage.

I flew back down to the castle and hunted down his Majesty's trousers. They were of course where I'd left them, which was hanging limply over the trouser press. I left a swiftly scribbled note telling him about the stains and then shot out into the garden to save some large towels, which were swinging in the wind...Rain clouds were gathering...
After locking up I sped off home.
On arriving home I was so exhausted, that I put my mobile phone in the fridge.

Now this rat thing.
The Princess has said she'd like a pet rat and a place, a home if you like, has already been ear marked. The creature's home will be a dark shelf over the telly. There is absolutely no way on God's fine earth that I'm going to be party to the homing of an animal albeit a creepy one, just above a telly.
I will, without a doubt, feel for the poor thing as it scurries hither and thither in its cage over the the top of hours and hours of brain dead MTV. Don't like rats much but the vermin will go crackers listening to that.
If the plan goes ahead I feel I'll have to say something in defence of the rat.
But I'm hoping that the longing for a rat phase is just that, a phase. Why can't they re-home a puppy like everyone else.

Just had a thought, a very horrible one. With his Majesty out all day and busy most evenings, and the kid at college, starting an apprenticeship in September and chilling with friends...Who's going to clean Mr Ratty's house?
The Housekeeper.........................?

On the table tonight:
Nasi Goreng. Cat.

This favourite of mine will be served in one of my favourite bowls, bought of course, in a charity shop. And will be eaten quietly with a glass of water and on-table feline. Yes, Monty has his own place at the table, with his very own mat, paper napkin and vibrant green plate
His vicious furry salivating mouth will chew for seconds on delicate rice and tender veg and then his perfect paw will persuade me to shove more in his direction. And I will of course obey.

He will not have pud because blackcurrants are for fools...Although if I splatter some double cream his way he might decide to join me.
Cats are great aren't they?

Did a stint at Henry's today and and as I slightly scorched a lilac shirt I dreamt about the weekend. Curry, clothes and lemonade and suddenly the smell of burnning polyester didn't seem so bad.

New Horizons?

Murray wasn't worth watching.
He won but without razzamatazz. He should have beat up the rather decent American, Kendrick but all he did was sweat to the winning line, rather like Henman used to do. Dull beyond belief.
He's also moaning about the new roof.

And on this glorious Wednesday I'm wondering whether or not my knees will hold up under the pressure of polishing Henry's castle. Yesterday my other employer, the unbearably solemn Raymondo told me he's sold his house but would still like me to clean for him when he gets himself embedded in his new place. Depends on where you move to matey, I thought.
I wonder if there's some nice desk job out there...Somewhere.

I'm going to the pictures tonight to see the new Terminator film. Bugger it all.






4 days to go.

Horses For Courses

London was cool.

Dad did somersaults over the trifle. Not literally you understand, that would be impossible with his legs. Mum liked the few bits and bobs I'd got for her, especially the plastic flowers in the tea cup. Loved that.
After a decent shop, where I bought a lovely sweet skirt which whipped me back to the halcyon days of my youth, the dream confection is a viscose patchwork affair in subtle colours of blue, eau de nil and pink and dusts my ankles in a gay, gypsy manner.

We watched the first day of Royal Ascot where the other Queen turned up in her carriage and the annoyingly out-of-place Suzi Perry spoke about the fashions. Ms Perry had a camp male chum by her side to help out with the ooohs and aahs of the fashion faux pas and fashion triumphs. His quips were straight to the point and I liked the way he walked. So thumbs up for him. But thumbs down to the 'Gadget Show' bird in the silly hat.

Now what Royal Ascot is all about.
Gambling.
Dad had the first winner and celebrated with a dollop of trifle but as the afternoon went on only managed to bag two further places, so he sulked a bit, screwed up his betting slips, and like all sensible gamblers looked forward to the next day.

So I had a jolly good time with my most favourite people on earth and in my creaking wisdom decided to stay a tad longer than I normaly do. Consequently I limped into my bungalow way after 8 p.m. I'm still recovering...

Yesterday was spent at Henry's palace where I did my Housekeeping duties with a huge knee and after leaving him a gentle note about; The importance of colour swatches, the necessity for a hearth rug, large petaled artificial flowers and what I'd accomplished on the table in his bedroom. I haven't heard from him since...

Today.

Today is shopping day but before I go to The Factory Shop for suet slabs, Lidle for a jar of cherries and Sainsbury's for everything else I'll do a detour to the charity shop and drop a piece of chocolate cake into Joan's hands.


Big questions of the day.
What'll I wear?
Shall I join the Rayleigh Operatic and Dramatic Society?
What can I do about my knees?

I have been given a pretty blue parasol for my garden table (thanks Rockman) and so after a tuna sandwich will swing it around above my head.


*Pic is of dad larking about with a waxy Benny Hill.

Wood Planes Day

In a deck chair I sat brushing off webs, dust and ants from ancient wood planes. And afterwards as I stroked the aformentioned planes with my Meths soaked cloth, a nut holding squirrel appeared. "Hello matey" I said. She of course remained silent. It was a lady squirrel I've no doubt, because she was as busy as I was. Only she looked better than I did because her silky silver coat wasn't covered in splinters and her hair, immaculate. I on the other hand, although content, looked like a stable hand.
I loved sitting in my bosse's garden doing a good job, but then he popped back and took me out of the garden and as I made us a cup of tea we spoke about work, love and prescriptions.

Precious Things

I've been shoving a bookcase around the kitchen.

And after lovingly laying upon it delicate lacey doilies I filled the shelves with kitchen knick knacks. These precious things I've been collecting, have hung about on various shelves, window sills and dressers but now they are housed in a 6ft tall bookcase. The bookcase in question is made of a sort of Melamine, I would have preferred oak or pine or even teak but Melamine will do nicely for now. Got this gem from "Freecycle" a place where people offer up stuff they no longer need and planks like me dash in the car to the Leigh-on-Sea to get it! And this is exactly what I did today.
After a quick chat on the phone to 'Ruth' I verily raced along at 28mph with the window open because I was heating up, and sort of parked outside someone's house...I rang, I knocked, I rang, I knocked. But no Ruth. So I phoned. "Hello" I said wearily "It's Angela, and I'm outside your house, where are you?"...
Suddenly I heard a door open and a voice cried out "Over here". I was at the wrong house. :) Told you I was a plank.
Anyway, after giving it the once over I, along with John, staggered across the road with it. And then. Couldn't get it in the car...I didn't moan or swear or even cry. I just stood and wondered..After flattening the seats, taking off a couple of shelves and scraping some sort of paintwork, we managed to get the bugger in.
I drove off listening to John The Great Map Reader of Essex's directions. Wrong. He managed to get me slightly flustered and we ended up by The Blue Boar public house in the wrong lane. So taking swift evasive action I gave the thumbs up to the bloke alongside me at the lights and duly jumped in front of him because I wanted to do a left!
Half an hour later I was home with my man and the bookcase.
I am now shattered beyond belief my knicks have a new home but I am knackered.
Will post a pic TOMORROW.
If he can find the camera:)

Things I Can't Live Without. WARNING! IT'S A WHOPPER!

1. Big secondhand ornamental plates. Laying flat or propped up waiting to fall.

2. Monty. Awake or asleep. Fragrant or smelly.

3. Hidden money. Especially £20 notes.


4. My navy blue goatskin gloves. Winter spring summer and autumn.

5. Red lipstick. Looks smashing spread widely.

6. Laughing. 'Tis the bestist medicine.


7. Balding men. Six-pack chaps are fine but muscular tubbies are welcome too!

8. Chocolate. In any form. Anywhere.

9. Cakes. Happy full fat ones. Keep miserable low fat ones right away from me.


10. Cucumbers. Both real and ceramic.

11. Poetry. Old and new. But nothing from The Southend Poetry Group. Thank you.

12. My charm. Get it from dad. So glad I haven't got his wind.


13. Secondhand skirts. Short, long, but never in between.

14. Essex Gold Radio. Old records to head bang to on my way to Sainsburys.

15. Erotic lingerie.


16. Vaseline. For lips and eyebrows. Nothing sexual. For that, nothing beats Flora Buttery.

Arthur Rimbaud, Vagabond, Trader, Gunrunner, Poet.

Whilst prancing around in London yesterday I bought a long soft velvet boho scarf in shades of brown, green and gold. And as the wind swept me along the pavement I thought of these words from the French Poet Arthur Rimbaud. 1854-1891
"I have stretched ropes from steeple to steeple, garlands from window to window, golden chains from star to star and I dance".
Beautiful.

Arthur was 'an alchemist who played with words' (Katinka Matson. Short Lives) I play with words too, but unlike Arthur can't turn the ordinary into the magnificent.
After a bright yellow breakfast of eggs, lemon curd and orange juice I'll dance around Sainsbury's wearing my scarf. Then home in the rain to tetchy Monty and politics.

Scorched Stuff

I made some strange cakes yesterday. They were a cross between a muffin and a doughnut, so I've decided to call them Muffnuts:)

My consuming passion is er....consuming! And as a result have spent far too much time in the kitchen creating all sorts of weird stuff. I suppose cooking IS creative although I don't always see it that way especially when things stick on the bottom of saucepans like my onion sauce did yesterday. I'd sweated the wretched onions for ages, then added stock, tomato ketchup, oregano, Worcestershire sauce and other stuff. Then I made a mistake....I popped into the office....Oh dear.

As you all know one can get carried away on line and so when I finally remembered the sauce I shot up from my chair only to find a rapidly reduced sauce and Monty looking posh on the back of his chair. It's at times like this, when I think a hound might come in useful. This hound would have been trained to alert me when cakes, buns and sauces start to turn black. But that's just phooey because I would rather have a scorched sausage and a pussy than a perfect pie and a poochie.

Nonsensical Stuff now:
If I changed my name I'd change it to Josephine Wack,
I cuddled a cat yesterday and it wasn't Monty.
Pigeons are so predictable. But lovable.
Girls who giggle need a slap. Giggling is annoying to oldies because it reminds them of their youth.
Monkeys are dangerous when aroused. All their pornography should be shredded.
Old people should be restrained especially in August. They do so clog up the parks.
Men under fifty should have my address.
Men over fifty shouldn't.
That's enough nonsense for today. Possibly more tomorrow.

On the menu today: Perfect Chicken in a Perfect Sauce....

I'm Not A Horse But...

I keep thinking about Spring.
So as I make my way up to London I'll be searching the verges, hedges and even cracks in the pavements for signs of young green life.
I'm hoping to see a much improved mum whose blue eyes look bluer and whose legs are ready for a trip around the shops. I dare say a microwaved curry will be generously flung in my direction but you know what, I won't mind at all. Mum could stick my head in a horsebag and I'd be happy.

Pigeon Post

Monty is watching two swinging grey pigeons
With each gentle gust of wind, they fall and rise on the branch.
Monty's head is low, his breathing rapid and with each dip of the branch, the cat's head steadies. Rock still, the spoilt predator ponders.
I wonder what he'd do if one got in the conservatory?
Pierce them probably.

Pre-Sausage Nonsense

After my earlier rant (now deleted on account of feeling much better) I've made a rather deelish cup of coffee. And as I walked away from the kettle Monty grabbed my sleeve saying "Oy you pay attention to me or I'll scratch your varicose veins". Isn't he a love? The no-good toe rag will now undoubtedly follow me from the office into the front room where, on propping myself up with numerous cushions, I'll check the news. This news fixation comes from my parents telling me at a very young age that I should know what's going on in the world. They meant well.

Before I forget, I've found a couple of interesting recipes to try. One is for Apple and Cinnamon Scones, the other, for a Chocolate Fondue! I'm quite excited by the thought of that one. Wonder what I can dip into it? Any ideas?

On the menu today:
I'm on my own, so not much, just the ubiquitous sausage sandwich and one or two of the smashing Bakewell Maids I made yesterday. Will then resist the urge to eat half a packet of Starbursts on account of two things. 1. Sweets are for kids and 2. They might get stuck in me gaps.
Thank you very much I've had my say.

Panless Day

I don't have a pan for my pancakes...

I've got several frying pans but not one of them is small enough to hold the perfect pancake. So....I WON'T MAKE ANY!
But I will.
Probably at the weekend. Because by then I will have bought a six or seven inch pan.
Doesn't seem right somehow, it's Shrove Tuesday and I'm on my own. Well Monty is here of course but he doesn't give a flying fig about batter type things. Just as long as he can smear Nautical Fish all over his whiskers, he'll be fine.

When I return from a short shopping trip I'll be baking some miniature Bakewell Tarts, otherwise known as 3 inch Bakewell Maids. Something rather gooey and fairytaleish about dinky pastries. All I need now is my Prince. But that's soppy girls stuff and I'm a serious woman. Mostly.

Small General Thoughts:

Watched yet another Morgan Freeman film last night. 'Along Came A Spider'. I was in bed again but without the fish. This time the only scales in sight were right by the long mirror. They're not used much, because I scare easily...

The Lamb Couscous was fabulous. Tender chops braised in a coriander, ginger and cumin sauce. I over did it on the apricots though, they looked like oranges spaceships floating in a spicy universe. Tasted good though. The couscous was buttery and plentiful.

Silly people have complained to the BBC about children's presenter, Cerri Burnell. Cerri has one arm and irate over-sensitive mums and dads have said she 'scares' their kids. What a load of rubbish.

I've gone right off Minced Beef.

I think my ears are getting longer.

Post-Pasta Post

Saw only one of my employers tabby cats today, I tried to pick him up (the cat that is) but he wasn't having any of it so I left him looking out through the cat flap. Silly puss. As I cleaned the upstairs windows I looked down onto a soggy windswept garden and then closed my eyes for a second. I imagined a June sun baking the borders, and bushes of various sizes and colours lighting up the lawn. And then I thought of Wimbledon, strawberries and dresses and for a second I had hope. Then I turned away from the window, lifted my skirt and stared at my wretched knee. 'If this melon doesn't deflate to the size of an orange' I said, 'I'm going to the doc.'

I made myself a mug of milkless tea for elevenses, and it wasn't as bad as I thought it might be. Why there wasn't any milk beats me, but I suppose a busy worried man embroiled in divorce proceedings can be forgiven for running out of milk.
And then I carried on doing what I had to do and after checking and re-checking all the rooms I made my way home.

Home.
Home to tomato soup and Monty. After the soup and news I dozed off in the kitchen armchair like an old lady who's downed too many Ports. But then, at around 3, I was up and about but with all kinds of emotional baggage weighing me down, so I had a cup of tea and a nice digestive biscuit.

Tonight's dinner was horrible. I should have listened to my heart and had a Chinese take way. I'll never make sausage pasta again.
I'm desperately sad, not because I messed up dinner but on account of being me.

Bohemian Raptures

I bought a necklace last Thursday (see above) and it brought back to me feelings I had when I was 17. I didn't dress the way I dress now which is a cross between dear Miss Poppins, Miss Marple and Miss Whiplash. I was a Bohemian back in the 1970's and would always be found in long skirts often velvet or embroidered, lacy blouses done up right to my chin and cowboy boots! My accessories were chunky silvery necklaces, fake topaz bracelets and rosaries often picked up for a few pence on a stall by the convent in Portobello Road. In those days the only person I swung with was Jesus. God knows what the sisters thought.

At any rate I dressed the part of a placid lonesome poet whose wild wavy hair was often held up with chop sticks. But that was a long time ago, but every so often I buy or see something which transports me back to those sublime innocent and peaceful days just like I was transported last Thursday.
And so last Thursday as I arthritised my way along to Somerfields wearing a camel coat and sensible shoes but with my boho necklace tucked inside my handbag I said to myself "Ang be true to yourself and go boho again" so I have.

The picture was taken last Saturday as I was preparing yet another Indian meal, and as I listened to some nonsense on the telly I thoroughly enjoyed the experience of stepping around the kitchen dressed like my Muse. I'm sure she approved.

Not much on the menu today as I'm on my own till midnight!
Will graze erratically on entirely inappropriate stuff. Stuff like Jaffa Cakes, bacon sandwiches and bananas.
Have an idea to do something with the living room bookcases, possibly dropping one of them in the kitchen. Somewhere.

Banana

1. Marinate beef in cider for tonight's Scrumpy Beef Casserole. Will not take a sip of the cider though because I never ever drink before I've had me porridge.

2.. Put banana in pocket then go to pet shop for bird seed and fat balls. On coming out of the pet shop resist the urge to cross the road and walk around the playing field. Too many elderly anoraked peole with small incontinent dogs.

3. Carry on walking way down to the charity shop in Marsten Gardens where I'll no doubt be greeted by orange meringued hair Joan. She has a beige caravan and big heart. Eat banana.

4. Then into Somerfield on account of me forgetting breakfast cereals yesterday. Will huff and sigh and blink rapidly as I look at the over priced Bran Flakes. 'Outrageous' I'll mumble on my way to the till cruelly ignoring the Phil the manager's, Friday special offer.

5. Go the long way home so I can say later on today that I've had some exercise in a side street.

6. Home. For legs up and sausage sandwich.

7. Check emails, online food (have my own BBC recipe folder), and look for a very short scary story by Edgar Alan Poe. I had it once now I can't find it. Sounds familiar.

8. Tea and tea bread. Possibly a banana.

9. Marinate chicken, bananas and peppers in orange juice, lemon juice and curry paste. I love to soak things.

10. The Weakest Link with my idol Ms Anne Robinson who's double entendres are nearly as good as mine.

Liver and Baggy Eyes

Oh am I tired?
Couldn't sleep last night, wasn't the steak and chips I had at 6, it was the after effects of spending the day with two sick people. The doctor said Mum has diabetes and dad was spinning out of control with anxiety. There's no talking to him. He's deaf in many ways. Mum winced as yet more blood was taken, and my hat fell off as I helped her onto the scales.
Yesterday was horrid.

I need to try and concentrate on my poetry but I can't hold a single thought or idea in my head. Sounds like I need a break. Maybe a trip to Hockley might do the trick.

But before that I'll zip along to blessed Sainsburys with the radio on, then very very slowly I'll trawl my way around the great shop. I might even have a chat with the butcher. Mostly about liver.

Pre-Dinner Thoughts

My plans for tomorrow have gone.
Just got a phone call from the old London people. Mum's got to go to the docs tomorrow and wants me there. Don't like this one jot. I've got a feeling it's diabetes. Might drive to London instead of taking the train. Might.

I watched Barack and thought his speech got better the longer it went on. He's a great orator and I'm glad he's on the world's stage. I still find it hard to believe that little old me has witnessed history in the making.

Haven't had a creative thought today and that really worries me. But I suppose my fragrant Muse is waiting in the shadows waiting for her silver moment. Silver moment? I like that...Maybe she's here already. Take me take me take me in your arms and under your skirts, my darling woman.

If I could be anywhere right now I'd be in an Indian restaurant wearing the dress in the photo and too much scent.

Now fantastic humdrum like cooking and the news.

Bonkers and Bliss

I want to write a poem and play with Monty and bake a cake and talk with my friends. But all those simple wonderful things will have to wait because today I'm off to London again to see Mum and Dad, I'm taking an overnight bag in the hopes that the old codgers will see sense and allow me to stay, at least overnight.

It's shockingly astounding how ordinary things like sending a simple email, making a cuppa and watching the news seem like great heavenly gifts when life turns bonkers. Talking of bonkers...I went swimming last week, first time in ages and when life resumes normal service I'll bore you all to tears with it.

Anyway chums, I'd better get going, got to feed Monty.
Bliss....