I'm happy with contentment

Glo glows. But not with happiness, with contentment. There's a difference. I left work today feeling rather chuffed at what I'd achieved. Made a start on the my master's music room, re-arranged various front room knick-knacks in a more flamboyant, artistic manner and didn't get in a flap over the ironing. A job well done methinks.

And as I strode out to the motor with my shirt hanging out my jeans, my neck ached, but my mind didn't, and that's all I care about. My brain. The rest can go to pot, fall to pieces and go to hell, just as long as my mind is serene, I'm happy!
And that beggars the questions
What is happiness?
What is contentment?
I think a post is on it's way. I'll try not to do another long list. I said I'll TRY..
So, as my other master is on the long night shift, I'll just peck away at chips and ketchup and then, probably just after nine, rub cream into the craters under my eyes and fall asleep. Content.

A to Z of Housekeeping

A - Another cup of tea.

B - Bongo drums. Don't ask. Teenagers in the house.

C - Cooking. Plate it up. Nuke it. My stuff usually.

D - Dodgy plumbing. The house not the man.

E - 'The Echo' piles of them. All out of date. Everywhere.

F - Fires. I do dust not ashes.

G - Grapes. Shrivelled, black. Some in bowls others on floor.

H - Henry VIII and Henry the vacuum cleaner. Boss is obsessed by the King. I, with the rotten machine.

I - Ironing. Not in original job spec but at 50p per item where's the ironing board?

J - J-Cloths. Hundreds of them, Some tatty, some ironed...ha ha ha...

K - Knees. A good pair needed.

L - Lots of liquids. Water, orange squash, wine, disinfectant. Need the third one after the last one!

M - Mops, matches, Marmite.

N - Nice and tidy. For a day.

O - Ornaments. a.k.a.dust magnets. What is it about single men, metal boxes and ceramic fairies?

P - Pants. Over-sized and over the banisters. Grim but funny.

Q - Queen gets queasy after a barrage of jokes about body parts.

R - Recycling. Bins too many. Too full and too heavy. Having neck trouble as a result.

S - Sausages. Loads past sell-by date. Not my business. Not my fault. Well maybe it is my business. Out they go.

T - Tea. Couldn't work without copious amounts. Got my own mug. Large builders type. But with a daisy on it.

U - Underwear. Be prepared for shocks.

V - Videos. Be prepared for shocks part 2.

W - Washing. I'm half-load Ang. Love my environment.

X - X-rated language. Not from me of course. Innocent jocularity? F*** O**

Y - Yanking. Stuck drawers, stiff handles and unyieldly knobs. Usually upstairs.

Z - Zonked. Me. Fifty two. Five foot. But laughing. Another cup of tea...

Help Gimme all your money, gimme all your love...

Up to my ear lobes in dead spiders, smashed toy cars and Jack Daniels. Just another day at Ray's.
Tomorrow it's the other one.

Chalked on the wall for tonight.
Corned Beef again and chocolate ice cream again. Since I've been working my dinners have gone a bit awry. I'm shattered you see on account of three things.

1. I'm rubbish at time management.
2. I watch televised non-essentials like snooker
3. I fantasize too much.

I try to be organized and ordinary but my stupid sex-starved brain goes all silly and I end up with unused erotic garments, un-ironed shirts, fantasies about snooker tables and cheap corned beef.
Working sucks!

Sweet

I'm in the mood for a pudding.
Any pudding.
Sweet or savoury I don't mind. I just need to see a fat wobbling thing on my plate.

Talking of fat wobbling things. Monty isn't behaving in a cat-like fashion because the tree is STILL erect. Not a bauble or shattered light is on the floor. No sir, he's being very very good...
Talking of being very very good, I've done my Mrs Mop act for the day and am well pleased to be back amongst my own mess and dust as opposed to suffocating in my employer's mess and dust. Although it's hardish work it does have its benefits, one such benefit being that it gives my cardio-vascular system a good old work out. Positively glowing I am, with ruddy cheeks and a damp back, why I almost feel fit!
Although I do have an annoying ache about six inches under my right shoulder blade...That's that flipping Henry again!

Anyway I'm home now and in a tick I'll be in the bosom of my home, the kitchen, making yet another cake, no, I tell a lie, I'll be making two cakes. One for my husband's lunch boxes, the other for me to gnaw on during my long winter afternoons. If that wasn't enough to be getting on with, I've got to start thinking about Mincemeat cakes. And Mincemeat cakes are just a simpler version of the traditional Christmas cake, they don't need 'feeding' with brandy and all that sort of nonsense, they taste delicious eaten totally alcohol free and straight away, which is always nice. They contain not only a jar of best Mincemeat but other goodies as well, goodies like extra raisins and a few chopped dried apricots. So I'm not a complete Scroogey AND I lay whole almonds on top, so that's another excellent addition. All in all my Mincemeat cakes are jolly good. I have about three to make, no four, one for us, another for mum and dad and the other two for a couple of chums. I only wish I could send one to the States, but it'd be off and a bit green by the time it arrived. Never mind.

I am determined not to get in a flap this year, because I always do you know. Always. The tree is up, the cards are bought (not sent) the menus for Christmas Eve, Day and Boxing day are in my mind (just) and the Christmas Day message to my readers is in WordPad. So everything is tickety boo.
Now into the kitchen to make an Apple cake, a Raisin Tea Bread and.....A SYRUP PUDDING!!!
The picture is of an old Raisin Tea Bread. Made in the summer probably.

A Is For Artistic, Arthritis and Ang!

Oooh I've got to have a sit down...
I'm in a silly mood today.
So silly infact that I'm clad in white vest and combats and running in and out of rooms in a searching-for-aliens-type-of-way I'm only doing a bit of housework but to me, Ripley lives again!

There was a strange looking chocolate and orange striped cat in my back garden very early this morning. He, and it had to be a boy because of the swagger, well anyway, he stopped abruptly when he came face to face with the charming dew laden Buddha. He, that's the cat, didn't turn a hair. Buddha just continued contemplating.
Dontcha just love those five a.m. moments :(

Might, if I can rouse myself into any sort of action, other than cleaning, sort out a poem/s to send to a competition. The mere thought of sifting through dozens and dozens of poems gives me the willies. But I might do it, just for a laugh:( I could of course write a new one...

Oh no the grass needs cutting again.
Monty's hair is tangled at his back end.

There's a mark on my left knee which wasn't there an hour ago. It's oval in shape and a bit like a spaceship. Is it a message?
Never offer a woman a boiled egg when she's doing the washing up.

Had horrible lentils for lunch.
Wanted steak.

Took the rubbish out at eight and had a turn, had to lean against the re-cycle bin.
Heard him next door banging his broom up against my partition.

The index finger on my right hand looks like a Twiglet. See picture above. That is not my hand it is a representation of the letter 'A' in Twiglet form.
But it's sunny again so all is well.

I think I need a gentleman, a lie down, a cup of sweet tea and a Bourbon biscuit.
In any order.

Thank you.

Home

Monty is black and very asleep.
I am red and very awake.

The old girl had me up and down ladders with sponges, cloths and buckets of vinegared water "I'll soon see any smudges when the sun shines" she said viciously
"Then let's hope it rains" I said joyfully.
She did not laugh.

Her never ending demands were not in the job description, I wasn't told I'd be moving beds, radiators and heavy crates. I thought I'd be polishing silver and avoiding breakages of fine porcelain.
Wrong.

At one point I was standing without my shoes and socks, on a piece of cardboard, on top her work counter trying desperately to dislodge a stuck window
"Don't open it too much, I just want a bit of air I don't want her next door hearing everything I say."
"People don't care about hygene any more" she spat "No wonder children become ill, all this disgusting convenience food mothers cook, when I got married I made my own stock, now they use granules"
"Most people don't have the time to boil bones any more." I quipped as I pulled on my pink ankle socks
She ignored me.


I limped out of her castle with aching arms and much more muscular legs , I verily raced up Oxford Road did a right into Spencer Gardens and then a gentle left onto Brays Lane. And boy oh boy did those gravelly grey roads look silken and violet to me.
The sky seemed wider too and even more bluer , the frilly netted windows in the pebble-dashed bungalows appeared almost classy and the rows upon rows of colourful cars looked like fantastical jewels set alongside an alabaster pavement
OK, I know I know, too much purple prose and a bit over the top, but I need to feel 'me' again because I'm used to doing what I like when I like and with whom I like, and the merest detour tends to send me into a tizz.
And this tizz was particularly sickening.


The old girl, whose skeletal head looked almost too heavy for her frail frame, went on and on about her 'selfish neighbours' her 'irritating sons' and her dislike of all things modern. It was a very tiring experience, I can tell you.

Her house seemed to have stopped living, it's decor harking back to the the 1950's.
"Axminster carpets" she said pointing to the hall floor "Are the best, they'll see me out" she said stamping her stick into the red and gold pile.
"Yes they are and yes they will" I said, feeling like a wicked step-daughter.
She did not laugh and I looked at my watch...


Her never ending vitriolic outbursts about the local council, asylum seekers, her absent daughter-in-laws, her wayward grand children and her 'nasty slut' of a neighbour made me wish I wasn't there. But that was nothing compared to the contempt she had for previous employees, "She wouldn't do anything without her stupid rubber gloves" she said of one "She was a very flighty girl from a bad family in Dagenham, her father was in Tin"
I couldn't believe my ears and I was most uncomfortable.
So God knows what she'll think of me when I say bye bye next week.

Now Monty and I are going into our untidy kitchen and I'm going to put on the telly and watch News24 as I lovingly prepare an e-coli laden bolognaise.
Complete with cat hairs.

Poor Old Girl

I simply MUST have a word.
With all that's occurring in the Horsehound house at the moment it will come as no surprise to you that I am feeling a wee bit overwrought. Indeed I felt so brittle this a.m. that I had to venture into the garden and talk to the birds. They of course dissed me as any sensible bird would, but to be laughed at by one's very own cat was just too much to bear. Yes, on re-entering the house that no good tyke Monty, ignored me plaintive cries and stuck his bonce into a plate of Sardines."Monty my son" I said "Mummy's all alone and in dire need of a cuddle". "Shut up loser" he said "Or I'll scratch your varicose veins".
He loves me really.

On a more upbeat note I do have something to look forward to this week, that being, watching my beloved England taking on the U.S.A on Wednesday. Course it's only a friendly, but I'll still put me footie shirt on and throw missiles at the telly.
I will, as with all England games, lob swear words around me front room, shoot to me size fours any time we come within half a mile of scoring and I'll definitely scream blue murder if we lose. But it makes me happy and keeps me out of the kitchen for ninety minutes.

On my rain splattered agenda today, cooking, doing industrial type things with hammers and putting petroleum jelly under me eyes on account of the rings which are present on account of late nights and early mornings.
I soldier on.

If I get the time I'll be posting some Audio. It's me reading the second part of Clive Stiffjont. I do sound terribly drunk.

What else?
Oh yes, I'm thinking, just thinking mind you, of joining a poetry club either here in Essex or in the bowels of the Smoke so as I can read out loud some of the great poems what I write.
It might be fruitful and it might even make me laugh.
Now that WOULD be worth the train fare...