I'm sure Today's Wednesday

I'm losing track of space and time.
Been in London a lot too.
Oh and my monitor went bonkers...hence no posts!

So aswell as being screenless, I've been propping up dear Mother, doing all the things a good daughter should, things like dealing with docs, officials, cash flow, Waitrose and feet. But in all this time I haven't forgotten about my blog. How I'd have loved to spew out vitriol as I listened to mum's upstairs neighbours screaming their greasy heads off as I tried to sleep and how I'd love to have penned a few words over the impossibly inept council officers who wouldn't know sense if it came and smashed their faces in. But I couldn't. I couldn't let anything out and so as my arms ached my heart did too.
Staying at mums has been a jolly sick mix of late nights/early morns and non-stop tea making. It's enough to make me dive into a bottle.
Talking of which, I was so zonked last night after a mad cap day with mama that I poured into my moon time milky drink a slow pour of brandy. I think it did the trick because I overslept this morning!

This afternoon after returning from Sainsbury's I fell asleep again, this time in full clothes with Monty on my tum. Didn't matter. Nothing really does.
All that really matters is good health.

So with my gamine haircut, slimmed down tum and sturdy bitch queen boots I'm off to London again tomorrow this time very early...Mum has to have her stitches removed and I'll be grabbing a few minutes with her doc to chat about a dozen or so things.

But then it's Friday:)
And so off with the bovver boots and on with the cutesy kitten heels.
I'm going to damn well partay!

Cooking tonight: Nasi Goreng. Chocolate Cake. Brandy flavoured Ovaltine.

K.

I might be on my own at the weekend.
SO....
Chatted with K. today as we did a dry run of my 'route'. He is a decent enough chap but wouldn't win any awards for his teaching skills. A mumbler... A man who shoots directions when it's way too late. A man obsessed with relationship matters. Lives with his Mother. Not the best passenger. He means well and has a big heart, I mean he must have otherwise he wouldn't have agreed to accompany me.

At any rate we kind of got through it unscathed, he was though silenced by my knowledge of where Quorn Road was. The round is a beast. And that's a fact. And that's why they have given it to the newbie. Everyone knows it's a rotten round, not so much how many clients there are but the distance between them all. I mean to say, I am all over Leigh-on-Sea, up and down hills, over dual carriageways, ducking around impossible corners and to top it all, when I do get out of the motor and approach a house, I have to pray it isn't one with a 'safe key'. These really hold one up.

Anyway come Saturday I may be asked to go it alone...Apparently the woman in charge on Saturday is K., a woman who isn't the manager but thinks she is. Could be fun.
Sunday I'm seeing B., the real pukka manager, who, like with most managers, is blessed with a modicum of 'people' skills.

I might, emphasis might, I might go for another dry run tomorrow... ON MY OWN. Kev, bless him, is all heart but unfortunately for me he's all tongue as well:(
Too many cooks and all that.
We'll see.

Back to what satisfies...
Aaaah cooking. My salvation, my joy...Cooking tonight will be Lemony Chicken, green beans and rice.
Very simples.

Other inconsequential goings on and mutterings...
My hairdresser, Lisa can't do my hair on Saturday. Tuesday she said. Blow you I said and so I whooshed it this morning with some purple foam mousse. There.
David Cameron is getting on my nerves.
I don't like this weather because I don't know what to wear. Clad in over sized jumper and boots today I positively glowed as I got held up by massive delivery man. The man wasn't massive, only his Arctic.
Haven't watched any telly for ages.
Bought another lipstick. Autumn Berries. Makes me want to cut faces into pumpkins.
I had a look at my feet today.
And delved deep into my heart.

Freddie...Odds On He's In Heaven!

Dad at the dogs, White City actually, and me his 17 year old kid picking up winners dosh from Harry Young, bookmaker, a.k.a Young Harry!

"Go on get me winnings" he said as a rough wind tangled me long bo-ho hair. Twas bloody cold on the terraces in November.
So off I jumped, down the greying icy steps and shoved my small bright frame through the thick grubby crowd of doggers till, in the semi darkness of a floodlit stadium, I stood looking up at Young Harry and his big brown bag.

"45 pounds please Harry" I said above the din of assorted gamblers

And without a sound and with the quickest slickest movement he plunged his gnarled hands into his leather money bag.

"Ten, twenty, thirty, forty and five " he yelled, his big brown hat almost covering his eyes
The crumpled stinking notes were pasted into my outstretched palm.
"Can I have some more?" I cheekily said
A yellowed smile and I was sent packing.

Dad had me doing all sorts of stuff when I was a teenager, deals with stallholders, deals with the bloke in the corner shop he even had me trying my luck with the LEB, the London Electricity Board. What bastards they were.
"Will you Ang? He asked
"Will you try to get them to take ten quid instead of twenty?"
I will I said and I did.
Dad and mum were so fed up with talking to these hard hearted people that as soon as a pimples appeared on me chin I was on the blower being nice and getting a good deal.

I was learning from a Master the arts and crafts of persuasion, trickery and charm. The wicked charm, unlike the sweet charm, has really come to the fore only very recently. I sometimes see and hear him in some of the things I say and do and a sly smile curves my lips.
"She's the image of you" mum said often....to dad who replied "Isn't she lucky then?"
"Oh really " I'd pipe up
I loved it really, I loved being my dad's double only he didn't wear as much make up as I do. But the kinks in his hair, the unruly eyebrows and the expressive eyes we both share.
We also share the same taste in pies.


What larks he and I had...
Sharing confidences and hiding monetary malfunctions from Mother. (gambling losses)

It wasn't ALL losing though.....On many an afternoon............"There's no need for her to know" he'd say as another envelope made its way into my handbag.
"SSSHHHH" and with an excessively large wink, I was well doshed up.

Bugger.

How I'll miss those envelopes. And how I'm going to miss his acid reprimands, sarcasm, fiery attacks on The Daily Mirror and snobbish put-downs about cheaper food.
"Got to be rubbish" he said as I proudly waved a pot of 4 yoghurts for 29p about.
"Rather starve" he's sneer
I laughed and continued with my declaration of love regarding the cheaper end of the grocery market.

He did love my cakes though.
"Your cakes are better than Marks and Spencer " he'd say as he bit into another fairy cake, as he dug his spoon into a Black Forest Trifle and as his fork split open a steak and kidney pudding.
"All the way from Southend " he'd laugh as I stood the little pots on the coffee table.
"Remember not to allow the water to run dry"...I'd foolishly say above the din of Sky News.
He wasn't listening, he'd trust mum to look after water levels.

He was a supremely confident man, and so generous not only with his money but with his time, he'd help ANYONE but woe betide piss takers. His sharp tongue could and did slice and dice opponents at work or elsewhere, he wasn't a big man but one look from those green eyes and one sentence from his astoundingly large vocabulary and you'd be forgiven for thinking you were dealing with the devil himself.
But dad was an Angel.

He fed dogs and saved fish and gave money to to the dispossessed lying on blankets. Because dad knew what hunger was like, what it was like to be homeless (me included) and so always had a word for sellers of The Big Issue...

His early life was tough.

Born into a large poor family, dad often 'away' and his mum Amy weak and lonely. She, the poor wretched thing, ended up in a workhouse, her children scattered here there and everywhere in children's homes. But dad and his sister Ivy were the fortunate ones they went to live with their gran, Eliza, whom dad worshipped. He loved that old girl and often talked lovingly about her.
She fed and clothed him and he was very grateful, but Eliza, being poor, needed money coming into the house, so when two jobs were offered to the young Freddie she 'advised' him to take the position as Guiness Bottler rather than being an errand boy on a newspaper.
He still harked on about many years later.
"I could have been a reporter" he said
But gran needed the extra 14/-. Or something.

There are, as with all daughters and sons, millions of stories about life with dad.

All I know is MY life with this particular dad has been a blast.

I was put-upon, ignored, told to piss off, loved, confided in, trusted, adored and made to feel like I could do anything.
My younger life was stuffed full of capers unsuitable for airing on a family blog but they made me the person I am today... confident (mostly) cheeky (always) daring (definitely) devious (only when necessary) brave (ditto) and.....Charming;)

Thanks Dad.

x


So we're off to wave him goodbye tomorrow morning and I will take from my garden as many flowers as I can carry.
He wouldn't care if his coffin was bare of blooms but it's not for him it's for ME and mum, mostly me. I never told him I loved him ever, and we weren't huggy kissy people either but he must have known that he was the man of my life. So a few pink roses will top his head...

I can't stop talking about him.

Another trait I share with him, talking, he didn't have a blog or anything of that ilk but if he had it would have been a WINNER:)

This is the man who is responsible for me neglecting my rolls.

Howard Webb's decision to allow 5 minutes of extra time in the Spain v. Switzerland match had me leaning on the sink, raising my arms in the air and screaming (Neighbours COULD have heard). I also didn't hear the timer on my old cooker ping reminding me that a dozen domes of dough needed attending...

What WAS the most gorgeous man in the world's most beautiful game doing?;)

I'd been rooting for the Swiss and as the game drew nearer and nearer to its fantastic climax I didn't want the Spaniards lopping one in over the head of the Swiss goalie. It was almost unbearable to watch. But watch I did.

The Swiss, bless their cuckoos, held off the Spaniels in an amazing show of skill, which is remarkable on account of them not winning anything for like a hundred years or something, yet this afternoon they showed the European champions the door.
Adios Juan!

My rolls, you'll be relieved to hear, have puffed up nicely. No thanks to him above:)

Super Monday

All I can say about today is that is was good.
And for that I am truly thankful.
Not being one who takes anything for granted I relish any day where I find joy.

And today was such a day.

General pottering about the bungalow.
A smashing apple cake which didn't sink.
Great excitement watching the football.
A new dress hanging in the wardrobe, I'm aching to wear.
Seventy Five scrunchies.
Chats and natters.

Love it:)

Nighty Night!

TODAY'S LOVE QUOTE...

OH MY GOODNESS HOW TRUE THAT IS!

NOW I MAKE MY WAY TO THE LAKE!

Happy Birthday to the Duchess.

So far away, yet living inside my English heart like she's meant to be there.

Words Are Good

I love words, they are my best friends so...
Get yourself a giant mug of drink because here's a very long list of words which make me laugh:

Bucket
Extension Lead
Implements
Ball
Dripping
Dumplings
Trumpet
Lounge
Creases
Pickle
Bounder
Exhaust
Pole
Guzzle
Chicken legs
Panda
Jelly
Batteries
Side Entrance
Back Entrance
Hose Pipe
Corker
Plank
Monkey
Jug
Chipolata
Embrocation Oil

And here's a very long list of words I just like:

Wonderful
Balloon
Cherry
Furry
Soppy
Kisses
Wisdom
Joy
Chums
Jokeypoos
Kerfuffle
Darling
Sunshine
Handbags
Pickle
Friendship
Love
Snowflake
Pants
Moonlight
Song
Big Cakes
Winkles
Home
Pigeon
Bundle
Blancmange
Excited
Pussy
Sausage

Ok that's enough, because I've emptied my brain of words now and there aren't none left at all!

England 2 Czech Republic 2
Unbelievable.
I can't scramble together a complete post so here are a few titbits:

Beckham kicked a ball about. (Time to hit those L.A. sidewalks babe)
Capello demands that the players play for England the way they play at club level. (Oh Please)
When we get possession of the ball we MUST KEEP IT. (We've learnt nothing from past disasters.)
The players were booed off. (Not the first time, but please for the last time)
Defoe was hauled off because he's frightened of getting hurt. (Thinking about his club job I expect)
The Czechs were confident and better. (Jankulovski was excellent, perfect free kick after 48 mins)
We showed promise for 12 seconds. (Then ran out of puff and guts)
We scrambled in 2 goals. (We should have slaughtered them)
The Feisty Czechs rammed two in aswell. (But they were better, classier and more importantly, hungrier. They slaughtered us)

So before I weep into my porridge I'm left with one dismal thought, and that is that Fabio Capello could also have one dismal thought...
The qualifying campaign for the next World Cup begins on 6th September...
We take on plucky Andorra and then four days later, scary Croatia....
I can't wait...

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...