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.

Trapeze Artiste Not On The Ropes

The beef casserole I made yesterday was the best beef casserole I've ever made. Ever. Its unctiousness made tears of lust drip onto me fork. Yes indeed, the cow did me good. So good in fact that I over slept! Now that's what I call being satisfied.
Today's culinary dildo is a large Toad.

Other stuff now:
The BMA wants free prescriptions for everyone. I agree. I foolishly ration my arthritic drugs because I don't like paying £7.10 every few weeks. I know I know, I shouldn't do that but I have better ways of spending my money thank you very much. I mean, I paid £3 on Tuesday for a breathtaking golden candlestick, that my dear people is money well spent. Not only will it adorn my table, it will do my heart good too. And that's what I want most. I'll post a pic one day soon. Here are other things I spend my drug money on:
Floaty Scarves, older ladies beauty creams from Sainsburys, red colanders, filthy sex wear and vegetable peelers.
I feel a list coming on...

Weather report: Sunny, chilly.
Financial report: Has anyone got any money they don't want?
Body report: Knees good. Hands excellent. Eyes a bit ringed but bearable. In general, ageing but agile, bit like an old trapeze artiste.
Mind report: The above says it all.

Real Life

Enough of the poetry Glo. Get real. And real means grubbykins...

Cooking right now...Beef casserole. In the pot is about 1lb of stewing beef, untidily cut. Hacked at potatoes, obliquely sliced leeks and carrots, a slovenly chopped onion because I just don't care about onions no more. All this good food is paddling around in a pint..ish of beef stock, a bouquet garni, a rough splash of mushroom ketchup and a lot of black pepper. Later on, a lot later on I'll drop in six dumplings. My dumplings are small but swell well when pumped up by a good lashing of hot liquid.

I know that after eating this I'll say "I don't fancy pud". That will not only be a stupid utterance, it will turn out to be a lie too. Because after eating the soppy eyed cow I'll eat a bit of Queen of Puddings. A gooey, there's no other word for it, meringuey, custardy pud which makes my teeth chatter uncontrollably. Sugar is my most favourite thing on earth. And sausages. And cucumbers.
Talking of which....I bought half a cu today on account of the curry I'll be making this Saturday.

The cu won't be a cooked cu it will remain raw and cool and then enjoy veggie intercourse with a shaved carrot.
Thank you.

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....

True Love

Today is the start of British Pie Week.
The pie has been hanging around our midriffs since the 12th century, and it's allure shows no sign of diminishing.
The photo is of one of my creations, a beef and vegetable pie. There's something terribly medieval about the pastry, don't you think?


My darling Pie

When did I fall in love with you?
Was it at Simpsons in the Strand or in the little cafe on the seafront in Southend? Whenever and wherever it was, that day or night was the happiest moment of my life. I remember how I felt when you were in front of me, your handsome warm brown face and beautiful bulging body tempting me, willing me, to indulge like never before. And so I did.

I know other things have come into my life as they surely must, and some of them have left me giddy with their opulence and newness, but you, my darling Pie, always satisfied me, leaving me full and aching for more. Even though I knew you were bad for me and would probably do me harm, I could never say no to you.

Do you remember one Friday night in June? I do.
I was in a silly girlish mood, dressed to seduce in the kitchen of love, and as I laid you on my table, your heat took my breath away. God, I wanted you that night. I needed your hot cherry. You stared up at me, willing me tantalizing me, begging me to break you, to eat you. And I did. Your juice lay on my lips and as I sucked you in, all I wanted to do was swallow. And I did.

But then the nights drew in and my sweet cherry pie boy grew up and instead of kissing a sweet lad I devoured a good load of beef. Some of those bitter, bone achingly cold evenings were almost unbearable, but you Pie, made them bearable. And on one night in December I sat watching snow fall waiting for you to rise, and as the hour of our intercourse grew nearer my heart thrashed in my chest because I knew that soon, very soon, I would have you. And I did.

Lovers will come and Lovers will go but you, Pie, will always be special.
On my lips and tongue you linger.

Love you to death...
Gloria x

Sunday's Are Such A Thing

Been up since some unearthly hour doing culinary things. Made an Apple Crumble, some sage and onion stuffing and then slaughtered some veg.
Got zillions more to do.
Things like rubbing a large bird. Looking in mirror sideways. Wondering why I bought silly crotchless tights.
Must dash.....