Grey is Good Too.

Nature's beauty isn't only about yellow sunrises and orange sunsets, it's also about grey ashen mornings like this.

As I look out of my window a pallid mist is draped over the houses like a heavy lace shawl around a small woman's shoulders.
It's quite lovely.
And because I'm so impressed with it, I'm going to sit here like a woman in the early stages of dementia, and admire it.

After that, Sunday can begin.

Saturday's Are Such A Thing

This post was inspired by a fellow bloggers post.

Put on lilac eye shadow, ended up looking like I'd done one round with a massively big boxer. Went shopping and bought two cheap blouses and five pairs of tights, felt I'd let myself down, because I don't usually wear tights.

Ate two chocolate biscuits quickly because it was hot outside and I felt reckless and wanted to act wildly after the news.
Ate a small Chicken Korma and large chick pea pasty because I was a bit sad and spicy stuff always helps.

Jiggled to The Temptations late in the afternoon, and wondered if I'd ever stop thinking I was still seventeen. Thought Nope! You're just a sad old teenager who has aged well but who can't stop boogieing.
Wondered about the weather next week, on account of the garden needing doing and I need to wash the car. Eventually.

Asked a friend out on a date, because I like his hair and sandals.
Drank lots of sweet tea, because I'm totally tee total except on a Friday.

Thought incessantly about the effect late nights are having on my eye lids, because they're looking a bit more rangey and I don't like that. Also looked deeply at my glasses and thought UGH!
Looked into my heart just after five o'clock and said stuff it.

That's what Saturday's are for.

Man on a Mission

Like I've said on my other, now defunct blogs, I don't do good essays so bear with me as I sit here at six thirty in the morning and have a go.
The Democrat's Convention in Denver is over and it was a fabulous spectacle. I was not disappointed.
After watching Barack Obama's acceptance speech I was moved, not to tears, but to an equally wonderful feeling, awe, and as I drunk in his words I wondered how on earth John McCain would match it.

I don't know much about American politics, but what I do know however is that I enjoy it and that Senator Obama is hungry for high political office and political office doesn't come any higher than being the resident at 1600 Pennysylvania Avenue.

A tall slim black guy walked out onto the stage at the Invesco Stadium in Denver and had to beg his insatiable audience to calm down, almost pleading with them to allow him to start, what for me, was an incredibly uplifting speech. I saw and heard Jack Kennedy and Martin Luther King in both his mannerisms and uncomplicated words.
He was an on the level man applying for a hard job.

He spoke about his early life, his wife Michelle and his family, but most of all he said how much he loved his country.
I whooped with the rest of them as time after time he blessed and praised his beloved United States of America, and how he had to save it from four more years of Republican mismanagement.

He spoke about his plans for troop withdrawal from Iraq, domestic issues like health care and unemployment which got the Denver crowd waving their flags till they could wave no more.
He was of course preaching to the converted but I hope his John the Baptist type zeal touched a few Republican hearts as well.
He was a good orator and they loved him. He did make a few fluffs of course, he wasn't a Tony Blair, and as his face shone with sweat, I shot up a prayer and hoped this guy would do well. i.e. Win.

And so here was a chap, who by a lot of people's reckoning, shouldn't go anywhere near the White House, shouldn't even be considered as Presidential material, not because he can't do the job, but because of the colour of his skin. I didn't notice his colour all I noticed was a good young man aiming for the most awesome and powerful job on earth, and you know what, I hope he lands it.

His impassioned pleas bordered on desperation, couldn't the American folk see what needs to be done and that he, Barack Obama, was the one guy that could do it? Couldn't they see inside his heart instead of pondering over his colour? I perspired with him as his head swept from left to right and back again, his small eyes scouring nothingness, just a giant swarm, an ocean of flag waving fans who cheered at everything he said.
He didn't crack any jokes unlike our politicians, and they didn't give a hoot what he said, not really, he might as well have told them his list of engagements for next week and what he was having for supper.
Here was a jokeless preacher preaching to the converted and they adored him.
He was in the company of a million friends.

But it's outside where he's got to make more friends. And by jolly jingo I would imagine it's hard enough making friends in the little suburban worlds of small town America, yet alone winning over staunch Republicans.
I hope he does it.

I've watched him over the past couple of years and I always hoped that he'd go further than the Senate, whether or not he gets to sit in the Oval Office I don't know, but he's appeared on the political stage like a man who's seen the light.
Barack Obama is a man on a mission.

His words unvarnished yet powerful, his demeanour modest yet inspiring, here was a simple yet ambitious man applying for the hardest job in the world.
I hope the American people give it to him.

Tossed Noodles

I recently bought a green Wok and a book on Chinese cooking. I can't wait to use both of them.
I think there's something incredibly sensuous about Chinese cuisine. From plump steamed dumplings to rich red roasted pork, from sweet chicken wings to Peking style toffee apples it all makes simple yet sumptuous fare.
Pretty bowls and delicate tea pots, porcelain spoons and Jasmine tea also go into making a Chinese meal something rather special.
But I think the chopsticks are the most sensuous because whenever I use them, I always laugh and laughter is the best aphrodisiac.

There's an oriental supermarket just minutes from where my parents live so I think we'll be paying a visit. I want to drift around looking at bottles of oyster sauce, Wonton skins and Chinese wine.
I might even by myself a cleaver!

"Good cooking does not depend on whether the dish is large or small, expensive or economical. If one has the art, then a piece of celery or salted cabbage can be made into a marvellous delicacy; whereas if one has not the art, not all the greatest delicacies and rarities of land and sea are of any avail"
Yuan Mei 18th century poet

Lights! Camera! Cat!

I've only taken a few decent photos in my life, but this one of Monty has to be the best.
It was taken on my mobile phone either yesterday or the day before. I can't remember.

Anyway, I'd seen Monty drift into the conservatory and elegantly leap onto a pure plastic chair and I thought yep, gotta get a pic of that. And so after polishing off a gaily coloured fairy cake I crept into the conservatory, knelt down and armed with my phone, waited and waited and waited.....
And then RESULT!
He YAWNED!
So I pressed my little button. And Presto Hey ! I'd landed a corker.
Feeling pleased with myself I 'stored it to phone', patted him on the bonce and then advised him to get some shut-eye because, after all, he'd had a busy day.
I then danced back into the kitchen for a cup of tea.
And another psychedelic cake
Thanks Mont!

Fairy Cakes

Why does this picture make me feel happy?
Because the contents are unpretentious, honest and comforting.
But it might have something to do with the colours too, because lately, well since last week, I've gone bonkers on lilac and pink and all colours which suit women with silver hair!
So I've begun decorating my fairy cakes in pastel colours too! It's a worry....
Talking of worries....Today, I mean right now, I'm wearing a lilac t-shirt with a milk chocolate brown and pink skirt and beige shoes.
I look like a raspberry ruffle that lives in a jar on the middle shelf of the sweet shop.

Zzzzzzzz

Not a bad day as days go.

*Indulged in some American politics and then mowed the front garden with my mobile phone swinging around my neck. It didn't ring, bugger it.
*Flicked through 'Letters Home' by Aurelia Plath, wondered how the mother of such a talented artist like Sylvia ever came to terms with her daughter's suicide.
*Got a headache which floored me.
*Stood in the middle of my sitting room wondering what to do about wallpaper and my hair.
*Took a cracking photo of Monty, will post it as soon as I can.
*Struggling with a poem about fairies.
*Monty and Morpheus await.
*Nightie Night