Sweetness

So after hearing from back-at-work Henry I left upon his table two slices of plump strawberry Swiss Roll and a cup of grapes set in a lime and apple jelly. He likes fruit and sweet things so I combined the two. I like making individual jellies and so Henry's one was made in a blue and white cup with squiggles on, which if studied closely, looks faintly Chinese.

He'll no doubt consume it in seconds because he's a big chap who goes without quality food for great lengths of time. I have tried to explain to him about sugar levels but his eyes mist over and he then cracks a joke about nuns and frustration.
Bless.

I flew around the castle today managing to not only break a Homer Simpson beer glass but doing something to the ball of my right foot. But I had Whoopie for company yet again so the mishaps were bearable. What is it about me and nuns? I think my intense interest in the creatures stems from my being made to go, at the impressionable age of nine, to the convent of the Poor Clares to buy flowers for my nan. Both the flowers and the sisters obviously made an impact.
Bless.

Now I am of course absolutely shattered so some simple home made soup and a small crusty hot roll are needed, later on, for my sparse tea, I expect I'll nuke the Minced Beef casserole I made yesterday. And later on, after the mince, I'll wriggle into yet another 'new' dress. This one is from 'Zara' whoever or whatever that is, but whoever it or she is I'm very excited about wearing it. You'll be glad to hear I will not look nun-like.
Only in my heart am I righteous.



Now my bread roll:)
Bless.

:)

Couldn't find Monty this morning so went to the front door to go and look outside, it was locked. Not from the inside either but from the outside. John had left his keys in the door after he'd locked up earlier this morning. Burglars could have got in. But he must have been extremely tired. And we know why don't we?
He'd arrived home very late last night after enduring
a nice scenic trip around Essex courtesy of ASLEF and the RMT.
Thanks Crowe.


What I want to know is why not a lot is being said on the news, unless I've missed it of course. Hundreds of thousands of people in Suffolk, Kent, andEssex are being thoroughly upset by the inaction of highly paid workers. Even Stansted airport is affected. Yesterday on Radio 4's 'P.M' there was a 'news' item about an elderly man who has died. He was the man who taught Prince Charles about crofting...

I've found Monty.
He's sitting by my kitchen chair waiting for cornflakes.

Now my day can begin.

I Want Bob Crowe To Lose His Job

As my Beef Stew slowly evaporates those laughing rats from ASLEF and the RMT are staging yet another 48 hour strike. They've turned down a decent pay rise of over 2% because they say greedy Managers have milked every penny out of the franchise and are treating the train drivers like dirt. Well Mr Bob Crowe you know all about dirt and greed don't you, you smug self-inflated little pratt.

So as I wait for John to find a way home after working a ten hour shift I pray Mr and Mrs Crowe have a rotten night with burnt dinners, exhaustion and family rows.

And that one day Crowe and his mob get what they deserve.


UPDATE....It is now 8:45 and my stew is almost dead. John is God knows where while former Communist Crowe is tucked up with a pint....Bastard.

The King's Bucket

Yesterday.

As soon as I heard his bedroom radio I knew the King was in.
At home.
Holding court with a disc jockey from Radio Essex.
What I didn't know was when he was coming down.
So I set about my tasks.

Firstly and most importantly the bird table needed replenishing so I stepped out of the 'lived in' kitchen into the grand much cared for garden feeling quite alright. I glanced at the wildly green arbours, the crazed stone angels and one teetering stone bird whose head is perpetually dipped in the dry bird bath. Yes, the Queen thought, this would be an ok day.

Back inside the mismatched crockery was being attacked by flies so I sped through the washing up in my yellow gloves and thought about the King's lunch. Tuna salad, with a little boiled egg on the side, yes he'll like that.
Then my phone rang.

I let it ring because my head and chest were deep inside the wine glass cupboard, it rang and rang then stopped. Something told me to check it, it was Henry asking if I was there!
So off came the gloves and up the stairs I went stopping midway to call out "I'm coming up Henry, make yourself decent".

"Come in Angela"
He didn't sound right, not at all. The usual wily rascal had been replaced by a whimpering schoolboy.
What I saw when I pushed the door surprised and shocked me. The King was on the edge of the bed in his boxers. His white curly mopped head hanging onto his huge chest and a face so red I thought it was about to explode.

"What's up Henry?"

He pointed to a black bucket.

"I'm sorry darling" he said, his blue eyes shining and standing out brilliantly against the cherry red of his cheeks. He reminded me of a slightly sordid Father Christmas.

"It's ok, I'm not squeamish"

So after I emptied the offending bucket we had a little talk.
He'd had a rough night apparently, woke up at some ungodly hour with all kinds of aches and pains and vomited whilst listening to a phone-in.

"What did you eat last night" I asked whilst carefully looking out for signs of a) fever b) food poisoning and c) dementia

"Mussels"

On that I checked his pulse and took his temperature with a stick-on-the-forehead thermometer. He was slightly warmer than normal but not in any danger, but to make sure, to be safe I asked him if he'd like me to get a doctor. After all I didn't want to end up splashed all over the local paper ......EX-MAYOR FOUND DEAD WITH HOUSEKEEPER.....

"Jesus, no, I'll be alright, just need a kip and you"
I smiled like the superior being I am and wafted to his en-suite for a flannel.

As I stroked the big wet cloth over his face he called me an angel.
"Can you see my wings?" I grinned
"No, I'm looking at your flies, they're coming undone."
With that I knew he was recovering fast.

I made him as comfortable as I could, puffing up his pillows, straightening sagging underpants, leaving lots of water and reminding him where the bucket is.
I then returned to more pleasant jobs like the ironing. And maybe making just a green salad and ditching the fish.


On my agenda today?
At home.
Cooking, cleaning but no buckets.
And definitely Angelic.
As always:)

Last night

Last night on my way to pick up Johnnie I dropped a small peachy trifle into the gargantuan hands of King Henry. 'Thanks m'dear' he whispered.
My spirits crashed.
Not because he was less than appreciative but on account of the state of the kitchen.
I'd left it perfect. But now there were take-away cartons, festering plates with dried-up fried rice, numerous pieces of cutlery, boozy glasses and stinking filled ashtrays. I smiled though as I slumped because
I'd done my bit earlier and if he allows his daughter and boyfriend to treat his home like a dump then that's his business not mine.

So as the aforementioned daughter and boyfriend slopped in the front room I stared into Henry's sad eyes. Here is a man so pumped up on drugs and booze that it's a miracle he knows who he is any more.
I felt for him.

A big bolshie social animal whose idea of humour is continuous innuendo, no wonder we get along so well! The difference between Henry and I is that I know when to stop. As the evening birds flitted on the perfect lawn he suggested I get 'more involved' in church activities. I declined and put his melting butter back in the fridge.
'You're a caring person Angela'.
My raised eyebrows thanked him.
'You'd look better without the beard' I said
'You too'.

I went to pick up Johnnie...

Yes Sir I Shifted Your Mattress.

I ran around Henry's like a frantic thing. Running mainly to avoid the flies. Why doesn't he do something about them. It's horrible working in a buggy environment. I did manage to shoo shoo some of them out of the kitchen via the back door but that meant
my hair being thrashed upwards by the whirling in-coming winds. To keep my spirits afloat I boogied with Whoopie Goldberg whilst gently crunching on half a shaved carrot.
Bugger.

His room was ghastly.
The mattress was hanging off the base, bottles of shampoo and shower gel lay under the telly and the big man's shirt was stuffed between the washing basket and bookcase:(

But I'm home now.

Now another giant fish cake. Then I'll lovingly assemble a sweet cherry pie for the old Cockney dears...

Good God Almighty, Henry has just phoned. Did I manage to do something with his failing, shifting, sinking mattress?

HELP.........!