Say Hello To Georgie

I have bought what could be the finest handbag. Ever.

It is very like a handbag I had in 1974, a time when, unlike now, I was happy, calm and unafraid. I saw this ghastly/heavenly beauty as we were on our way back to the car park.
"Just popping in here" I said and left John standing clutching bags of other rather mundane goodies like men's pants and Swiss Rolls. Anyway I galloped into Peacocks dismissing the rails of horrible clothes and headed straight to the bags. And hanging like an angel of light was my saviour. As I stood there fingering it I felt the hot breath of a tired man on my neck.
"It's not ostentatious, is it? I asked, opening and closing it a dozen times, having already made up my mind that it was mine. "No dear" He said

Indulging in bags has been a pastime of mine for decades so I had to model it in front of a huge mirror of course knowing damn well that it would look divine and very me whatever I wore and wherever I went. Even Sainsbury's.

But yet as I smiled ridiculously at it in the huge mirror tossing it this way and that I felt like screaming/laughing/wailing because I was so desperate to feel alright again. You see I am a slightly frantic slightly manic woman who's been crying a lot lately and holding on to this perfect handbag reminded me of the gal I was. A gal who wore wild boho clothes and Patchouli scent, who read miserable poems and went to bed at 11 without cleaning her teeth. I was a semi-wild child who preferred books to boys and large handbags to small ones. And here in the middle of Southend high street was a bag which had catapulted me back to the days of working in the glue factory and eating Kebabs with Ernie. Never knew what mental illness was and only ever worried about the day in question.

So we queued and John paid the £12 and after eating two bananas in the car park we drove home to fish paste sandwiches. I've now filled my new bag with women's stuff and it awaits its first outing which will probably be Monday when I pop out for more bananas.
I will always love this bag, not because it's well made or any nonsense like that but because it shone a little light into my cave.
Thank you Georgie. Yep, I've even christened it.

More Pimm's now I think...

A Simples Love

Dearest Sergei,

You have my heart you know. Now give me back my glasses.

Gotcha

Here they are...Aleksandr's mates...
So in love.

Compare the Bungalow

Now hold on a minute, there's something dangerously sinister going on here. I'm a fan of Aleksandr the founder of Compare the Meerkat. com. (See the link in my fav sites) And try as I might I cannot copy any picture of any Meerkat from any site. Why not:(

Anyway back to Aleksandr, if you click on his site it'll take you to Facebook, where he has like a million friends (me one of them) and being desperately in love with the little fella I left him a message. Now the long wait begins...
I also signed a petition asking the powers that be to include the word 'simples' in the dictionary. After all it has become an overnight sensation in this bungalow. I squeak with adoration when the guys come on and just love Sergei's slipping glasses. I empathise fully.

Aleksandr's televisual commercial is my favourite of all time, Sergei, his co-worker is so adorable I want to smuggle him out of his I.T room under my skirt and load him up with sugary English treats, like Marzipan Mice:)

Simples.

Goode Works In Mysterious Ways

Poetry is icing sugar. Cooking is lard.
Poetry soars. Cooking goes for a stroll.
Poetry is an aspirin. Cooking, a nice cup of tea.

So what's all this about?
Another navel gazing episode?
Another bout of who's-the-real-me claptrap?
Correct on the first count and correct on the second count.

I've been composing verse since my first spots appeared and I've been making apple pies ever since penis's loomed large.
And poems and pies have coloured my existence ever since.

But who is the real me?
Am I a half-crazed-hiding-in-an Essex-bungalow poetess or a full-crazed-cycle-riding cleaner who cooks a decent roast?
Both.
But only one gives extreme comfort.

At a very early hour I was zombieing my way from room to room feeling incredibly sorry for myself when I suddenly felt a warm hand fall into mine.
It was the hand of Goode.

And as the birds sung and the sun showed up old stains I flicked.
Flicked through the pages of a twenty-two year old recipe book. In it were great recipes like Swedish Souffle, Orange and Banana Layer and Glazed Meatloaf. It was then I knew I was a cook and not a poet. For not one poem has ever pleasured me in quite the same way as making a knock-out dinner.

My feet were getting cold so I carried the paperback into the bedroom and got to know Miss Shirley Goode all over again.
Smidgens of smiles danced over my face as she sang about chicken carcasses, semolina and lamb breasts but it was her eloquent praising of left-over cabbage that saved my sanity. I imagined running around Aldi's looking at vegetable displays and then scooting back home to make ten litres of Minestrone. I lost my tiny self in visions of Somerset Casserole, Fatima's Fishcakes and Turkish Oranges it was all so good and all so me.


Never had that from a book of English verse.


On the menu today:
Glazed Meatloaf
Potato Salad
Strawberry Shortcake

Charity Queen

My love of charity shops will never end.

I spotted a new one on my way back from Henry's. ( I raced around the castle like a woman on a mission) The mission being I wanna get home! Anyway the charity shop...It's an animal rescue one, didn't have time to reccy the place thoroughly but from the giant teddy bear tied to a chair outside it looks liked my kind of joint.

What else? Oh yes, here's what I bought yesterday in Valerie's ( I kill shoplifters) Trinity Hospice shop in Queensway.

1.
A dark green oblong shaped cushion measuring about 12 ins by 9 ins. It has a galloping red horse embroidered on it, but the stitching is coming undone, that's why the tag said £2 Sold as Seen :(
But the knackered horse looks relieved and at home resting against the arm of the settee:)

2.
A 2ft 'pure silk' wall hanging in green. It is 'pure silk' because it says so on the back. But here's what made me pay a shed load of cash for it. It is embroidered with dozens of little Chinese people. There are birds and bridges and all sorts of activities going on. I love it. Being a thug I was tempted late last night to hammer it to the newly painted walls but sense prevailed and so I will try to find a nice frame for it. It cost a lot. Can't say how much on account of Johnnie finding out. I'd be dead meat if he knew I'd paid over £6 for it.

And finally...

3. A sparkling baby pink backless top which will be held down upon my body by six wispy ropes.
Cost of this delicate dom attire? £1


That's enough from me, now I do chips:)

Last night I made a cracking salad.
Had cold smoked mackerel with a couple of new potatoes and a green and red salad. Felt very fit as I shredded the fish flesh and chased a whole baby beet around the plate. But then I smirked. Because the oven timer pinged and I knew my chocolate up-and-over pudding was ready.
After clearing away the fish plates I studied the baked pudding for a moment. It gurgled a bit. Little bubbles of hot mocha sauce appeared up the sides and then disappeared. And then so did the entire pudding:)
I do not feel the same about tinned peaches.
That was last night what about today?

Today.
Hoping to whizz around the castle today. Am in no mood for banter with Henry. So as I pedal my way down the road I'll be thinking of tonight. Tuna and a tight skirt I expect.