After the poet comes the shopper...
Sped to Hockley this a.m. and found theeee most gorgeous stylish handbag in the Friends of Lion charity shop.
It is small, nut brown and embellished with a good thick chain bit like chainmail and 'diamonds'. Originally from the Parisienn boutique, Aventurine, it still bears the original price tag... Knew as soon as I laid my eyes upon it that is was MINE..
Haven't played with it ye..t but I soon will.... as soon as I've pranced around in my new skirt, originally from Zara, a warm brown pencil affair made of silk and wool this yumyum skirt fits snug around my hips and derriere.... so I can't wait to waddle in it.
Friday, 28 October 2011
Thursday, 27 October 2011
Loner
A late red rose
suddenly frosted, wintry
looms defiantly
its small fair face
a peach amongst spiteful tawny weeds
its late for its date
and it knows it
Perhaps the fuel of a mild autumnal morn
will save it
I haven't written much lately and it worries me, so these few words, this verse, have sent me pleasantly to bed.
suddenly frosted, wintry
looms defiantly
its small fair face
a peach amongst spiteful tawny weeds
its late for its date
and it knows it
Perhaps the fuel of a mild autumnal morn
will save it
I haven't written much lately and it worries me, so these few words, this verse, have sent me pleasantly to bed.
K.
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.
Tuesday, 25 October 2011
Sir Frederick Treves
Keeping Calm
Then a massive cook-in..... Beef Cobbler. Chilli Con Carne. Apple Jelly with Grapes. 12 Coburg Buns and a large Blackcurrant Swiss Roll.
Tonight though I'll nestle down with Radio 5 Live and listen to Aldershot v. Man U.
Doubt I'll hear the final whistle though on account of being shattered!
Being a housewife/friend/worrier/daughter/working woman and lover is taking its toll.
But, as Sir Frederick Treves, Bart. KCVO. CB Sergeant in Ordinary Arms to HM The King. Surgeon in Ordinary to HRH Prince of Wales wrote, on 2nd September 1903 at 6 Wimpole Street Cavendish Sq. London.....on the occasion of the 25th anniversary of the Boy's Own Paper
"Don't Grumble, Plug On"
Monday, 24 October 2011
After a very early start I arrived at Mums loaded with a new enthusiasm for life, but when she dragged open the door my enthusiasm disappeared.
She looked other-worldly, ethereal almost, maybe it was the pallor of her skin or just the shot of daylight falling on her..I was to find out soon enough.
She'd had a bad night she said and found herself, just after midnight, sitting on the edge of her bed looking at a shimmering light.
I knew from the way she looked that a few days away with me were looking decidedly unlikely.
And so after several attempts to put on her red coat we sat silently, me wondering what to do and her holding onto a tube of Deep Heat, her hands with papery skin gripping the useless medication. Around her newspapers, browned strawberries and bills.
A bird came to mind. A baby one. Maybe a sparrow whose fallen out of its nest. This bird, clinging to detritus found lying on the ground. Mum's detritus being drugs, toothless combs and demands.
She didn't make tea.
I certainly didn't.
I'd been up since dawn.
Where was my welcome? Where was my cuppa?
My welcome of course was in her eyes, a miserable old trout sometimes but a homeloving trout with sea blue eyes.
I forgave her the insult of not offering me tea.
Instead we talked. Mumbled. Stretching out to each other. Eager to please, eager to re-assure.
Then, after managing to load her into her coat, we went out.
In the lift I knew we weren't going anywhere and as soon as we were half way up the slope, she stopped and winced.
"Come on, let's go back" I said
"You can come another day".
With that out of the way we stood silently in the lift as it ascended to the sixth floor.
It was pointless for me just to sit there so I dashed around Queensway on errands.
Jobs done I went back...I nearly said 'home'. Funny how London always makes me think of home. Well not really, after all I did live there for forty years before disowning it in favour of a semi-rural location. Foxes are cool but so are red buses.
She at last made me a cup of tea, whilst I microwaved a Chilli, we talked endlessly, mostly about me.
She was reliving some of my more exciting moment like when I worked at the ice rink and smoked a Gauloise in a Pizza Hut when I went a bit mental. Like when I sold loads of my jewellry and books to an old cow called Mrs Crewe because I was skint. And like when there were three of us.
I nipped this in the bud.
I hadn't travelled for two hours and spent half my housekeeping only to be reminded of the worst summer of my life. Instead I broke her deepness by uttering of a few reassuring words, snippets of wisdom and tales about love.
She was mad keen on the latter.
And so was I.
After chattering like a couple of parrots I left for home, leaving her fridge stocked and her mood brighter.
Home to debate in the House of Commons and an omlette.
She looked other-worldly, ethereal almost, maybe it was the pallor of her skin or just the shot of daylight falling on her..I was to find out soon enough.
She'd had a bad night she said and found herself, just after midnight, sitting on the edge of her bed looking at a shimmering light.
I knew from the way she looked that a few days away with me were looking decidedly unlikely.
And so after several attempts to put on her red coat we sat silently, me wondering what to do and her holding onto a tube of Deep Heat, her hands with papery skin gripping the useless medication. Around her newspapers, browned strawberries and bills.
A bird came to mind. A baby one. Maybe a sparrow whose fallen out of its nest. This bird, clinging to detritus found lying on the ground. Mum's detritus being drugs, toothless combs and demands.
She didn't make tea.
I certainly didn't.
I'd been up since dawn.
Where was my welcome? Where was my cuppa?
My welcome of course was in her eyes, a miserable old trout sometimes but a homeloving trout with sea blue eyes.
I forgave her the insult of not offering me tea.
Instead we talked. Mumbled. Stretching out to each other. Eager to please, eager to re-assure.
Then, after managing to load her into her coat, we went out.
In the lift I knew we weren't going anywhere and as soon as we were half way up the slope, she stopped and winced.
"Come on, let's go back" I said
"You can come another day".
With that out of the way we stood silently in the lift as it ascended to the sixth floor.
It was pointless for me just to sit there so I dashed around Queensway on errands.
Jobs done I went back...I nearly said 'home'. Funny how London always makes me think of home. Well not really, after all I did live there for forty years before disowning it in favour of a semi-rural location. Foxes are cool but so are red buses.
She at last made me a cup of tea, whilst I microwaved a Chilli, we talked endlessly, mostly about me.
She was reliving some of my more exciting moment like when I worked at the ice rink and smoked a Gauloise in a Pizza Hut when I went a bit mental. Like when I sold loads of my jewellry and books to an old cow called Mrs Crewe because I was skint. And like when there were three of us.
I nipped this in the bud.
I hadn't travelled for two hours and spent half my housekeeping only to be reminded of the worst summer of my life. Instead I broke her deepness by uttering of a few reassuring words, snippets of wisdom and tales about love.
She was mad keen on the latter.
And so was I.
After chattering like a couple of parrots I left for home, leaving her fridge stocked and her mood brighter.
Home to debate in the House of Commons and an omlette.
Sunday, 23 October 2011
The claws were out for me at work today and all because of a purple fleece jacket so kindly given to me by the ever ready Kevin.
"Oooooh" said one of the witches "I've been here two years and I ain't got one"
Being somewhat of a drama queen I smiled ignoring her completely... preferring of course to offer up thanks to the stunned Kev.
Anyway off went Kev and I.... with me firmly in the driving seat...
The journey went without much to write about, he taking notes for me and delivering the food, me coasting along in me new coat:)
We clocked back in to the office just after twoish wherein I was handed a whole raft of paperwork mostly to do with 'elf and safety...
"Getting on alright?" asked Spooky Tone
"Yes thank you, getting there" I quipped merrily
Leaving Old Bent Tone stunned by my confidence. What a marvellous actor I am...
After a few bye byes and cheerios I headed home to a raw Steak and Kidney pudding. Getting that boiling was my first concern, the second concern being The X Factor Results.
If that awful Daughter of Satan, Kitty Brucknell goes through again I'll eat my badge...The woman is quite mad, quite ghastly and quite determined to win.
Last night's Factor was fabulous, a real humdinger of a show. Emoted stupidly over young man band, The Risk, me being 55 finding it difficult to be a true Riskette and all, anyway they were cool. Also being good were Little Madam Misha B, a right bitch behind the scenes apparently, and the man who fills me with joy every time he smiles, the campest geezer on the block, Johnny Robinson. Hell, the man can sing, his pipes being lined with silver or something, I adore entertainers who don't take themselves too seriously and have the guts to sling back the arrows oft' aimed at him by Gazza Barlow.
Johnny, I hope, will make it to the last rounds. A true joy to both my eyes and ears.. Love him.
Who else shook me up? Oh yes...Marcus, the Liverpudlian hairdresser, boy oh boy can that lad warble, there doesn't seem to be anything he can't sing, he rocked last night getting the thumbs up from this old rockette!
Don't like Sami.
Belter. But no pizzazz, No danger. No X Factor. Sorry darling.
The girl group aren't bad for a girl group but last night they kind of got lost amongst the dancers, lights and giant plastic cubes. Gave me a headache.
Craig Carlton (think that's his surname) was gooood. Only criticism is that he does the Elvis lip a tad too much. The big lad has some great pipes and owns the stage but there's something of the Tesco Shelf Filler about him.
The little Irish lass made me eat another toffee. Nah, don't dig her much, sings like an angel but I prefer demons.
Who else? The girl no-one remembers, she has a wonderful face, deep sensuous voice but absolutely no charisma. What IS her name?
So tonight I'll be on the edge of my seat waiting to see if the Great British public agree with ME!
"Oooooh" said one of the witches "I've been here two years and I ain't got one"
Being somewhat of a drama queen I smiled ignoring her completely... preferring of course to offer up thanks to the stunned Kev.
Anyway off went Kev and I.... with me firmly in the driving seat...
The journey went without much to write about, he taking notes for me and delivering the food, me coasting along in me new coat:)
We clocked back in to the office just after twoish wherein I was handed a whole raft of paperwork mostly to do with 'elf and safety...
"Getting on alright?" asked Spooky Tone
"Yes thank you, getting there" I quipped merrily
Leaving Old Bent Tone stunned by my confidence. What a marvellous actor I am...
After a few bye byes and cheerios I headed home to a raw Steak and Kidney pudding. Getting that boiling was my first concern, the second concern being The X Factor Results.
If that awful Daughter of Satan, Kitty Brucknell goes through again I'll eat my badge...The woman is quite mad, quite ghastly and quite determined to win.
Last night's Factor was fabulous, a real humdinger of a show. Emoted stupidly over young man band, The Risk, me being 55 finding it difficult to be a true Riskette and all, anyway they were cool. Also being good were Little Madam Misha B, a right bitch behind the scenes apparently, and the man who fills me with joy every time he smiles, the campest geezer on the block, Johnny Robinson. Hell, the man can sing, his pipes being lined with silver or something, I adore entertainers who don't take themselves too seriously and have the guts to sling back the arrows oft' aimed at him by Gazza Barlow.
Johnny, I hope, will make it to the last rounds. A true joy to both my eyes and ears.. Love him.
Who else shook me up? Oh yes...Marcus, the Liverpudlian hairdresser, boy oh boy can that lad warble, there doesn't seem to be anything he can't sing, he rocked last night getting the thumbs up from this old rockette!
Don't like Sami.
Belter. But no pizzazz, No danger. No X Factor. Sorry darling.
The girl group aren't bad for a girl group but last night they kind of got lost amongst the dancers, lights and giant plastic cubes. Gave me a headache.
Craig Carlton (think that's his surname) was gooood. Only criticism is that he does the Elvis lip a tad too much. The big lad has some great pipes and owns the stage but there's something of the Tesco Shelf Filler about him.
The little Irish lass made me eat another toffee. Nah, don't dig her much, sings like an angel but I prefer demons.
Who else? The girl no-one remembers, she has a wonderful face, deep sensuous voice but absolutely no charisma. What IS her name?
So tonight I'll be on the edge of my seat waiting to see if the Great British public agree with ME!
Saturday, 22 October 2011
Entertaining
More rhubarb sweetheart?
Mushroom and Goat's Cheese Tiers
Salmon and Med Veg
Chocolate Pudding with Hazelnuts
The Hilarious Bowl Of CreamWe all had a hoot of a time chatting over our meal (see pics). As usual when feeding anyone I got in a lather, especially when she requested a tad more salt for her spuds. I nearly hid under the table. But all went down a treat.
We started with Mushroom and Goat's Cheese Tiers served with a hot crusty poppy seed loaf.
For mains...Scottish Salmon Fillets baked in foil.
Bearnaise sauce.
Roasted Mediterranean Veg. (Fennel, Peppers, Courgettes, Red Onions and my very own home grown baby toms. This gorgeous medley was coated in olive oil, basil, salt and pepper.
Tiny tiny new potatoes shining with best butter.
And now the best bit. Pudding. I made individual Chocolate Up and Over Puddings using Hazelnuts as the nut content! They turned out both literally and gastronomically very excellent. Not a bit left. Anywhere. Instead of common custard I'd whipped some cream and when I presented it in a huge Brown Bowl, our guest laughed like the good egg she is.
For drinkykins I'd bought a bottle of Elderflower Presse. So had the Lady. Oooops. But being decent sorts we saw the funny side. Hers though was a well wicked master mix which contained...Pomegranate. Laugh.
Yeah so the dinner bit went swimmingly.
Then on to tea in the drawing room and handbag tales...
Much girly squealing could be heard as I threw down upon my sofa tons yeah of bags. One particularly taking her fancy. It was a facsimile of an Edwardian handbag. Red, Beaded, stiff metal handle. Terrific. We did what all girls do when around bags. We held them this way, that way, up in the air, had them banging against our knee caps then that beautiful peace when you hug it. Yum.
By now you can imagine how overly excited I'd become and so in need of my snooze so after a few well aimed yawns, the Divine Miss W. kissed us farewell and dieseled it back to Laindon.
We had a fab night, thank you.
Today has been a bit of a hoot too.
Went to work this a.m. saddled up alongside Kev and delivered all by myself 23 dinners. All the clients were pleased to see me and their nosh, some even taking time to ask questions. Not about Kevin but about the weather, me and baked beans. I did my best to answer then ran back to the kerbside feeling rather chuffed.
One particular client is an ancient Thespian, her walls adorned with old programmes and theatre posters, I slowed down to look and admire and knew if given the chance she'd have tales to tell.
Back to base and a big question from big Kev. I knew it was coming I could tell by the way he looked at me over the gas oven, and so with the waft of cabbage clinging everywhere he popped the question..
"Do you want my Rhubarb?"
OMG. I've had to join the WRVS to eventually find love....
Bless his big heart. I declined. And left the building.
Cooking tonight:
Strips of fried beef and onions in Lettuced up Submarine Rolls served with Sweetcorn, Chips, ketchup and mustard.
Cheerio All....
P.S.
For all you sports fans out there...don't forget to yell for the Kiwis in tomorrow's Rugby World Cup Final.They play France...Boooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
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