In the midst of horror I thought it best to drive to Morrisons. I am sometimes guilty of letting major heartbreaking events affect me.
Anyway....Taking into account that mum didn't feel as breezy as usual she stayed car bound whilst I hot footed my way around the little Eastwood store to pick up a nice beef joint for Monday.
I like Morrison's.

Small, slightly retro feel with hat wearing butchers and tall lean boys on the cheese counter. It has narrow aisles, narrower than Sainsburys so has obvious trolley bumpings occurring.

I couldn't find the cream.
I couldn't find the turmeric.
Found them eventually of course, but always in the back of my mind is mother. When she's with me I'm always aware of how long I've been hanging out by the veg inspecting courgettes and onions and when she's waiting for me either on a supermarket bench or in a car park I'm acutely aware of being NOT ALONE. It's a strain alright. I can't seem to let myself go. Give myself the freedom to dawdle. I'm a dawdler who doesn't dawdle anymore.

I paid Philomena on the check out and as I bagged my beef I shot a glance out of the window and saw mother sitting in the car.
I love her with every part of my being BUT I do miss my one-woman supermarket trips.

Rain pelted me as I walked to the car, messing my glasses lens' and making my left eye drip. Mascara stings. Dropping onto the driver's seat
I saw that mum hadn't eaten the banana I'd left on the dashboard
"Why haven't you eaten it?"
"You were too quick".



Doing a detour we popped into a church charity shop... the ladies in there were very gentle and blisteringly Christian one even giving mum a paperback book about an Americana man who survived loss/horrors/bankruptcy by finding God.
I knelt down, literally on my knees, to rummage through a box of needlework odds and ends and after a few minutes of blissful fingering I handed 30p to the lady for 3 reels of blue cotton and a plastic pouch filled with embroidery yarns. All unused, in perfect condition. What a find!

I like moments like that.

It was still raining when a wheelchairless mum and a fit me meandered our way to the car but she was alright. So was I. She was also very ok about getting wet. And I was proud and amazed by her determination.
I suppose being unwell puts rain in its place.



I'm looking forward to watching some tennis on tv at the weekend (French Open) and hopefully returning to a neglected hobby; cross stitch.:)

Now I must fly.


Tonight's Menu: Nasi Gorenge, a regular favourite and Homemade Peshwari Naans.:)

Thoughts Before Nurse Sandra Arrives

I see, through my sweet bug like eyes, that our Prime Minister is in serious doo doo.
Having to email loyal broken hearted livid party supporters saying that he and his bosom buddies think the world of them is a Mistake too far.
He should not need to do it. He
and his entourage should know that words uttered tend to be heard... And spread.
Swivel Eyed Loons is both insulting but I'm loathe to admit, rather funny. But seriously... jokes of this ilk should be shared with only the closest of friends sitting around a shiny dining table.
Methinks as does the BBC's political Editor, Nick Robinson,  that Mr Cameron, he of the porcelain coloured complexion, needs to kick some back bums till they're truly blue.

Mother is fine.
Out all the time. 
On Saturday she had the most fantastic birthday treat, shopping in Southend-On-Sea and eating Pie 'n Mash is a stuffed cafe down by the seafront.
Her feet have improved too.

In my small world there's a new shining amber - coloured secondhand chest of drawers, a solidly serious walnut hued bedside cabinet and a gaiety of 'silver' knick-knacks. Also bunches of roses and antipasti.

I've calmed down a little.

Last night I began reading 'A Little Princess' by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Makes a change from recipes. By the time I reached the bottom of page one I loved Sara Crew.
'Tis a wonderful gift to be able to write so well.

 

 Now I must fly...have a few dozen household tasks to get through before nursie arrives then another trip into town for mum...Wonder what gems we'll pick up today:)

Knock Knock

Mum's birthday present was delivered this morning and being a sucker for excitement I dangled the sturdy small box in front of her watery eyes.
"Ooooooh Ang, what is it?"

I let her open it.

What Joy!

30ml of it actually...

A perfectly gift wrapped 1920's style bottle of one of the world's classiest perfumes. JOY. By Jean Patou. Apparently the Queen has been know to dab it behind her Royal earlobes. And mum has always wanted it so yesterday with an enthusiastic Mr Hairy Suit at the computer we ordered the ideal birthday gift. It came by Special Delivery all the way from money sodden Jersey.

At any rate we ordered it and when I woke this morning I was hoping it'd be delivered in time for her birthday celebrations tomorrow:) It was so thank you to everyone concerned. Especially Hairy Suit.

Talking of tomorrow the Boys are taking mum and myself into town for a little shopping spree. Listen.... I won't be wanting much, the day is NOT about moi, it is mother's birthday so all dosh spent will be for her happiness and well being.
Talking of essential well beingness I've persuaded the birthday girl that a lunchtime pint and sarnie in a pub would seal the deal. She agreed!

As I type she's sleeping on her bed with her cup of tea gone cold but  a little bottle of Parfum de Joy in her hand.
(I'm glad Mr Hairy and myself got our heads together on this..)



Anyway...
I'm off out of it. I'm making some bread.


Ta ta:)

All In A Morning For A Youthful Woman

In the St Teresa's Catholic church charity shop by the tanning salon an elderly wheelchair bound man with heart probs (I mean he was telling EVERYONE) told me I had good legs.

50 is the youth of old age. I thought. As I exited in high heels.

'New' pair of Clarkes red leather backless sensible clog type sandals. Only £3 on account of being scuffed. Look very good on my size 4's. A bit Dutchlike but so cool and comfy.

Reduced tomatoes/Good Breaded Ham/Little Gem lettuce. Lunch. And for glamour and because I need it...a decent guilt free wedge of moist homemade Chocolate Cake. Milk ,not tea ,being drunk on account of not wishing to keep paying out extortionate amounts for whitening toothpastes. Tea Stains. But not on my blouses.
.
Anusol. NOT mine.

I want a pair of Verdigris Herons.

Morrison's Here I Nearly Come....

On the road to Mo's place I took a wrong turning at a big roundabout,  ended up going for an unscheduled trip around the Essex countryside.
Was alright though, soon found my way back.
Parked up at Mo's, attached a scary looking trolley to mother's wheelchair and bustled and barged my way around the busy aisles of this, my most favourite store!

Steve, doing the butchering, was more than helpful when asked by meself if he'd hack at a shoulder of lamb on account of moi wanting to make a lamb and lentil casserole come the weekend. He did so beautifully. And within minutes, I had a small packet of meaty chunks in my bleeding right hand. Bleeding on account of the difficulty and severity of unleashing the aforementioned trolley from it's heavy duty chains. The blood, you'll be pleased to hear, didn't drop much on the lamb.

After the meat came other essentials. Cocoa. Small bottle of Tall Tower Rose Wine. Women's Bladder Wear.

Then to the till where the lovely lady offered to help bag my goodies.Ok said I. And so she did. And because of her help I was only till-side for three or four mins.
Paid up, pocketed a paper incentive ( £10 off my bill at the end of the month if I spend £35 etc etc..) to make sure I  go to Mo's again no doubt, then out into the sunlight and away home with a very poorly mum.

I drove like a very good driver, not exceeding the speed limit much and as we waited at a little traffic light under a quaint old railway bridge I shot a look at mum and wondered where her head was at. She's been talking a lot lately a lot of it nastily, unfairly and her body, which seems to get tinier and tinier with every look, was caved in, that's the only word for it, caved in. She looked pale too and I wondered how much more defiance she has left. Mind you I thought something similar this time last year. Even though she has verbally kicked me to death I'm rooting for her all the time.

We arrived home and within minutes Mum was asleep, leaving me to unload the car and make tea.

Talking of tea...For ours tonight I'm making a Sausage Risotto served with redcurrant jelly and green beans and for pud, a Custard Tart. Can't wait!

Now I must fly..I have lots to do before I can go into the newly re-organized conservatory and put up my legs.

...A quiet morning in the Horsehound Bungalow.
Remnants of yesterday's anger linger harshly... their tap tap tap of festering resentment making it hard to be kind.
We went out this morning and all through our two hour shopathon we barely spoke. The bustle of stodgy people not making our travels pleasant. But I pushed onwards, over cobbled alleyways to the Co_op and along past the Women's Institute, zizzagging around the buggy brigade and into the library. The sun shone though, so I grabbed it, losing myself in its warmth and bigness.
I love Nature but never more so than when I'm depressed.

Mum's asleep now.
And in between blogging and moving furniture I'm planning tonight's food.
A chicken and pasta bake served with Irish Soda bread made with buttermilk for Mr Horsehound and myself
For mum, two foil baked lamb chops. Pudding might well be a cake.

I see that actor/writer/director Bryan Forbes has died.
Never rated him on screen but as a writer he was terrific. T'was he who  penned the fabulous screenplay for the brilliant 1960 British film, The League of Gentlemen. Forbes played a charming handsome two-bit pianist who extracts money from wealthy widows.......for services so gallantly rendered....
One of my all time favourite films. 
Thanks Forbesy x 

 Bryan is top right sporting the quiff.

Oh Mother Dear...

After an early start we set off for the 20 minute drive to Morrisons.
Everything on list ticked orf then back home, via the Church Charity shop, to Steve McQueen in Bullitt. (VHS 30p)
Sat watching that with bread and cheddar.
Mother then pooped on my feeling of well being by asking if we were going out again today.
Oh Mother Dear. No.
Her constant going - outness is leaving me exhausted and really rather skint. I find it very hard to say NO to her and so consequently 6 days out of 7 I'm parking up, spending money I really don't have and returning home shattered to untidyness on a nuclear scale and over flowing laundry basket.
Yet somehow I'm managing (just) to maintain a reasonably clean  bungalow and garden.
The effort though is telling.
That's why I'm back on the sugar.
I've also learned that to carbo-load is essential if one wants to keep upright. I'm munching through lots of homemade and shop made bread, pasta and rice, meat m'dears is on the 'not too much' list.

Talking of eating less flesh I'll be making a Vegetable Cassoulet for tonight's tea. I found the recipe in a Diabetes Cookbook. :(
Talking of all things grim...
Mr Horsehound won't be home till late so I'll have the company of Mother all evening.
We'll probably watch The Bodyguard.
And as I listen to Whitney  and oggle Kev Mother will sleep in the chair, her pale face contorted, her eyes flickering, poor old bean, her purple and yellow rippled hands bent, propping up her hairy chin and her delicate head awash with dreams of where she's going tomorrow :)