All change

The District Nurse arrived late, flustering and blustering and with a quick style of speech which left me floundering. I do wish people would remember to listen. Conversations, if well done, go two ways. This Nursie had her agenda and by jolly jingo was intent on keeping to it. Do you know what? I don't think she heard a word I said.
I'd vanished into the woodwork like hunted vermin.

After talking to Mother the nurse photographed mum's weeping splitting sores as I ran my damp hands down my dress in anguish. Such is the awfulness of the situation.
Nurse left as blisteringly quickly as she had arrived leaving mum sad, brutal and bemoaning the NHS and its employees.
Dear Mother.

Waiting in all day for someone to call is tiring.
So.
I filled the day with laundry.

I was intent on more creative pursuits but waiting and caring sometimes dries up the juice so by mid afternoon I was dashed. And as I sat on the two seater sofa which Mr Horsehound had brought in from the conservatory.............
I decided to open a can of corned beef.
And I hate that.
Because cans to me spell one thing.....I've lost my mojo... loss of inspiration, a special spark.

Pictured here is my beautiful secondhand weighing machine. Bought in Hockley on Monday. A real steal at under £5. And unlike my other scales I'll keep this one clean and grease free, clear of all splatterings and sticky fingermarks, astonishingly polished.
I just wish it was being used today.

Making Hay.......updated

As mum sleeps I'm grabbing the chance of some 'me' time.
I'll not be polishing my nails or checking my mail or even sipping tea in a daze instead I'll be doing something much more worthwhile. Housework.

Before I became a carer I was a good housewife. My floors were clean likewise my thoughts and linen but since 2011 washing floors on a regular basis and polishing knick-knacks has been knocked sideways. And my thoughts have grown dark indeed.
Back in the day a perfect day would have been a stay at home day where I did a bit of laundry, made a pie, watched Prime Minister's Questions, looked at the garden now however I count myself lucky if a plate gets washed.
So when a day like today presents itself, a day where we wait for the District Nurse to call, I get up extra early to make hay while the sun shines.
Already I've hoovered, cleaned up the kitchen counters, put away books and pens and bags and sock and yellow dusters and other domestic detritus and it feels wonderful. Wonderful to be orderly again.

On the kitchen tv BBC News telling me about Scotland's independence issues, the possible intake of Syrian refugess (God help them) the ongoing search and possible conclusion to the tale of missing tot Madeleine McCain and England's Ladies cricket team. All good stuff and much appreciated by a news lover like myself.

I can hear the washing machine chubbling and Monty hissing at the vacuum cleaner, stupid boy, and I'm dressed in black white and grey but feeling raunchy red. I love it when I can get on with domestic stuff, make a house into a home but it's been oh so difficult for such a long while.
And that's why when I get the chance I really let myself go!
A rusty mop is leaning ever so lazily against the door frame waiting to be picked up.
Hang on in there baby.....I'm coming...........


For our tea tonight:

Sausages Braised in Cider with mashed potatoes, peas and mushrooms.

Fry till well browned 500g pork sausages or whatever your favourite sausage is.

Remove to a plate while you fry quartered onions ( I used four small ones ) and three thick chopped rashers of bacon. Toss them around for about five minutes till the onions go brown.
 Then......
Add a little plain flour to soak up the juices then 300ml of cider, I used Stella Artois Cidre. A gift from Mr Horsehound...
Stir till thickened then add a teaspoonful of dried Thyme or some fresh if you have it and five or fewer  cloves of garlic well chopped. Squiggle it all about.
Season.
Pour into a casserole, lid it. Braise in a medium oven for quite a time. I like 90 minutes.

I'll serve the sausages on top of buttery mash with lightly fried mushrooms mixed with peas. No need for any gravy there should be sufficient sauce left to dampen the snorkers but if not make up a quick gravy.

Haven't made my mind up about pudding. Probably plump for canned fruit and custard with some Drop Scones (very much like small thick pancakes ) . I'm zonked after domesticity overload.

Mum saw the nurse. All ok. Creams rubbed in and dressings bravely stuck on. Mum though tut tutted loudly because Nursie wasn't alone she'd brought a learner with her, a tall Nigerian lad. 
Bubbly happy blonde Sandra will be calling again on Friday. With Big Tom. Lol!

Now I must fly, Mr Hairy Suit is battling the tea time traffic in order to get here on time to watch The Chase with the very funny actor / quizmaster Mr Bradley Walsh.

Bradders sometimes loses it....

After a gruelling two hour session with the eye doctor yesterday mum was raw and out of sorts both physically and mentally. So, although pained, I accepted her "go aways" and went and sat in the kitchen with Mr Hairy Suit.
I couldn't though relax so I went back and sat at mum's feet. Her face was distorted her eye weeping and her manner offish but I persevered with tenderness. For once love took over from anger and I couldn't do anything but feel for her.

However long my tether is I think I reached it tonight.

Put simply..... I've run out of life affirming ideas to put forward to mum

She simply will not have any of it. She sits and stares and sits and hates. I've concluded that any life affirming conversations are pointless.

Won't do anything I suggest or anything anyone else suggests, she even tut tutted when the District Nurse, who I called on account of mum being seriously uncomfortable, suggested that the bed sores won't improve unless mum moves around more. You'd have thought the nurse was monstrous. To mum though she was. Anything sensible suggested is met with derision.
Mother lives in a vile bubble of emotional pus brought on by grief, terminal cancer and loss of everything dear to her. I'm here but I might as well be invisible. My tongue should stay firmly between my lips.
Ever since she's lived with us we've all tried to make life as comfortable as possible. We've been tender. Even when she's scolded us, me in particular, we've hung onto the idea that one day she'll see sense, waken to the idea that continuing to cling to the idea of good health and solo living is plain barmy. For her own safety she needs to stay here in the front room with all her gear around her and with me and Mr Horsehound on tap.

After another evening of fruitless discussion she's in the front room tired, solemn and icily bitter and I'm here in Mr H's dusty crowded office, tearfully exhausted.
How will I deal with tomorrow?

I've felt unusually cheerful today not even the drop in temperature and mother's insistence on another shopping spree could darken my lightness.
And so, with the wind in our faces and a letter about library fines in my bag we stormed Rochford Square.
Not many folk about.
Oh goody I thought. Not so many ankles to bruise or faces to face as I push mum around in her heavy chair.
As I pleaded innocent on all counts (not being aware the Tom Clancy book was two months overdue) the lovely black haired library assistant dismissed the threatening letter as an oversight and I'm not to worry about it lovey. Phew! And before my words of thankfulness reached her over earringed ears mum and me were outta there.

We stopped off at The Havens Hospice charity shop, a few minutes walk from the library, and found therein a tube of Boots Royal Jelly Hand cream (20p.) Unwanted Christmas present I expect. That's cool. It'll be perfect for inclusion in my oversized handbag.
Also bagged was another tube...This time Dove Intensive Conditioner for weak hair. What? Why I buy that? My hair is silky and good, bit raggedy and uneven but certainly not in need of intensive therapy. But at only 30p I couldn't let it lay there by a basket of perm curlers gathering dust.
I love finding gems.
Talking of gems look at this

                                                               Happy Red Cheesecake


I went ethical yesterday and made a whole load of Indian inspired Vegetarian food. Not wishing to be too saintly I also made this Strawberry Cheesecake.
I felt good yesterday and it showed in my choices.
Firstly I dropped Mr Horsehound off at the dentists (root canal) I didn't want him to have to do the train on account of it being his day orf so I wanted to treat him to something nice. Secondly I decided to revert to doing the Sainsburys run. Mum was with me but I abandoned her by the nice wooden bench at the far end of the store where the trolleys are left while I dreamily roamed the aisles filling my little trolley.
Thirdly I'd invited Hairy Suit to come for tea. He's a lovely man/boy/confidante/mover of extreme furniture and holder of innovative ideas. He also shares my love of high end nosh.
I'd also plumped for a non-meat dinner which always fills me with a kind of clean gladness. There is something especially pleasing about making delicious meals with earthy wholesome non sparkling mud loving ingredients.

On the menu:

Chick Pea and Potato Pasties.
The pastry was made using Brown Bread Flour instead of the usual shortcrust. It was rested and then rolled into medium sized circles then filled with chick peas, onion, potatoes then lavishly flavoured with cumin seeds and coriander.

Vegetable Dhal
Red lentils braised in water with potato, tomatoes, chestnut mushrooms, carrot, onion, green pepper. Spices used were ginger, chilli, cumin, coriander, pepper, turmeric, garlic and the usual salt and black pepper.


Simple Rice

Long grain rice (not easy - cook) simmered in turmeric infused water, then left to dry orf.
A dozen mini Onion Bhajis (shop bought)
And Garlic and Coriander Pittas (shop bought)

All served with Greek Yoghurt and a spiced fruit Chutney from Morrisons.
It tasted wonderful and we weren't fussed about having a meatless day.

I would though have been very disappointed if I'd left out Pudding.
So a quick to assemble Cheesecake was the order of the day.
Effortless. Fabulous and Utterly Gone. Even  mum wanted some. And her being diabetic and all.

Small carton of double cream electrically mixed with small carton of Greek yoghurt mixed and a little sugar and 225 g of full fat cream cheese. Treat well. Then tip carefully into biscuit lined tin ( I used a third of a packet of ordinary basic cheap Digestive biscuits crumbed and mixed with a little melted butter and soft brown sugar). Leave in fridge to set then go bonkers with fruit. From abroad foreign Strawberries sliced then glazed with slightly melted diabetic strawberry jam. Don't overdo the melting otherwise it goes all runny and bloodlike.

How Grey The Day...updated

So, methinks, more red lipstick and a Shepherd's Pie

Poirot is about to solve another crime (with Mother closely watching) and I'm about to make a Coffee and Walnut Cake.
So there.

Colour on a Foggy Day...updated

'Buttermilk' it said on the Dulux tin and a gentler more dreamy colour I'm sure doesn't exist..., well not in a tin anyway.
It looks smashing on my kitchen walls.
And with new green gingham seat pads and green gingham cotton pelmet my kitchen has taken a leap into the countryside.
But what really sets my heart a-flutter is the sweetest, humblest green gingham wipe-clean waterproof polyurethane PVC tablecloth.



I made a red lentil bolognaise, yellow cheddar cheese scone with orange cayenne pepper and a very white cook- in- the saucepan rice pudding yesterday.
Today's offerings are baked Cumberland sausage and hills of featherlight mash and green beans chased by yellow pineapple upside down cake.



Just taken a dozen Coburg Buns out of the oven.
Coburg Buns. 
Small sponge cakes flavoured with cinnamon, ginger, mixed spice (apple pie spice) and golden syrup. Topped or should I say bottomed with flaked almonds. The nuts, you see, are put into the greased fluted bun tin first then topped with the cake mix. All very quaint. These little fellas don't stay fresh for long so are best eaten straight away..
In between checking on an increasingly crotchety mum and ironing I made a simple flour dusted loaf. 
I felt the need to get stuck in. 
Nibbled on dried apricots to keep going.

Talking of keeping going.
I needed to on Sunday evening after getting a real verbal bashing from mother. So vitriolic was it I felt nauseous in my pleasant kitchen. Mr Horsehound and Mr Hairy Suit were witnesses and even these men of the world were taken aback by the unnecessary outburst.
Later that night, as I tried to sleep, I wondered where her strength came from and wouldn't it be wiser if my dear old bean employed it in a more fruitful way.

On Monday morning as we sat together drinking our early morning tea, she apologised. 
"Draw a line under it" she said. 
And I did.
I try to understand. 
I do.
It's the frustration of failing eyesight, resentment at having to live here with me and my male entourage and, if that isn't sickening enough, she winces with pain fairly regularly. So it's no wonder her tongue lashes out in my direction. 
In my kinder, more mature moments, I say ok mum, let rip.
She never lets me down.