Spent Sunday afternoon at Vi's house. Rob being the dutiful son helped his dad with the family's miniature railway. Something to do with signals or something.
While they did that, I helped with lunch.
And very good it was too.
A traditional roast chicken with oodles of carrots and peas and little sausages and crisp puffed Yorkies and on a big white plate some smashing roasted potatoes. Gravy to drool over.
'Afters' was an impossible choice between a plump chocolate mousse cake or a jewel-like fruit salad.
I chose both.
Vi cooks very well.

I didn't know Mozart had a sister. Did you?

Much has changed here in the bungalow.

Furniture shifted and made better.
Dining table covered with lace tablecloth.
Home made table mats protecting the cloth which protects the table. Needlework in one place instead of scattered all over the place. A pin cushion here skeins of threads there and Aida cloth dangerously gathering dust by the bed settee.
My vintage wireless is in the grate.
Photos of mum and dad stare out at me from the mantelpiece . I often talk to them, mum and dad that is, not the photos, the pictures are paper. I wish there was another phase other than 'I miss them' that could sum up what their departure has done. But there isn't, at least I can't come up with one. So I miss them will have to do.

Dad, Mr Horsehound and a very silly mummy behind the chair circa 1989

Mum COULD be funny...1987

And I can just be weird! 1985

Eating arrangements altered. 
On account of needing/wanting space in the kitchen we now eat in the front room. Tiled kitchen table now used soley for prepping food. Huge amount of space now. Much better. More workmanlike. I do though still show my creative side by having a large ceramic vase in butter yellow on the windowsill. I couldn't go completely functional. I couldn't go stainless steel and smoked glass. I feed off of wood.

Antiqued bric-a-brac shelved in glass fronted cabinet.
A recent addition, costing 99p, Harry a well made small black and white china cat. Green eyed and not without some class, having not a hole in his underside, which one finds in most mass produced ornaments...possibly circa 1960's. At any rate he's gorgeous and I'm so pleased I found him in Oxfam. In Sudbury. A quick dip into the many charity shops before going to Kentwell Hall in Suffolk.
It is one of England's finest moated Tudor Mansions. And we all loved walking through the many gaily painted rooms. The living room walls were painted red.
The kitchen was my ideal. A long wooden table, rough walls. A clutch of 'Tudor' women dressed in olde garb wished us a Good Day while talking about a man who often takes advantage of their good and generous nature especially where food is concerned.
 "A pox on him" said one old dear wiping her hand on her apron
It was fun.
And tranquil. 

The Kitchen

A large patchwork quilt in shades of claret, lilac and snow white covers my old duvet. My bedroom hasn't changed much. Still not enough space. Old built in wardrobes sicken me. But they do hold my jackets and coats.
Last week I picked up a metal clothes rail for £1.50 so all is not lost.
Giving away sack loads of old clothes and handbags has afforded me a little breathing room too.


Visitors are many. And often. Mostly Rob's family. I did though spend some time recently with Mr Horsehound. We chattered on and on yet not saying much about important things. He did though enjoy his pasta. And I his company. The old git. By the way it's his birthday today...He doesn't want anyone to know he's 60.

Mr Horsehound

Before England play San Marino on Saturday in a European Championship Qualifier I have dinner guests on Friday. Jeannie and Mark, I'm making a Beef and Potato Pie.

Mum and me. Circa 1967

Some things never change.

Mr Horsehound. Circa 1985

The Chelmer Valley Car Club. Classics by the Sea.

Bertie and his new best mate, Colin the Commer

At night, me and a lovely Jack Russell

Jack had razor sharp teeth. Hence the pretty oven gloves.

Boundless energy. Dog had some too.

Lime and soda anyone?

Last night's car 'do' was fun. Beautiful classics, big burgers and friendly knowledgeable vintage car fiends.

Bertie evoked happy memories in a few people who were more than happy to share them with us. He's quite a guy is our Bertie. And coming along nicely too. One expert even suggested Bertie was in fine fettle and he should know because he'd renovated dozens of them during his career. His name is Bill and he took a real shine to Bertie.

Rob being an average cook had the audacity to try and out cook me by making and then baking a blackberry crumble in Bertie's small oven. We ate it at the table listening to salivating passers-by. 

Greater Love Hath No Stupid Woman than to sacrifice her noo tights for the Love of a Jack Russell

Where are the big boys?

I've just looked at a photo of the contenders for leader of the Labour party.

The heart sinks.

Classic Car Show in Purleigh. Essex.

As the sun melted our cornets we strode on gazing lovingly at the hundreds of classic/vintage cars on show.
Set in a couple of acres of greenery row upon row of restored motors stood, well loved and displaying their owners devotion and monies well spent.

Rob and I were the first to arrive in our red and restored 1972 Bedford CF Campervan. And having spent the past few weeks indulging in hard-work we were proud of how he looked. He wasn't perfect, he still shows his age but after a lot of time, effort and money he's a vast improvement on the Bertie who turned up in 2013 looking exhausted and ready for the breakers yard. Rob persevered and gradually he, that's Bertie, gets admiring looks.
We were going to stick a sign on the bumpers stating that although he's smart work was still in progress. But we didn't. All classic car owners know that restoring a vehicle takes oodles of time and energy and commitment. We did our best.

So after having a bacon sandwich, prepared by Rob on Berties little hob, we went walkabout.
Some of the motors were simply gorgeous.
Many Morris Minors, Triumphs of various descriptions, Jags, Ford Mark One Lotus Cortina (worth bucket loads of money) and a mark II looking spankingly fine in bergundy and...FOR SALE!
I cleverly steered Rob away from that one.
My favourites were a Latte coloured soft-top Morris Minor on sale for £6700. I carried on dreaming....

Metal things weren't the only things on display.
Owls and Falcons with terrifying talons also caught the public's eye. The smaller members of the huge crowd had the chance to ride a donkey, watch horsey displays and a tractor relay. It was so silly.
Dogs too had their day.
Owners of poochies could put them through their paces on the doggie assault courses. Two beige terriers wouldn't leave the red plastic tunnel. And one 'blue and white long haired collie' kept barking.

Of course with any event there was money to be made...
Stall holders of all shapes and sizes glowed with perspiration as they stood by their offerings.
I bought 4 retro pudding bowls (mustard with flowers) £2 and a bumble bee ring £1.

After the trek we went back to dear old Bertie, whose red and white striped awning stood out amongst his peers like a dead fly in a bowl o' cream.

And as people stopped and chatted I felt rather pleased. For Rob, who after much work, determination and love finally had his place amongst the vintage Greats.

Mum said "You don't grow old, you just wake up one day and you are old"
She's right.

Mum

Even though I still fling myself around I'm finding I do it less often.
Not because I hurt, but because I'd rather be still.
Contemplative.