All's happy in...

our world...

me, Ted, Belinda (aka WSD)

Hope it is in yours?

I must be getting old...

to be orgasmic...

at the return of Hubs from shopping, with...

a set of double-sided pastry cutters.

Is this the end?

In my long and busy life, I have never been the proud owner

of any cutters, always using glasses, you know the sort...

pints for the bottoms, wine glasses for the tops.

My ecstatic response was greeted with 

a crest-fallen face.

'If only I'd put them in the end of her stocking, instead of the banana and two nuts

she usually gets.  Christmas morning for me would have have reached new heights!'

briefly flitted across his physog!

Happy Days!

One thing I wish I hadn't said...

in 2012...

'Wash your mouth out!'

and only this week to the specialist

(I know he was an expert in his field, cos his title was Mr.)

as I swept out of his room, 
after his ever so gently suggesting me take some pain-killers.

He had just injected my 'badly thumbly' with

Steroid stuff! 

I had taken Hubs as my translator, mediator and all-round good egg,

by means of damage limitation.

If only Mr. Arth Rightus had been an ace in the area of...

opening your mouth and putting your foot in it...

the job would have been a good'un.

However...

tales with happy endings only

occur in fairy stories.

More regrets, mishaps and funny things that 
have happened in my world this year...
to follow...

I'm off to the thumb hospital today...

I've finally succumbed,
su-thumbed even!

Such a piffling thing...
the pain...
and me always boasting of having a 
high pain threshold.
Not a bit of it...
quivering pathetic wreck, more like!

Any road, what decided it, was the thought of having to choose
between a wet shave, strop, cut-throat razor, you know the one?
Or sensuous, slippery, slithery shaving oil;
a Van Dyke, a Roy Wood (remember him?) full set,
or my current modus operandi...
a cactus impersonator.

In short...
me thumb can't pluck
the offending hairs, bristles
and hairy hemp that insists on
sprouting on my chinny, chin, chins!

Wish me luck...

I said to my new found friend...

as we sat partaking of a leisurely luncheon in 

No 8,  Gillygate, York, 
'I've looked high and low for the elusive Nilly Hall!'
' I know her!' 
she dropped like a bombshell into the conversation.
Peeling myself from the linoleum...
(well glasses of wine had been 'drunk')
'Wot?'
I replied in my very best Estuary English...
(Kentish maid... Dartford born and bred... me!)
My gob had never been more smacked.

I ought to explain...
Had a 'orrible feeling you would!
My new found friend is Jean*
ebayer extraordinaire
who I met eons ago, 
when I bought the most wondrous
carpet bag. 

A carpet bag Aladdin would have  
been pleased to carry, business class of course.
 I have never been disappointed by my purchases from jbugsy1, 
her generosity knows no bounds.

Knowing I was coming up to York, I sneakily 
bought some fabric from her.
' Don't send it!'  I airily replied.
'Save money on the postage, I'll meet you in York!'
No guesses whose gob was smacked this time!

' Oh shit!'  
reverberated all the way from Leeds to Kent.
She had no escape, poor lass.

Nilly, my advice to you is... hope I never find you!

* Jean lives in Leeds; don't be put off by her listings having 'from Turkey' on them.  

There is obviously a glitch in ebay's system.

Errr... I've just hit the link and no blooming mention of 'From Turkey'.  The glitch is obviously in my system... no surprise there LL!

Brace yourself folks...

I can feel one coming on...

unfortunately...
please can you wait until inspiration strikes.
It is Friday night after all and 
 anytime now, I will be looking strangely like this.
Minus the fags naturally.

Watch this space.

Toodle Pip!

***

As I said to my friend, only the other day....

'Use it as pot-pourri in the loo,

for those times,

 when you have a particularly fragrant poo!'

She had arrived at a girly luncheon I was giving,

armed with a carrier bag of goodies she had

been conned into coughing up 60 quid for, in an Egyptian souk.

  In fear of having their throats cut, they decided to cough up money, as opposed

to clunking big fat globules of blood.  

Thinking that, as I used to cook for a living,

I'm the world expert on all things culinary...

I would know!?!

Now I pride myself on being an expert on eating,

not the same thing though is it?

Peering into the Lidl carrier bag,

I could instantly see that, not to put too finer point of it...

they had been had!

'A friend said the bag of saffron is worth

hundreds of pounds!'

And indeed it would, if it hadn't been...

a particularly fine variety of, 
what I must say, did vaguely resemble

saffron... 
Old shag tobacco more like.

'Look lassie you've been conned,
shagged even, however I think the
£60 is a small sum for the enjoyment you will
get from recounting the tale in the years to come!'

'And another thing...
as you depart from the loo give the
pot pourri a goodly stir, 
and bask in the glow of all the money you will save on
those fancy air fresheners that go poof at each and every movement!'

Last night was a mixed bag of emotions as,
dressed to kill, thrill even, in
liberty bodice, big pink bloomers, biker boots
many and various layers I plied my final wares up at the church.

Looking for all the world like Del boy's ageing assistant
I manned my 'Poundstand'  
'Everything must Go' crafting swan song.
Our village had a Christmas Late Opening night,
crafting and carols in the church, washed down with mulled punch.
The shops spilling out onto the pavements, hot dogs aplenty.
Even the chemist selling 'Dr.Hauschka...
gathered by a virgin in the morning dew' was doing a roaring trade.
All was good in the world in the highest village in Kent.

Today I feel strangely...
FREE! 


Where and what to do next that's the big question?

In the meantime I'm off up to York,
bearing gifts, meeting up with pals old and new,
drinking, laughing, reminiscing...
All's good in my world.

***

As I sat sewing at the feet of the great and the good...

I got to thinking...

How is it in life some folk...

have it and some don't?

I wake most mornings with a head full of 

magical works of art...

only to find on getting settled in the studio...

my riffling and jiggery-pokering of bits of material...

make...

not to put too finer point on it...

 a mess.

As regular readers of my blog will know,

I commissioned the wondrous 

Viv

to make a picture of my

Di card.

Which because she had made it,

 I would feel happy to put on the wall.

My drawers are full of 

Royal memorabilia

which I am too modest,

to display.

'NEVER!' 

I hear you cry!

Viv has made a lovely Viv-type

extravaganza, which she left me...

Yes that's right...

ME to finish off.

This is it...

I don't know whether to

laugh or cry?

Hope I've done Viv proud.

Fleet of foot...

I walked out into the biting wind.

Poppy pinned to my chest,

proudly I went.

Looking for all the world like,

Miss Candy of Saturday morning pictures...

remember them?

Tray of poppies clapped to my heaving breast,

down the hill into the teeth of a

cold, cold day.

I was the new girl;

all the crusty old codgers like Ted who knew the 

ropes, had their rounds well established.

I was given two roads on the council estate.

Excitement coursed through my veins...

in an old-girly way, I thought I was brave going into battle!

Let's face it times are hard and most folk have so little money.

The first house I went to,

 brambles caught on my coat as I approached the front door.

Sleeping beauty I idly wondered?

Weaving through the greenery I managed to

get knuckle to door.  A discombobulated voice was heard to say...

"!...***...+++""""?>>>>>!"

Which I took to be, go to the back door?

Where I was met by a younger than me, guy

 I'd seen many times before. 

He'd obviously seen my approach and had two pounds in his hand.

Down the hill feeling love for my fellow man I floated.

I turned into the estate full of heart-felt hope.

The next house the door opened a crack

and a whiskered chin said she had already bought her poppy!

The next house a lovely lady came down the side of the house saying

'Don't get too close I've got a tummy bug!'

Putting a pound into the tin she scurried back into the warm.

Warmth and kindness was my welcome at all houses.

At 1.30 p.m. it started to sleety rain, so I bobbed up the alley

back home for lunch.

On arrival Ted and I compared the weight of our tins,

mine by a mile was heavier.

Earlier in the week we had had a skirmish on the sofa...

Oh yes LL... do we really need to know this?

Well, only in order to furnish you an accurate account of 

my poppy training initiation, 

(Oh and an idea of what a contrary monkey I am)

I think the tale must be told.

Sat cheek by jowl on the sofa, one evening I jumped up,

dived into the drawer and withdrew our stash of coppers.

Ted seeing where this was going said

'Stop!  Don't put the coppers into your tin!'

Well!  I'm afraid to say if someone, especially Hubs,

 tells me not to do anything AND explains the reason why...

In every fibre of my being I feel compelled to disobey.

It's only natural... 
isn't it?

'Why carry the coppers when you can put them in at the end...

think of your thumb Lin!'

Tears rolled down my face as I shoved each penny, groat,

and copper into my tin.

It was worth it for the rolling around, side-splitting laughter, plus 
the look of disgust on his visog

(like that word).

Any road taking the extra weight of my stolen stash out of the

equation, my tin was by far the weightier.

We compared notes, his, to all intents and purposes

wealthy clientele weren't so giving. 

Battling a desire to stay in the warm, out I went.

Folding money found its way into my tin that afternoon

and not only once!

At nearly the last house, through the door, I saw a shape jump

excitedly down the stairs.

I said as he opened the door

'Sorry it's only me; you look as if you're expecting someone exciting!'

He said 

'I've been watching you, from upstairs and it shouldn't be someone

...OLD 

out collecting on a day as cold as this!  It should be a young person!'

Well... I roared; to say it tickled me, would be the understatement.
Back-peddling for all he was worth,

he obviously realised that what he'd said, wasn't very diplomatic,

which made me laugh even more.

'Look, I'm a very straight-talking woman and if there's something I like, it's

someone who tells it like it is!'

He'd already bought his poppy at Sainsburys, although as we got chatting

 more and more money found its way into my tin.

Guilt quids are as well received as any other in my book.

Smiling and light in heart, feeling every year of my age, 

I puffed back up the hill.
Cold but content, happy to, in some small 
way, show my appreciation 
 for such a worthwhile cause.

Today, our 4th wedding anniversary
finds 't'old lass'  (Yorkshire expression) tucked up
in the warm
awaiting her celebratory flute of fizz.

***

Feet higher than my head...

legs over the side,

I settle ever deeper into the clutches of

the feather filled cushions of my bosom buddy...

the sofa.

With tum full of freshly baked scone,

I do what I always enjoy doing, on one particular

Sunday of the month...

I devour the

Observer Food Monthly.

I turn first to the comfort of a fellow 

happy eater...

Jay Rayner.

A kindred spirit if ever I saw one.

His slummocky lived-in looks appeal,
only in a culinary way you understand!
I love seeing folk who look as if they
enjoy their grub, don't you?

He talks this month about his lovely mother
Claire Rayner, who died two years ago.
I wrote on June 6, 2011 about going to a wonderful evening 
celebrating her life.
What a woman and still much missed.

'True luxury didn't need spin'
she said.
I couldn't agree more.

I often think the chefs are doing the theatrical bits
purely for their own gratification.
Sort of porridge porn...
'Let's see how far we can push the punters!'
Emperors and clothes come to mind.

On seeing 'lobster and chips' on the menu when being 
treated to dinner by Jay and his wife.
With a glint in her eye Claire said...
'Now that, is class!'

Son and mother tucked in.

Lovely memories Jay.

My culinary experience of the weekend
was the huge delight I gained from spying a giant mushroom
 (dinner plate size) magnificently gracing a grotty old piece of waste ground. 
Definitely on the wrong side of the track.
I lifted it... Oh so carefully, making sure I used my 
left hand, as in my right I carried the not very savoury
bag of doggy do.

Home we went dog and I,
me dreaming of the brunch I would prepare on our return.
Careful of course to...
wash my hands first!

One woman went to sew...

went to sew a meadow...

 a meadow of memories.

And here it is in all its...

 roughty-toughty* glory.

***

***

***

***

 Us blogging fruit gum chums...

get close, in a way men can only dream of.

I feel very real affection for the pals I have made in

bloggosphere...

LOVE even!

'Oh NO!  The daft tart's not falling in lurf again...

God help us if she's progressed from gay men to...

women!  

Is nothing sacred in this virtual reality world we all inhabit?'

Well to cut a short story long...

I've met a very talented lady

called Viv 

who I took an instant green-eyed

antipathy** to...
Well you would wouldn't you...
her being so talented an'all!
I'm not an only child for nuffink you know!

Viv has the 'honour' of being my very first
female blogging love.
Groans all round!
You can mock all you like!

Any road, poor Viv has had the misfortune to
cross my path more than once.
She's obviously not very nimble on her feet poor love!
Most folk see me coming and bob off down a
dark alley to avoid the full-on,
headlights, main beam, steam train, full throttle,
Larger than life - Lindy Lou.

Out of the blue Viv got a missive from me to ask her to
make a work of art out of the above card. 

One can only guess at her dismay?
Being so artistical, she must have groaned BIG TIME.
Unlike me she doesn't seem to have the
'On yer bike!' gene.
Many times after talks on my life, people would come up and ask me if I still cook, 
i.e. me cooking for the Royals, thinking they would book me,
to come along and do an 'odd'
dinner party or two.
My reply was always the same...
'On yer bike!!!'
It didn't matter who they were,
 titled or otherwise, that was ALWAYS my reply.
It's funny but I seem to have a superb 
command of the English language?

Isn't it just the most amazing wondrous work of art?

I get to finish it, which for me

feels like I'm walking in the footsteps of giants.

*  Roughty-toughty - 
is good in my book - just love it!

**  Antipathy - 
"Sympathy constitutes friendship; but in love there is a sort of antipathy,
or opposing passion.  Each strives to be the other and both together make up one whole."
Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

A fly on the wall of...

my weekend.

Friday found my heart broken, strop levels soaring.

On arrival back from tai chi and the barbers,

Ted informed me that waiting to be snipped

(NOT that sort!)

he got to read the...

Daily Mail...

now, as if that wasn't bad enough...

Hang on...

s'pose...

The Daily Sport 

could have been worse?

He, in hushed voice informed me that my latest squeeze

(and I wouldn't mind, but he's not even GAY)

((my first deviation from the norm...

that'll teach me!!!))

has found a new love.

You'll never in a million years guess who...

Auntie Bessie...

Auntie Bessie?

Yes that one...

her of the cardboard Yorkshire puddings.

My culinary organical world has come crashing down

and as for my furtive lusting...

Well?

Keith, my card-carrying, cardigan wearing

idol of veg boxes (bet he even has soil under his nails) has sold out.

Ted said when I shot off a missive to Abel and Cole...

'Sold out sounds a bit harsh Lin!'

Edward, always the diplomat and peacemaker.

'That's exactly how I feel!' Strop replied.

Saturday morning found me much improved...  

I strode purposefully up the the 

WI Autumn Sale - 10 am

last Saturday I'd done the same...

problem... I was seven days too early...

Now I know queueing is de rigueur on these occasions 

however this was definitely taking the Michael.

I bought a three metre length of wonderful Sanderson

fabric for £2, a tray cloth and a bamboo vase thingy.

Buying raffle tickets I said...

'My only raffle prize was at the age of seven, when I won a 

hundred fags... that's how lucky I am!'

I then went to case a local Flea market, for flogging off my remaining

treasures.  I came away feeling a trifle flat.

Has the bubble burst I idly wondered as I shot home, 

breaking the sound barrier in my

scratch black Smart, complete with Smarty Pants sticker, 

fluffy dice, red noses and HUGE cow-catching poppy on the front.

Sarah Brightman eat your heart out!

Beaten you... so there!

Fish pie and Strictly evening...

Sad I know!

Sunday...

now you're talking...

All's good in the world.

Ted had limbo-danced at dawn out of the marital bed, 

in order not to awaken the slumbering giant.

He is off to a Fibonacci appreciation society meeting.
Fibonacci I said, not flaming Liberace!
Don't ask?

A quiet day was planned for Miss Tena and me...

Can you spot the raffle prize in the form of a magnificent 
basket of fruit?
Would I have preferred the invitation to the Ambassador's party
by way of Ferrero Rocher?
I'll leave you to decide!
Careful!

We went for a slow walk to the car park and back.

I then scooted up to the paper shop,
only buying one, as I had major plans for landscaping the pond.

Coffee at eleven

taken in the directors chair
surveying the work.

In for lunch, quick blog, 'Little Weed' like, back into the garden 
to enjoy the warm Autumn rays.

Roast Sirloin planned for dinner served with
 MY Yorkshire puddings...

Two eggs
4 oz plain flour
Milk 
Dash of cold water, in the form of tears!
Smoking hot fat...
Oven roof lifted.