Wednesday, 30 January 2013

Crumbs of the humble pie...

wedged sideways in my rose-bud moue 
issued forth at speed, as if
pebble dashing a wall.

On this very rare occasion, I didn't sweep in...
sidled more like.

Settling ever-so gently into my seat I said
'I owe you an apology!'
'Why?' he enquired from the pinnacle of his great learning.
'Well... I was rather rude last time we met.'
'Were you, what did you say?'
"I'm hardly going to repeat it am I, that would just compound it!'
'Go on!'
'Oh alright then...
I told you to wash your mouth out, not once but twice!'
'Oh yes, I remember it now!'
Settling comfortably into grovel-mode I said
'I'm sorry I didn't show the proper respect,
 that a man of your medical experience deserves!'
Thinking all the while, the fact is, you look young enough
for me to dangle on my knee.
Alright, I know that's got nothing to do with the price of cheese in Woolworths...
but still.

The shrinking violet tablet began to wear off and the old LL returned.

'Is there anything else you can do to alleviate the pain?
My doctor says I've just got to poke up with it!'

 'An operation if it gets much worse', the pain will go,
however it won't be the thumb it was!
I don't want to give you another steroid injection because over time they
destroy the cartilage.
Pain killers and anti-inflammatory pills are the way forward!'
'Look, I just don't want to take tablets!'
A more measured response this time than last, you'll agree?
That's the end of this thumb story...
at least for the time being.

The thing is I can type, and that's about the only thing I can do
without causing it to throb.
Crafting's loss is blogging's gain...

'You having a frigging larff LL?'


On reading in the paper, hedgehogs are in danger of becoming extinct,
I thought as we live off the road and have a jungly garden,
 complete with a huge ancient hedge.  I will offer home to
waifs and strays of a prickly kind.
Onto the phone I go to offer 5* accommodation.
Well, you'd have thought I was a hedgehog fancier of the worse kind.
Very sniffy she was.
'Do you have hedgehogs?'
'We did see hedgehogs asleep in the hedge a couple of years ago.
 The dog last summer would stand and stare with gently wagging tail
at what I thought was a slumbering hedgehog.'
'That's not enough,  we have to have evidence that they are actually there!
You will definitely know by their droppings and the snuffling noises they make!'
'At this time of year, surely not?'
My question hung in the air...
A humpf was her non-verbal reply.
'Ask the neighbours!' she said as she put down the phone.

As I replaced the receiver I thought
CRC checks for hedgehog adoptive parents now is it?

Humpf, double humpf!

Prickly is what I felt!

Monday, 28 January 2013

Things I love...

and things I don't.

I love dogs
I don't love cats... cos
I love birds more.

I love sprouts
I hate kale.

I love having brilliant eyesight
I hate being deaf...
Everyone, nearly everyone, cracks the same 'funny'...

I love having the strength of character...
not to hit them.
I hate the fact that they feel they can get away with saying it.

I love starter and a main
I don't like main and a pud.

I love cheese
I don't like chocolate...

I love outspoken people
I hate folk that never say what they mean.

I love to laugh
I love to cry
I hate to mope.

I love slummocky people
who don't give a fig.
I don't like helmet lacquered hair.

I love curves
I hate the meanness of angles,
pared to the bone.

I love to laze
I hate the guilt that attends.

I love my broad mind
I hate my broad feet.

I love thinking I've got hidden talent
I hate not being able to frigging find it!

I love  salad... yes I really do,
I love stodge
I hate being tubby.

I love being laid-back
I hate not being more dynamic.

I love looking gamine with short hair

Audrey Hepburn - I wish!

I hate looking like I've plugged myself into the mains when I get up. 

I love having nothing to do
I hate having nothing to do!

I love a clean house
I hate doing it.

I love to think myself a wit
I hate folk meeting me and finding...
I'm anything but!

I love having a social conscience
I hate what human beings do
to each other and the planet.

Sunday, 27 January 2013

My guide to...

the social niceties of life...
or how not to be thought a dork.

1.  Never ever say serviette -
napkin... don't you know.

2.   Always say lavatory,
never, toilet, loo - maybe, bog - no,
carsey - never.

3.  Lounge - forever marks you down as 
working class.
Whereas - Drawing Room shouts middle-class
(with aspirations) 

4.  Never eat your peas off a knife, or lick it; although...
I have seen Mathew Fort lick his on
Great British Menu...
so perhaps that means it's okay?
And I bet Boris does! 

5.  While we're (well, me actually) on the subject...
for goodness sake learn to wield your eating irons in the British way.

6.  Never eat junk food or ready meals...
and before you crack on about how dear food is...
ever heard of pulses...
cheap AND nutritious?

7.  Please pronounce schedule
as shed-dule never sked-dule...
do you forever want to be thought American?

8.  Never swear...
'Sod it!' is as far, in polite conversation you can go.
(Note to self... must remember this!)

9.   To be thought real 'top-drawer' always use a tea-pot,
never a 'brew in a mug'.

10.  When taking tea at the Connaught, never stir the tea in the pot...
let it gently infuse.

11.  Fish knives and forks are old hat...
you heard it first here folks!

12.  Always serve Vinaigrette, never say, nor yet serve
'Mayo'.  Salad Cream is beyond the pale.

13.  Leave barbequeing to men who wear orange singlets.

14.  Whatever you do, don't serve the cheese course
before the sweet...
it's pretentious,
 and folks might...
 perish the thought, think...
 you're pro EU.

15.  Never give house-room to a tray with a
bag of beads clapped on its back...
Your bum will be forever welded to the sofa
if you do.

16.  Only ever kiss on one cheek,
kissing on both cheeks leave to the French.

17.  Don't listen to a word I say.

The only thing to do with good advice is pass it on. It is never any use to oneself.



Saturday, 26 January 2013

Rapunzel-like I...

(alright, alright I know I haven't got long blonde hair...
use your imagination will you?)
stick my nose out from under the duvet.
Sniff, sniff
(no I haven't got a cold)
What's that funny smell?
All up through my tiny 'Runpunzel Towers' cottage...
Up, up, up it goes...
through the kitchen, the winter room, 
the cyber eyrie...
up, up, up the steep, steep stairs to the boudoir.
"What is that smell?"
Old ladies knickers and wee?
Could be!
Tom cat's calling card?
No, the fragrance is far too sweet.
Lemsip on the rocks?
Far too avant garde.
Got it... Lemon Drizzle cake!
No, too homely.
'What then?'

one of my many fav flowers.

I just adore it.

Knock, knock!
Who's there?
The postman with the sweetest little
box addressed to me.
In January, a pressie, I ask you...
'Wot is the world coming to?'
'Make yourself a cup of coffee, sit down and enjoy!'
says Mike our lovely postie.
I bustle around tidying up and trying not to look, nor yet imagine 
what delight awaits at coffee time.
The cottage is quiet, Ted's out,
Lettice is asleep in bed.
The aroma of a cafeterie full to pussy's bow, fills the air.
Excitement crackles,
expectation peaks,
fingers tremble,
scissors snip...
through the brown paper and beyond...
to the last frontiers.
Capt Kirk* couldn't have travelled as far.

Out of the box this little beauty hopped
made by my WDIL
(translation - Wicked-daughter-in-law)
{family in-joke}

Tit or sparrow who cares...
Mitten found deep in the snow...
100% cashmere, don't you know!

One of the advantages of being a Captain is being able to ask for advice without necessarily having to take it. 
-- Kirk in 'Dagger of the Mind'

Friday, 25 January 2013

Slathering the butter on to the toast...

this morning, I got to thinking...
Why is it that six months into this fasting
regime, my weight has stayed exactly, yes
exactly the same?

We have been fasting since the Horizon programme
was aired back in August.
every Tuesday and Thursday we fast...
Me... nothing until dinner
(I ought to say dinner is now so early, it could be called 
tea .. 5 pm)
Ted... 1 slice of dry toast and Marmite for brekkie
then the long hungry haul until 5.

The weight has dropped off himself,
leaving me podging on the shelf of self pity.

Alright, alright, I know I must be doing something wrong!
Could it be the intravenous pork pie I wonder?

Lardy legs me, does have penchant for all things FAT!
As far as I know butter, my especial fav. isn't an addictive substance...
is it?

I just thank my lucky stars fags never had me in a thrall.

This morning I started the day off by rushing across to the studio
to see if, wonder of wonders the scales were taking a break.
Off came the many and various, I quivered with anticipation,
the scales quivered with excitation.

Not 00000% of a frigging pound was lost.
Hence me having two slices of heavily anointed bread this morning
instead of the usual smug one. 

Flopping on the sofa, rationing myself to a tiny, tiny sliver of 
'Bring up the Bodies'

(see, I can do it, just not with food!)
I so don't want to finish it anytime soon.
A line popped out...
describing Anne in the Tower...
'one of those tired old experts in innuendo.'
That's me...
Why LL?
S'pose, it's because I want to entertain and make people smile?

However, after an anonymous comment yesterday,
don't get me wrong, all seeming innocent, 
offering to help with the lay-out of my blog and suggesting a link to their
web page?

Suddenly I thought, am I giving off the wrong messages here?
My stories are all true, however I do over-egg the pudding
a tad... I am a flaming cook after all!

Fibs are clearly marked as such!

Looking back I've discovered more of the same on other posts.  
Reluctantly I've stopped anonymous comments.

Sad really, because I am such an advocate of free speech.

In future I will, I will be more circumspect.

If you were a betting person...

wonder what odds you'd give on how long it'll last?


Thursday, 24 January 2013

Thrice daily I wind the clock...


When the hands aren't even old enough to tell the time.
(That's a stonking big fib...
the clock has been in my life for as long as I can remember!)
Perhaps it's because the mighty miller's hands have lost
their feel for the job...
they've gone all floppy.
Don't ask me why hoisting up the chain on the clock
resonates with me on a primeval level?
A cynics one word reply might be... 


Transporting me back to my near recent past, when
on a cycling trip from Belgium to Holland we passed a working windmill.
Always one for a skive, I suggested we have a look.
In we went, to be met by this wonderful
huge, huger, humongerest
miller you ever did see.
Muscles rippling he showed us his equipment,
his grinding stones held me in a thrall.
Trying hard not to dribble, I endeavoured to separate the wheat from the 
chaff in my blood fuelled brain...
Questions, that's what will prolong the tour.
On and on I went , not knowing I had such an innate interest in the process.

Climbing back on the bike in a state of heightened excitement,
Ted kindly enquired
'You okay Lin, you look a bit shaky?'
'Cycling at my age is just no good for a girl!'
I replied as I climbed back on me bike.

Wednesday, 23 January 2013

As I pulled my jumper sleeve over...

my hand in order to clean the washing line...
I got to thinking
'Why am I such a lazy toe-rag?'

I had padded through the snow to open the greenhouse
and get the pegs out ready to hang some washing on the line.
Instead of going in to get a cloth I thought I'll do it with my jumper...
Words escape even me!

In my defence the jumper was brown!

Hanging the washing out, I got lost in thoughts of
many moons ago
(this is what happens when you get old- you live in the past)
when first married...
(well married for the first time, there is a difference)
I had visions of me dry mopping the floor.
In those days you had carpet surrounded with lino,
fitted carpets were in the future.

Chatting away to my mum as I worked; I was surprised to see her mouth fall open,
distress writ large across her face.

'What?'  I cried.

'Whatever are you doing Linda?'

Turning to close the understairs cupboard,
mop still in hand; I scratched my head in bafflement, with the other free hand.

'I've no idea what you're on about Mum?'

Spluttering she said
'I've seen some things in my time, but I never thought I'd see a daughter of mine,
shake the dust off the mop into a cupboard!'

As my mouth opened and closed, looking for all the world like a 
goldfish in a bowl I thought...
Perhaps it's not the time to tell her I have been known to hoover the sheets!?!

Tuesday, 22 January 2013

I've had it from on high...

well it would be, being I live
in the highest village in Kent.

'Don't have any tattoos or body piercings!'
The doctor said as I swept out of her surgery.
Well, I ask you?
Would you even consider it, with wrinkles enough to make a winkle weep?

Four months ago I had a mole removed,
nothing nasty thankfully.
The scar became itchy and red, even after the liberal applications 
of lotions, portions and spells, it still sat with attitude on my chest. 

'You'd better go Lin, it can't be right after all this time!'
Biddable as I always am, I did as I was told.
Plus with snow thick on the ground, I didn't have better fish to fry.
Slipping and sliding, clad in biker boots and crampons, up the hill I went;
thinking if I fall over and break my neck at least I'm heading to a safe haven.

One look at my once majestic (not anymore due to slippage) decolletage

she said just one word...
I visibly brightened, pleased at having something that sounded
a bit different... 
My parting shot...
'A face lift's obviously out of the question?'
'Look Linda, for as long as I've known you, you still look as young as you did then!'
Needless to say I floated down the hill on a cloud of 'wind pain' smiles... 
smug vanity some might opinion...
They'd be right.

This reminds me of the night spent lost on the 
Black Cuillin in Skye...

Keep up!

It's because once again, my chest features large in the story.
Back in the day, when I was fit, there was nothing I liked better than hill-walking.
On a holiday to Skye, my then husband and I decided to see
Loch Caruisk, deep in the Cuillin mountains.

We set off, well prepared, or so we thought...
food, torches, emergency blankets etc.
It was October, the days were shortening, our confidence was lengthening:
we are invincible...
on we went without fear.
The light ever-so slowly started to fade.
'It's alright we've got our torches, we can follow the cairns to find our way down!'
Torch batteries in pre LED days didn't last long.
We stumbled about in the dark, not knowing where we were going.
Hearing the sea crashing below decided us, that the best course
of action was to pull back from the sound of the sea and hunker down.
Huddled together under our tin foil blanket...
looking for all the world like turkeys ready for the off:
 the sound of rutting deer punctuated our night.
Frigging cold it was too. 
Richter scale shivering was the order of the long, freezing night.

As dawn broke, cold, weary and our bodies covered with ticks, we
thankfully stumbled off the hill.

We'd survived!

Driving through Edinburgh home, we stopped at traffic lights. 
Navigator with nothing better to do,
I peered at the healing bites on my chest...
only to spy one solitarty tick, happily sat
filling his boots at 'Bosom Blood Brasserie'.
 Feeling eyes boring into me...
'What is she doing?' they seem to say?

Winding the window down I said...
'Look mate, its okay, I'm only looking at me tick!'
The lights changed and we roared off.
We left him, searching for his gear stick,
wonder in his eyes...
'Did she really say tit?'

Monday, 21 January 2013

You know times is hard when...

you buy six sausages, and you make them last for two meals
i.e. sausage casserole Saturday night
(3 for him, two for me)
sausage soup made from the left-overs for  Sunday luncheon
(half the remaining sausage sliced into each bowl)

You use stone-ground organic bread wrappers
for picking up the dog poo.
(saving money on the flowery fragrant doggy-do bags)

You only order half a case of Bolly instead of the regular order of one (fib!)

You pretend you're saving trees, by not sending cards
(let's face it the email ones, just don't cut the mustard)

You make brawn instead of buying foie gras
(two fibs-
1.  I've only made it once, 
2.  I'd never buy foie gras)

You decide that, after you've filled half a land fill site with plastic
bottles, perhaps tap has a lot going for it after all!

You make the Sunday dinner organic, free-range,
lived a happy life 'til the old chip-chop chicken
last a week in one guise or another.

You never look at the travel sections of the papers

You look at horses in a whole new light!?!

Cancel your gym membership... isn't that a cult
following a man with a large todger?
The only muscles exercised are your lust muscles

Cheap cider holds you in a thrall

You learn to play the hurdy-gurdy
so passers by can show their appreciation

You re-ignite your relationship with the cobbler
and with the wooden mushroom languishing in the back of the drawer.

You let your subscription to fancy magazines lapse
(in the case of 'Country Living' especially, 
every cotton-picking feature now is flogging

You forego Lettice's line of lottery numbers... what?... 
Yes I'm afraid you heard right...
sad I know!
Now it's going up to two quid
(what a con!)
So I'll only do one line...
 the numbers I dreamt; that are forever engraved on my
soul... that's how strong the dream was.

Post a daily blog, it keeps you off the streets,
well that is until you've finally got a masters
in begging.