I blog therefore I am...

A snapshot of our day...
Ted's out leaving two bitches in charge...
Lettice and Lindy Lou.

All in the old homestead is shrew slumberingly quiet.

The tennis is on, the sound is off.
The sun is out, the sun is in...

grey clouds gather like geese at a wake.

The great British weather at its best

On the way back from taking Hubs to the station I called in to

Waitrose for home-alone treats for little Cinderella (her) and ugly sister (me)

Organic bickies for Cinders,

Bubbles* and Wotsits for Drizella

aka as Grizella

cos that's what she does, if her demands aren't met.

Feeling sorry for myself I bought a bunch of pom pom pink

peonies, the size of candy floss on a stick 

The major decision now is one of timing...

Should I down a flute or two now (4 pm-ish) leaving lots of hours

for the bod to process the alcohol;

before I roar off in my Mercedes (alright, it's the souped up 600cc sort;

more commonly known as Smart with scratch black go-faster body work)

to scoop up the remains of the man about town?

Or the preferred option to be on the safe side -

have the bubbles in the form of water.

Tricky I know!

When Ted gets home we'll endeavour to look crest fallen and down.

Tummies grumbling through lack of sustenance.

Conveniently forgetting to tell him of the 

Greek salad luncheon

Organic muffins spread with local honey for tea

A little light supper of

Crab salad with new potatoes breast stroking through

a becalmed butter sea.

'How's the diet been today darling?'

I'll smile winsomely!

*  Cava these days due to the economic climate and helping out our mate George

    (Ossie to his friends.)

Prone perusing a Penguin...

I got to thinking...

I've done exactly the right thing to hang up my crafting

aspirations.

Retire, relax, recline.

A few bloggy posts ago I flirted with the idea of flogging off 

my craft paraphernalia and spending the money on other 

far, far, far more talented folk.

Call me Charles Saatchi of the 

crafting fraternity...

Er... unfortunately without the mega millions. 

Anyway to cut a long intro short...

'That'll be the day!'

I hear you cry. 

Here is my first buy...

roll of drums and a peal of the newly minted 
Royal Jubilee bells please for

Yes, very nice LL...
what exactly is it?

On closer inspection...
Two of the most 
deliciously dyed, faded and frayed linen corsages
made by...
Jayne Hewison
of 
My Gorgeous Angel Pie

Even the flaming packaging was up to the eyeballs artistical!

Methinks I made the right decision to spend my money
more wisely on people who have real talent,
and not kid myself I can count myself one of their numbers.
Cos I aint!


With bot in the air I delve ever deeper into the crafty
cavernous cupboard...
I know I put the 
Laughing Cavalier tapestry kit
in here somewhere!?! 

Thoughts from a broad....

with the tubbiest tummy,

the chunkiest thighs,

the widest feet, 

the cumbersomesque calves,

big, bigger, biggest breasts, 

Gee!  Yes G!

and the hugest hands...

I get blessed

with the smallest ear canal?

Wot?

Yes!

Of all the trials of ageing, the one I hate the most is

becoming increasingly deaf.

The wrinkles, the sagging, the stretch marks,

my prickly chin I can cope with.

The deafness I can't!

At a party last night we were talking to an old police colleague

of Ted's.  Who was saying the only regret of his career was losing his hearing due to being

close to a bomb blast.  I had already noticed he had a hearing aid deep in his ear.

Questioning him in the manner a detective would be proud,

I managed to ascertain (police speak) that he had been to the self same guy I had!

Drat!  The bloke who had decreed my canals were too flaming small.

Call me vain I don't care, and in part I think you'd be right.

However as much as the pop singers seem to enjoy sporting a big pink 

ear piece thingy.  Count me out!

At lip reading classes, I sit, an unwilling pupil if ever there was one.

'Look I don't want to do exercises without voice and make and watch others make lip shapes!'

' I just want to fast forward to being able to see what folk are saying

on the balcony of Buck House or sat watching tennis at Wimbledon.'

It's not a lot to ask after all!  Is it?

Bit like, if ever I wanted to learn to play the piano,

I wouldn't want to practice scales or the like.

I'd just want to be able to sit down and play the odd concerto or two.

Obvious!

In the meantime on my special Leo birthday

Wish List I have...

An ear trumpet.

Yes, you heard right!

I kid you not, I would be happier sporting one than

a flaming 

DEAF AID!

Happy Days


***

   

With a crest-fallen frown...

and paws playing a snatch of

die fledermaus, 

the house-mouse said to the old woman

'the time has come!'

'It's a week since I ate the last of your delicious

chilli jam.'

From the back of the cupboard she retrieved some

vintage jam sugar left over from the war.

Thai chillis, (always bought when reduced to a few pence)

that hung disconsolate, ageing, dried, unloved and wrinkly.

red pepper, red onion, red wine vinegar.

A thumb-size piece of fresh ginger,

garlic cloves,

fish sauce,

mushroom ketchup.

The whole lot, seeds and all,

minus obviously the stalks,

were whizzed and cooked

in her favourite

Thermomix.

The mouse could hardly contain his glee...

'Tonight for supper I will have...

mature English cheddar with chilli jam for tea...

He-he!'

***

  

'What can I do next for badness?'

is a refrain that is often heard reverberating around the ole homestead.

Reasons why I'm a handful...

1.  I'm an only child, never EVER spoilt

2.  I have a high pain threashold (what's that got to do with the price of cheese  in Woolworths?) and wait for it...

a low boredom threshold

3.  Excitement courses through my veins,

and without a some madcap scheme to keep me occupied the

inevitable words 

'I'm bored' 

escape from my rosebud lips. 

4.  My head is always full of ideas,

some of the more notable ones... 

Hampers in the Highlands

Living a self sufficient life on the NW coast,

I came up with the idea of supplying hampers

stuffed with home-made delights

to the folk in holiday cottages.

In the eighties certainly not heard of...

Well perhaps Fortnum and Mason's.

Trouble was I was too tired with spinning, knitting, milking, cheese making,

bee keeping, peat digging, veg growing - you get the picture! 

On the farm in the Vale of York...

Worm farming, ice cream making,

101 uses of cow muck...

brickettes for burning,

a fragrant fire you'll agree

bricks for building,

you've heard of wattle and daub

and so on.

A high point was my idea to open a 

Wholefood Transport caff

Selling absolutely NO CHIPS!

Eggs in the form of egg white omelettes,veggie burgers,

served with a myriad of salads

Bulgar wheat, quinoa, cous cous 

Beans of all sorts, colours and hues...

Wind by any other name

Seeds, to make the truckers bounce with health 

Wholemeal bread, buns and baps.

Cakes, of the healthy kind. 

Flapjacks, with only a passing nod to their first cousin - 

the breeze block.

Decaff tea served in bone china mugs

Peppermint, feverfew, chamomile and Roos

Decaff coffee passed through the cleansing waters

of a melting glacier.

A gym to ease their tired bodies,

Shelf upon shelf of mind enhancing books

The broadsheets, no red top here.

A diary of drop-in self improvement events

Pilates, tai chi, zumba, yoga

Massage upon request...

a quick rub down with a damp FT to

invigorate mind and aching bod.

My son Aaron on being told of my cunning plan

pored scorn on the idea.

I'd like to say from a great height, although that would be a

slight exageration, due to him rolling around on the floor holding his sides.

Is it any wonder, that I'm hugely misunderstood?

***

My wildflower garden...

tamed...

a little!

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A lovely pottering day.

***

Ted's hot date with...

Miss Tena...

Inspector Clouseau like he left the house...
'There is a time to laugh and a time not to laugh, and this is not one of them'


moustache stuck on with Pritt On & Off pads,
toupee with Sellotape Sticky Fixers.
Collar turned up, being ever vigilant not to blow his cover, he furtively climbed into his 
camouflaged Nissan Micra.
Roaring past our local chemist, he drove at speeds not in excess of twenty three mph.
This was a covert mission after all! 


My words of 
'Order them from Jag at our local pharmacy'
falling on deaf ears.
The wig was muffling all sound.


Parking under a tree in the gloomiest corner of the car park,
off he hopped.
Hopped?  He'd caught his foot in the hem of his 
Aquascrotum trench coat
bought three sizes too big at his local Oxfam shop.


Furtively he sidled up to the young assistant in  
our local town's Timothy Whites.
'Psst... out of the corner of his mouth he whispered
'Tips'
Tena Incontinence Pads to the uninitiated.
'Not for me you understand, nor yet the wife...
the dog!'


The deal was done; out he came carrying the single bed size carrier bag,
flushed with the success of a mission accomplished.


We will all sleep easy tonight, especially Lettice.




Disclaimer - I did clear it with him this morning sat up in bed
His reply...
'It'll be more interesting than your philosophical ones!'

I yearn... Oh how I yearn...

for a pantry...

yes a proper walk-in pantry...

you know, a get the whole bod in sort; with slabs of marble
for the chilled food, shelves of bottled fruit, 
salted runner beans, jams, pickles and the like.
Hooks to hang ham, 
bread crocks the size of a man,
tins of spam.


***
for bosoms the size of newly -laid eggs
gently sizzling in a pan


***


to know what I know now, without the face of
Underground map lines


***


to 'Chill Man! 
without the worry of... 
what is to come for future generations


***


to be a little more circumspect, 
instead of flying in feet first


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not to be judgemental
'Judge not, lest ye be judged judgmental'
Florence King


***


to learn to listen, and sometimes 
 read between the lines


***


to eat marmalade and orange drizzle cake 
without fear 

recipe upon request

 Lettice and I are enjoying our Saturday
home alone without Hubs...  
who PC Plod-like... 
 directs the village fete traffic.


Before you wonder, I swanned up and bought two books,
rich really, considering, 
he tottered up with a coffin sized box of books for them to sell.
And a naff but 'wonderbar' storage jar.


The very, very worst bit was...
on the way back I found myself in our lovely
'Village Life' shop 
were I bought myself a shirt and beautiful linen jacket.
Which hubs naturally doesn't know about yet...
Nudge, nose tap, wink!


A little snapshot of our bucolic
life in deepest ~Kent


***

Keith, you are to...

organicals...

what Grayson is to frocks...

and pots...

Fridays find me looking forward with great anticipation
to my Abel & Cole veg. box.


I just don't get it, how can you supply such fantastically fresh
vegetables at such a reasonable price?
Yesterday in what 'used to be' my favourite supermarket 
I looked at three organic leeks for £4.99, 
yes... £4.99!


Is it any wonder that organicals have got such a bad name?


Folk crack on about not being able to afford to buy, and at that price
I'm not so sure the Duke of Westminser could run to it either.


The other good thing I think about you is...
that you don't screw the farmers.
Hope I'm right?
I'm sure I am!
(never one to hide my light under a bushel, me!)


If you can do it, why can't the huge supermarkets?
Does it all come down to money, profit and the
'I'm alright Jack' mentality of so many people today?
Got a horrible feeling it does!

***

Open letter to...

Dear Mr Perry,

I wonder if you can help me?

I've watched and thoroughly enjoyed your first two programmes,

All In The Best Possible Taste.

The third, on last night I've recorded, reason being I can fast forward through the adverts. Plus being slightly deaf I can rewind to hear any nuggets I missed the first time.

The problem which I hope you can help me with is this...

I think I've ridden the snake and slid down the class system.

Quite how, I've no idea.  Most folk surely would endeavour to climb the ladder?

Don't get me wrong I'm not unhappy about this, far from it!

Let me tell you a little about myself...

On my mother's side, her father Herbert came South in the depression in the Thirties

to find work.  He bought a house in Wilmington which is a village on the outskirts of Dartford.  This in itself is a mystery.  How did he get the money together, with a wife and four children to support? Hard work and saving I suppose.

My dad's father was the manager of a bank also in Dartford.  The family lived in a farmhouse on Dartford Heath.

Dad was sent to private Grammar school, Auntie 'Margarine' to the local convent.

On leaving school, Marjorie trained as a short-hand typist.  Dad was apprenticed in a local firm as a toolmaker.  His colleagues in the tool room pulled his leg about him going to work in a Harris Tweed jacket with shirt, collar and tie and beautifully ironed trousers.

In his tea break, he would sit and read Dickens.  Imagine that!

He became a fully paid up member of the Union.   Around the dining table the conversation would get heated with dad expounding the virtues of his trade union beliefs to his Tory voting parents.

Their house, a large Victorian semi, was beautiful with a rocking horse in the hall,

I had an old china faced doll and a wonderful teddy, the loss of which I mourn to this day.  

My grandfather was truly eccentric, riding a motorbike, wearing a Gannex mac and beret.  They had a Jowett Javelin car.

In his spare time he was a wood carver; happy memories for me of going to see him working on his latest carving in his shed; kittens playing in the wood shavings.

Terribly middle class would you say?

As a child we went on holiday to France and also a cruise.

A cruise in the Fifties!

Now we get to the nub of the matter... me!  I've always been large, lary and LOUD.

Do I enunciate in finest Estuary English, I wonder?

The worst swear word I ever heard my father say was  'Sod it!'  

More than can be said for me.

I've drifted through life with ne'er a care, messing about at school always the class clown.

Jobs have come and gone, far too many and various to mention.

I have artistic leanings, unfortunately not accompanied with any degree of talent.

My bete noire has always been snobbery in all its forms.

Is this I wonder because all through my life, folk have found me hard to pigeon hole?

Latterly I've given talks on my exploits.  One snooty group of the WI thought my 

talks were hard to believe and my language wasn't to their liking.

I said bloody five times in relation to a conversation I had with another.

I wouldn't mind, however if I'd told it like it really was, they would never, in a million years have believed me.  Why would I give a talk and then lie?   I'm not a politician. 


Where do I go from here, will I finish up with snake-skin slough in the gutter?


On a happier note, I love the frocks.  If I send you me vitals, will you run one up for me?


Yours,


Linda.