No... this isn't my invitation for tomorrow - however...

I have cooked for HRH on many occasions, 

which I would obviously love to share with you - 

Common-sense and decorum 

(both of which you know I have in spade-loads?)

says no LL!

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My sofa seat has been booked for tomorrow, 

where I will watch with a mind full of memories.

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I shall raise a glass of champagne and wish them all happiness. 

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Feel more like old man Steptoe than...

anything else at the moment.

All I'm short of is the blooming 'orse.

Can't move a muscle for long-forgotten treasures.

All action-stations getting ready for our first

Kitsch and Stitch Fair

I really had no idea, just how much squirrelled away old rubbish I actually had!

Trouble is, a lot of it I can remember it the first time round.

Looking forward to seeing you all there.

Good Friday morn in Kent...

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Think of me at night when sleep is near

And I who loved you, am so far away

Think of me then and I will come to you

Nor leave you till the night turns into day

Stretch out thy hand and through the depths of dark

Another hand, shall brush your finger tips

And as of old my voice shall breathe your name

And press a kiss upon your sleeping lips.

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S.O.S. I need some help...

I've sorted out all the treasures I've acquired over the years and I've just realised I haven't got the foggiest idea how to price them?

Where do I start...

I washed an eiderdown that I thought I could take, I then read Sophie's blog Fading grace re. her love of eiderdowns and guess what...
I don't think I can part with it.


And ANYWAY how much would I charge for it?


The same with a rag rug, that has been languishing in the attic... 
and so on and so forth...
Dah dee dah, dee dah,  
talk amongst yourselves, while I try and get to grips with this addition to not letting go.
I'm only pleased I never smoked; it's been blooming hard giving up my dairy obsession, it was only my butter-ball bum that clinched it.  If you know what I mean?

So that's the state of play...


Pathetic I know, I need some serious counselling, anyone up to the job?

I don't know what to do for the best...

do I part with all the treasures acquired over the many and various chapters of my life?

At this point I ought to remind you that I DON'T DO SHARING.  I squirrel, I hoard, I fondle, I imbibe the fusty scent of old artifacts and fabric.  I pour over photo's of yore with a teary eye, I rearrange things to make my comfort zone more comfy.  Time slips by; where did the day go?  Filled with that guilty, I've been very naughty, lush feeling, I carefully stash my secrets back, being careful to look over my shoulder in case any one is peeping.

With the Kitsch and Stitch extravaganza fast approaching I really must get to grips.

The sack barrow I bought on ebay years ago, (when I was wanting hessian fabric?) looking for all the world like it carted off the body from the Orient Express!  Is that a contender?  Trouble is, Hubs had enough trouble getting it from some far-flung part of the UK.  The weight my dear you wouldn't believe!  And that's just the wheels.

The endless eiderdowns (before you get too excited) they're manky.  We don't need loft insulation, we just roll out the eiders, if it's good enough for ducks...

Early Pyrex - the next big thing.  

Remind me one day to tell you a funny story re. this most humble of dishes.  

The ingredients are:- a Royal house, a very grand butler and a very jaunty little glass dish with absolutely no ideas above its station.

In the Winter room (my snug) I need a shoe horn to navigate my way to the window; the boxes await with the demeanor of prisoners on death row.  
'Will it be me?' they quakingly quiver.  
'She's obviously feeling better, she has that wicked gleam in her eye - 

Noooo!'

I'm having withdrawal symptoms...

from blogging.

I've been proper poorly and just haven't felt like doing a thing. 

So much to do and so little time.

'Kitsch and Stitch' is just three weeks away!

Exciting or wot?

Do come we'd love to see you all.

Can I bear to part with so many treasures I wonder?

On that happy note I'll wish you all a very good night!

Languishing under a powder-puff pink pagoda...

full of cold and feeling sorry for myself, I got to thinking, of the advantages us baby-boomers have.

After a happy, hippy haze of peace, free love and "Good shit man!

We knuckled down to work, we've been prudent, well some of us have!  Arriving  where we are today in good health, looking a helluva lot better for our age than our parents and grandparents.

In our adolescence we weren't worried by looking botox beautiful, being rich and film star famous was totally unattainable for us mere mortals then.
Life seemed more fun somehow and a lot simpler. 


Go on say it...
"LL's obviously got her rose-tinted specs on!"
And yes I probably have, my only hope is, that the young of today look back on now with the same fond memories.


I wonder if they will? 

Make love not war!

Men I'm in love with...

I've just left a comment on Mrs T's blog 
(see sidebar because I can't be bothered to type again her http thingy - I've already tried 26 times and I must be missing something?  Not the best at this techie stuff. Tempted to put in here come back Royal Mail, but that'd get her even more tetchy!) 
And it got me thinking about all the men I have the hots for.  All in the best possible taste you understand.


1.  Alan Bennett 
he will NEVER be knocked off the top spot.

The next names are in random order
Mike our postie
Johnnie Depp
He who shall have to be nameless?
Our vicar although I rarely darken his door
Jamie Oliver for what he's trying to achieve
Hubs because he adores me even though I'm a complete arse
Rock Hudson in the Doris Day films; as a child I just thought he was the most handsome man in the world
Nigel Slater
Dylan Thomas for Under Milkwood
Thomas Hardy
Our neighbour Ken (hope Margaret doesn't read this)


Now I've sat down to type my endless list - I've dried up!


It'll have to be work in progress...

Mothers of the world unite...

With or without (children) let's celebrate our sex

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Be proud, be strong, be brave

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Look in the mirror and love what you see.

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'I have often wished I had time to cultivate modesty...

But I am too busy thinking about myself'

Dame Edith Sitwell

Isn't she just wonderful?

Another superb photograph of her 

What must she have thought gazing on such beauty?

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Good Oh, a rainy Thursday (my free stay at home day)

and what do I do?

I waste blooming time blogging that's what!

So much to do, so little time...

Tra la la la la

Off out to walk the dog then studio bound.

Must settle to work, must settle, MUST!

The old girl's chilled today because...

 look what our lovely postie Mike delivered today...

isn't it just beautiful?

Not sure I want to tell you where I got it from because,

I'm an only child and I definitely DON'T DO SHARING!

However on this one occasion I will, it was from Julie from the Cloth Shed.
All my grumps from yesterday just dissolved when I opened the parcel.
Retail therapy is the panacea to all ills I find!


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After we got back from walking the dog at sparrow-fart.  I decided to tidy the studio,and this time carried it through.  I'd indulged myself yesterday by tackling the veg plot, so I had run out of feeble excuses.
What a lovely time I've had; I've found lots more bumpf on Masterchef so more instalments will be along shortly.  I've just re-read that sentence and decided I sound a real boring old lass.  Anyway I have to keep reminding myself I'm doing this for me.  In the attic last week you wouldn't believe the diaries I've got going back to the year dot.  Which reminds me I will one day tell you the story of wee Dot in the Highlands who I met doing the census in 1981.  She was the Highland's answer to Nell Gwyn, only she wasn't selling oranges, nor yet tangerines, more like prunes.  Anyway I've gone off at a tangent.


This is my Monday make:-
Alright I know it's not on a par with my crafting idol - Viv @ hens teeth 
but hey-ho a cat can look at a king or queen in this case.

Who will buy my sweet red heart?

My Sunday was going so well...

walking the dog, weeding (alright I know that's sad!) chilling with a glass of wine and the Sunday papers, UNTIL..... DRUM ROLL...

Hubs drew my attention to this article in the Sunday Times...

I have been on the donor register for as long as I  can remember and 
in true me tradition have said 


"Take every last bit of bone, flab and gristle."  


If it helps my fellow man then I'm content my life hasn't been in vein!?!

I don't think I'm being mean spirited by feeling incensed by this article.  Or am I?

I thought I was being altruistic. 


Hang on a mo, suddenly my bits are worth something in this world of me, me, ME GREED.  And this ME, aint happy.


What do I do?


I know what I want to do.


Tell them to go stuff their organs right up where the sun don't shine.


What do you think?


Help me!


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"So I could see it at my leisure
Whenever things go wrong
And I would keep it as a treasure
To last my whole life long


Who  WILL BUY?"


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My tears were washed away by chlorinated water...

as I bobbed up and down in the pool determined to rid myself of the lifebuoy that seems to have taken up residence around my girth. 

I couldn't get out of my mind the love letter I had discovered in the attic yesterday.

Sent in October 1911 from my grandfather (the wood carving bank manager mentioned in an earlier post) 

to my grandmother

on the eve of their wedding.

The sentiments and extremely proper passion contained in the letter sorely tugged at my heart-strings.

The book of poems by Tennyson explains without a word being spoken, of my father's love of poetry, mine too. 
  

The ground was being prepared, the seed was being sown and here we are 100 (yes one hundred) years later reaping the rewards.
And me their only hoodlum grandaughter at 63 going on 13 has to beg the question...

Seeing me now...
"Would they have thought it worth it?"

xxxx

The one question everyone asked me was...

What's Loyd Grossman really like?

He is a lovely guy, very knowledgable about food and a genuinely good egg.

So many people came up to me after my talk and said 

'We love the programme, don't like Loyd though!'

I always used to say in television you only get on, if you're universally liked or loathed.    

I'll leave you to decide which category he fitted into?

Probably the mid Atlantic drawl irritated and made viewers wish he was exactly there!

Take it from me - One of life's cheeky chappies.


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Meanwhile back at home on my little red fergie

scraping the aforementioned brown stuff.  
I got to thinking...
"Wow I've done it!  I've actually been chosen!"


From a luke-warm starting position I really wanted to WIN.
My time doing mindless tasks around the farm gave me ample opportunity to mull over recipes.  Test drive them on friends and generally lose myself from the daily grind.


The biggest shock in the sheaf of instructions was, that this series of programmes watched over the course of thirteen weeks, is actually filmed in TWO weeks.  One programme in the morning and one in the afternoon.  And for this reason beforehand you must submit all rounds' menus, in the unlikely event (in my case I thought!) that you get through to the final.
British food with an interesting twist, no faffing, just good ingredients prepared and cooked with love.
The wheels turned, my mind whirled, the shit swirled and all was well down on the farm.