Hay and other fevers

Our brush with DOOOOOOOM* seems to have passed fairly quickly, compared to some people. I still have no sense of taste and very little sense of smell, and we are both still far more exhausted and achy than usual - even at our advanced ages.

Despite this, or maybe because of it, I am trying to get stuff done every day so that I can at least feel like I am being reasonably productive. Admittedly, sometimes that stuff consists of "an hour doing my jigsaw puzzle" but hey, it's SOMETHING.  

Whilst in the throes of plague I wasn't able to concentrate or focus, so anything creative was out. I have a couple of embroidery projects on the go (one has been "on the go" for at least 5 years) but lacked either the eye-focus or inclination to make any progress. I have a couple of new dressmaking projects in mind, and it's only been this weekend that I've given any real consideration to starting them.

Today I have baked a loaf of bread, and had a go at making gnocchi for the first time, using leftover baked potatoes I made a couple of days ago. The gnocchi had a splendid texture, and I am reliably informed that they tasted of "mostly potato." Result. 

I boiled them for 3 minutes, then pan-fried them in sage butter till crispy on the outside. Served piping hot with grated parmesan cheese and (because we're BEASTS) tomato ketchup. I am quietly confident that if Stanley Tucci made my house a destination on one of his TV shows, he would not be disappointed by the food. 

Appalled by the leering middle-aged woman serving it to him, possibly. 

It was Mr WithaY's birthday yesterday, and we had been invited to lunch with some of the lovely neighbours. The sun shone, we sat outside and drank the finest wines known to humanity (I couldn't taste them, so it was a waste of fine-ness) and had a truly memorable meal.

I took along a coffee and walnut birthday cake for dessert, and some jaunty unicorn and rainbow candles, which were all eventually lit at the same time - it was breezy in the garden. 

When it was time to go, I boxed up the remains of the cake (I did check with the gracious hostess if that was ok) and took it out into the garden. 

As we were saying our farewells, the boxed cake was left on a low wall. Within reach, it turned out, of at least one of the resident black Labradors.

 It seems dogs like cake. Who knew?

Anyhoo, we had a slice of it today (not from the dog-nibbled side) and it was still delicious. Apparently. 

All I could smell/taste was a faint whiff of coffee.  The texture was good though.

I'll be glad when my senses are back to normal, and I can actually enjoy food again. And no, I'm not getting thinner as a result of not being able to taste anything, which is annoying.

Today is a Bank Holiday, although I suppose every Monday could be viewed as a holiday from now on. 

I'm starting to half-heartedly look at job websites, but haven't seen anything I fancy yet. I definitely don't want a full-time job, and I don't fancy working at weekends, so my options are limited. 

I might just become a lady of leisure, and swan about wearing a big hat and a flowery frock all day. Or become a village busybody, in the style of Miss Marple, delving into everyone's business, whilst solving murders and drinking tea with locals of note.

Early days.  

*Covid. It was shite. 

Glorious victory. And inglorious ailments.

Hello, happy 2015 etcetera etcetera etcetera.  To be fair, I have very little clue what day it is, never mind what year.  This is down to the usual Christmas/New Year bewilderment that happens every year, but also because this year, for a change, we all got really ill over the holidays.

I don't know why I refer to them as "the holidays," given that Mr WithaY and I no longer work a standard Monday to Friday pattern.  Every day we're not working could be described as a "holiday."

Anyhoo. We had all kinds of plans for Christmas, all sorts of parties and events we were planning on going to, or hosting.  Day trips, even.

Mr WithaY and I went to the Bath Christmas market, where we bought gee-gaws and trinkets and trumpery*.  These included:

• A wooden trivet made of slices of wood all set in some sort of resin, which looks like an arty photograph.  I love it.  

• Some beautifully soft grey and blue lambswool fingerless mittens which I wear almost constantly outside, 

• A stained glass Christmas tree decoration from a very young, very silent, Belarusian nun.  

• A wreath made from dried apples, oranges, cinnamon sticks and (I think) Scotch Bonnet chillies, which now hangs in the front porch.  

We shopped for food, we made sure there was Champagne for Christmas Day, we moved furniture to ensure the tree would fit in the sitting room.  The decorations went up, the house looked festive, we were ready.

Things started well with several members of the extended family arriving for the weekend before Christmas, much jollity and dog-walking, and a tremendous curry where we all sat at a great big long table and ate a vast selection of lovely food.  The remainder of the family arrived the next day and there was more hilarity, dog-walking, exchanging of gifts and a buffet.  We do like a buffet in our family.  Mostly because you can have three slices of ham if you want to, AND a sausage roll AND some celery AND a bit of cheese.

The majority of the family went to their respective homes again, leaving just Mr WithaY and I, and my lovely Mum here for the Christmas period.  The first few days were perfect. We went out a bit, drank lots of tea, ate lots of delicious home-made food, watched some Christmas TV, and looked forward to the Big Day.  I went to work on Christmas Eve, Mr WithaY and Mum stayed in and watched a DVD together.

By the time I finished work at 6pm, I was feeling very odd.  Dizzy. Hot and cold.  Headachy.  I got home, and the others were feeling much the same.  And that, dear readers, was that.  We all went down with the flu as if felled by hammers, and for the next three or four days hardly moved.

Mr WithaY and I, whilst feeling dreadful, were able to eat a little, and even make cups of tea and so on, but poor Mum just got worse and worse, to the point where she ended up staying with us for an extra week, and was then only taken home on New Years Day to go straight into hospital. Thankfully, after a week of top-notch care, she has returned home and seems to be much better. but it was a horrible time for all of us.

Mr WithaY and I have both been left with horrible racking coughs, and intermittent high temperatures, but we are both much better than we were.  I have no energy, and even walking the dog around the village, or pushing a shopping trolley round the supermarket leaves me shaking and exhausted, but hopefully in a few days that will pass too.

The good news is that I have lost a stone, for the first time ever over Christmas, and am definitely less podgy than I was.  A few days of eating normally will probably put paid to that, but it's nice to begin a New Year feeling like I am already on the right track.

 Other news:  Prior to the Great Flu Outbreak, I was the proud winner of this:

The Stonehenge volunteers had their Christmas party, and held a Great British Bake-Off competition, where people were invited to submit cakes for JUDGEMENT.


I made this, a coffee cake with home-made apricot jam in the middle, and butterscotch chocolate ganache icing. Mr WithaY added the Neolithic deer drawing:

And it won!  I assumed, when Mr WithaY came into the pub to tell me (I was at the work Christmas meal, so wasn't at the Stonehenge event, clashing dates, sadly) that there had only been one or two entries, and we'd all won a cup.

Oh, but no.  No.

There were apparently about 30 entries, and the judges did it all very seriously, tasting everything and making their decision very carefully.

AND I WON!

Hurrah!  Here's the glorious cup in situ, dominating the room:

I am hoping I get to keep it forever, rather than having to return it next year.   That reminds me, I must add it to our insurance.

So.  The flu.  A quiet and very worrying Christmas.  A lingering annoying cough.  No other news.

Here's a lovely picture of the dog that my Middle Sis took on one of our family walks.  I really, really like it.  It shows you exactly what a friendly, sweet-natured girl she is.  And the dog is nice too.

Here's to a good New Year, and that nobody gets the flu again.


Oh, and once again there was no Dinotopia on TV.  Outrageous.









*you have to talk like that in Bath. It's the LAW.

Ear slugs

It seems as though winter has remembered what it's supposed to be doing, and we have had a much colder couple of days over the weekend.  Heavy frost, even.  Alright for me, I was snug at home with an abundant supply of tea, cake and duvets.  Mr WithaY, on the other hand, was living in the woods for a week, sleeping in a hand-made bender for at least one night.

Not, as I hoped, a wooden facsimile of the wise-cracking Futurama star, but a rude shelter crafted from sticks and tarpaulins.  Apparently it was "bloody cold" and a slug fell in his ear.  He said he removed it "immediately" which was a relief.

Ah, life in the wild.  I'm glad I'm only BY the woods, and not actually attempting to live in them.

Ah, slugs.

Years ago, when I was living in my teeny little student house in Winchester, Mr WithaY used to come and visit at weekends.  One night, one chilly damp night, I asked him to fetch me a glass of water from the kitchen.  The kitchen was downstairs, and it got visited by slugs.  I had stuffed all the cracks and ingress holes I could find with paper to try and keep them out.  I had put salt on the floor to stop them coming in. I had even, on the advice of a probably mental friend, put garlic on the floor to offend the slimy bastards.

Nothing worked, and most mornings I came downstairs to find slug trails all over the place...on the floor, up the walls, on the windows...it was revolting.

This particular night, Mr WithaY scampered downstairs to fetch the glass of water (he was young and in love, so was eager to please) and I heard an anguished cry of "Oh God NOOOOOOOO!"

I knew exactly what he'd trodden on with his bare feet.

I've been busy while he's been away, which has been very pleasant.  I hadn't realised quite how easy it could be to become isolated when you don't go out to work, and a few days of bad weather can make it very miserable.  Luckily for me, there are some fab people living in the village who don't mind me popping in to drink their tea and eat their biscuits every now and again.

Apart from socialising, I have been sewing.  And knitting.  And baking.  I made a chocolate cake as I had a mate coming over for tea one day, and it worked rather excellently, though I say so myself.  It's a cake with no flour in it, so it is potentially very mousse-y if you undercook it, but even if you do that, it's lovely.  It's made with dark chocolate and butter melted together, and sugar, eggs and vanilla, whisked up till it's huge and fluffy, all mixed together, then baked in the oven.  Nom nom nom.

I might make some more this week.

I've also been pruning things in the garden.  Roses, the crabapple tree and the flowering trees at the side of house  have all been chopped up tidily to within an inch of their lives.  Hopefully they'll all revive in time for the Spring.  We've already got a crocus in flower in the lawn, which is ridiculously early, and the snowdrops in sheltered corners are in flower.

Business developments are creeping along, but I'd rather we get everything sorted out now than discover in 3 months time that we didn't make the right decision, and have to start again.

Decorated

Christmas is almost here!  I'm excited, which is nice.  The last couple of years have been slightly odd.  Two years ago we barely celebrated at all, what with all the SSFH* crap that we had to deal with, and last year we both had heavy colds and chest infections, but this year (so far) we are both hale and hearty, and looking forward to the festive season.

I've been very busy Making Things, which has been both productive and enjoyable.  I have made (in no particular order):

1)  About a gallon of Christmas spiced cranberry and port preserve, containing cranberries, oranges, apples, sugar and port.  And spices. Nom nom nom.

2)  A beautiful rose out of wired parcel ribbon, which I just made up as I went along, and was very pleased with.  In a gesture of largesse, I gave it to one of Mr WithaY's mates who had popped in quickly for something one evening.  He took it graciously, if bemusedly, and said he'll put it in his Landrover.  So that was nice.

3)  A huge and delicious fruit salad, containing cherries, pineapple, grapes, blueberries, mandarins, peaches, lychees and figs.  It was splendid, though I say so myself.

The fruit salad was to take to my lovely Mum's house, as we had the tradtional pre-Christmas family gathering last weekend.

London Niece's birthday is around this time of year, so we all met up to celebrate that, and to exchange Christmas presents and cards, and to see each other before the holidays really got under way.   It was lovely, if noisy, everyone was looking well** and looking forward to Christmas.  We ate and drank and pulled crackers and popped party poppers, and had birthday cake.

The cake was interesting.

As we didn't have the required number of small candles (16), there was a blinding display of ingenuity, and this was the result:

Thirteen, plus two, plus one.  A maths lesson AND a cake.

Previous birthday cake entertainment involving candles can be found here.

4)  The manga-stylee frock, which was London Niece's birthday present.  Readers, though I say so myself, it turned out rather well.

  

I had suggested that the best way to create it was if a top of the correct size was bought, sent to me, and I would make the skirt to match.  Which is what I did.  In the picture I was sent, the character has more decoration on the front of the top, but I left that off, as the top already had sequins all over the front, and adding anything else might have looked a bit weird.

Anyhoo, London Niece was very pleased.

The amount of swearing involved in making those ruffles though....gah.  It would have made a sailor blush.

Other news:  My car is broken again.  It's the same problem it had a few weeks ago - when you put your foot down there's a dramatic loss of acceleration, and the Engine Warning light comes on.

I took it to a local garage who ran a diagnostic check (£58 thank you very much) and returned it to me with the diagnosis "There's something wrong with the turbo.  Or maybe the electrics.  You should take it back to the Toyota garage"

Thanks.

I took it back to the Toyota garage last Friday morning.  I rang the Toyota garage yesterday (Monday) morning to ask if they had any idea when I could have my car back.

They said they'd have a chat with the chaps in the workshop and ring me later.  At ten to five that night they rang.

They hadn't found the problem, but it's something to do with the turbo.  Probably.  Did I want to come and collect my car?

I declined, on the grounds that if it was still broken there wasn't much point me driving all the way back here, then taking it all the way back there again in a day or two.

Gah.

In other, more cheerful, news, we have put our Christmas tree up and it looks lovely.  This is the top half.

Our decorations include the Christmas Lobster.  He has a teeny sprig of holly in one claw.

There's also the Christmas Hunter, complete with hound and dead deer.

And the Christmas Lobster Pots.

And the more traditional glass reindeer.

Awww.







*Shit Storm From Hades, now thankfully very much behind us.

**Except poor Youngest Sis - hope your back is feeling better!

Bootiful

It's the middle of August, supposedly the height of summer.  We've got all the lights on in the house in the middle of the afternoon; it looks like November outside.  The rain hasn't stopped lashing down all day. Apparently there has been flash flooding in Dorset.

Ahhh, English weather.

Last weekend things were different.

Mr WithaY and I had a long-planned few days away to see some friends in East Anglia.  Remember Tall Richard, who took me to dinner at the RAF Club?  Yeah you do.  It was a visit to see he and his lovely family.  We've known them since before they had children, and now look at us.  Their eldest is halfway through his time at University now, which makes me feel older than I like.  I commented to Tall Richard that his son is now the same age I was when I first met him.  That made us look faintly appalled for a moment. 

Age-related trauma aside, it was a lovely weekend.  We went to look around Thetford - sadly most of it was closed - but we wandered through the hill fort, supposedly the highest in the country.  I'm not sure if it really is, or if it just seems that way to the people who live there, Norfolk being so notoriously flat and all. 

On Sunday they took us for a look at the north Norfolk coast, which was very scenic.  Flat, though.  At one point we were driving along the coast road and realised that the sea was actually higher up than we were, thanks to the dykes.  Not something I am used to.

However, low-lying land fears and all, we had a very pleasant day.  A stroll on the causeway to look at the view, a fine pub lunch featuring crabs, then a wander round some art galleries, followed by a little walk around the town to look at the interesting architecture. 

Lots of the towns and villages in Norfolk and Suffolk have these signs. Not all of them say "Blakeney" though.

There were people swimming, which I thought was rather ambitious.  Rather more people were catching crabs off the quayside. 

It really was a beautiful day.  And there is an awful lot of sky up in that neck of the woods.  Not many woods, though.

I did like the buildings made of flint, particularly the white-painted ones.  Very pretty.

Worryingly, we saw metal signs in the walls of one house showing where the last lot of flood waters had risen to.  It would have left only the very top of Tall Richard's head out of the water.  We measured.

Other news:  Today I made a chocolate and courgette cake.  Nom nom nom.

Finding my way

Well hello strangers.  It's been a while, hasn't it? 

Not because nothing of note has happened, either.  No, it's been more of a "not getting round to sitting down and writing" thing.  Also known as either "laziness" or "procrastination."  I prefer the latter.  It sounds as though I was busy doing other, more useful, stuff instead of writing. 

A mate suggested recently that once I finish work I'll be much happier, and will have more things to blog about.  I am actually wondering if I am already happier (in fact, I know that I am) and therefore my ranting and whining on here is less of a necessary vent, so happens less often.

What have I been up to?  You may well ask. 

This week has been a week of new things, in part.  A while ago, a mate asked me if I could help her out with a party she was catering, which sounded like fun.  I took the day off work, and agreed to meet her at the party venue.  Bear in mind that the party venue was in a small town/large village about 12 miles from where I live.  I had been asked to be there for 11am, so allowing for traffic (tractors, flocks of sheep in the road, pheasants dive bombing the car etc) I planned that by leaving home at 1030 I'd be there in plenty of time.

Come the day, come the hour.  I was ready to go by 1000 so thought "I'll get there early, it'll be fine."

That's me.  Punctual.  Well-prepared.  Willing.

Except - and it's a big except - in the map department.  I had checked the route on Google Maps the night before, so was confident that I knew how to get there.  I am aware that everyone who knows me in real life is by now slapping their forehead in despair, knowing all too well what is coming next.

Google maps did their best, I have no word of blame for them. 

West Wiltshire roads and signposts department, on the other hand...  Fuckers.

I have prepared a helpful visual aid to accompany this story.

Timeline:

1010 - leave house, spirits high, sun shining.  Set off along road through village, turn down smaller road and then immediately experience twinge of self-doubt.  Continue along road, certain that a signpost will soon tell me whether or not I am on the right road. 

1020 - no signposts.  No junctions.  No indicators of any kind that I am n the right road.  No helpful passers-by, or indeed any other traffic.  Wonder briefly if there has been a huge natural disaster in the night and I am the only person left alive for hundreds of miles*.  Try not to panic about this.

1030 - only junction seen so far was to a dead end with an "unsuitable for motor vehicles" sign.  And a ford.  Decide not to go down that road.  Still fairly relaxed that I have plenty of time to get to the party venue by 1100.

1035 - see a junction signposted to the Village of the Damned.  Recognise the name, and decide to take the turning, determined that I am on the wrong road, and need to take an alternative direction.

1040 - drive drive drive.  No traffic, nothing.  No signposts.  Enter the village of the damned, take the (wrong) turn at the only junction, continue along the endless road to nowhere.  Fuck.  Am now lost.  And likely to be late.

1050 - arrive mysteriously on a busy dual carriageway with signposts to many places, none of them where I need to be.  Head back towards Longleat, swearing copiously and fluently.  Am definitely going to be late.

1055 - Ooh Longleat.  Consider throwing myself to the lions, but decide to wait until after the party.

1110 - arrive at the party venue town, and then realise I am unable to find the actual venue location.  Stop in the middle of the street and hail the postman, who is very helpful and kind.  Abandon the car in nearby car park and walk the rest of the way.

1115 - arrive to help at party, only 15 minutes late.  Hurrah.  Am given glass of Champagne and a pinny.  Things are looking up.

The party was a 4 course meal for 60 people, to celebrate an 80th birthday.  It went very well, the food was praised, the atmosphere was lovely, and we more or less stuck to the timetable. 

Look how nice it all was:

The only slight glitch was the dishwasher.  It failed dramatically on first use, pissing water all over the kitchen floor, and we ended up having to wash everything by hand.

Aching back, dishpan hands and wet feet aside, it was great fun.

Plus we got to have some cake...

I was KNACKERED when I got home though.  I can't remember the last time I spent a day actually doing physical stuff, rather than just dicking about on computers. 

One of the highlights of the party for me was being introduced to a lovely German chap, who, when he shook my hand, did that heel-clicky thing.  Excellent.

Other news:  Yesterday I went to Bath to meet a friend, and spent a few hours very agreeably wandering the shops.  I found another lion. Remember the Elvis lion? Yeah you do.

I spotted a mini version of the same shape, different colouration, in a cafe where we had a cup of tea and a nice sit-down. 

Also took my phone to the Apple store there, to get it looked at by a professional.  It's been playing up lately, failing to shut down, or to restart, or to backup when I synch it with the PC. Not every time, just often enough to be a pain in the arse. 

The verdict of the Apple Genius I spoke to, after 20 minutes of careful examination and cross-questioning?

"Yeah...it's broken.  You need another one."

Well, glad I brought it in to you, Dr Obvious.  You've saved the day.

Gah.

Oh - if you are looking for gift ideas for someone you dislike, perhaps an irritating colleague, or an unloved family member, I recommend this:

It's an alarm clock that plays birdsong, or so it claims.  But look at it.  LOOK AT IT.  I bet you anything that when the alarm goes off, there's a sinister red light in that eye slit, running back and forth.  It looks like a cross between Darth Vader and the Iron Chicken.

I'd never sleep again, with that mere inches from my head all night long.

It comes in several colour variations.

Flesh pink, to match the colour of your vulnerable, sleeping body as it bides its time and waits. 

Or bright red, the colour of blood.  BLOOD.

Brrr.








*I often wonder this.  I have a whole contingency plan ready for when that day comes. 

Running Free

An interesting few days, recently.  To summarise:

1)  Work.  I have submitted an application for early release from my job as part of the HUGE cuts to the public sector that the Government is implementing.  If my application is accepted, I will, on May 31st this year, leave Her Majesty's employ after twenty two and a half years, and be released back into the wild.   I am tremendously excited at the prospect. 

I joined the Department of Secrecy a few months after I graduated, having taken the Civil Service entrance exam the week after my finals, and then worked like a SLAVE for them for twenty years. Twenty.  Jesus. 

Two years ago, as regular longstanding readers will already know, I transferred to the Department of Less Secrecy and More Cement up in London, to see what working in a Whitehall job was like. 

I can report that it's busy, demanding, interesting and sometimes a bit scary.  Plus you see Ministers in the lifts, and there are some fab shops really close to the office.   

However, the last two years have, coincidentally, been crammed with some very bad stuff, including the (now-resolved) SSFH.  We also had Mr WithaY's horrible finger-lopping accident, several loved ones being very ill indeed, and me having the Black Lung on and off for what felt like the entire time. 

Dealing with all of that, as well as a 3 hour each-way commute to the office is proving to be just too much, and as a result my sick record for the last 2 years is appalling.  I honestly think the early mornings and hellish travelling will kill me, so it's time for a change.  This is the perfect opportunity.

Fingers crossed that I get gently coaxed out of the cage in May, and am set free to scamper into the woods, wagging my tail and sniffing at the warm Spring air.

I have no idea what I will do with my life when I stop being a corporate drone, by the way. 

Suggestions are welcome.

2)  Family.  Mother in law WithaY was here for a visit last weekend.  She had to go to a funeral, sadly, so was over from her chic pad in the South of France for a few days.  It was nice to see her, as we don't get to visit as often as we'd like.  She was bored after a few hours, and took to wandering into the kitchen while I was making dinner, demanding some ironing to do.  I ordered her back to the sofa with a cup of tea, but it was a close-run thing.  At one point I thought I might have to use a broom to shoo her away. 

Yesterday I went down to Sussex to visit my lovely Mum, and also saw Youngest Sis and the two younger nephews.  We all went out for a Chinese lunch, to the same place we went to for the big birthday celebration almost a year ago.  There was a flyer on the table advertising a forthcoming Chinese New Year evening there, which included a Lion Dance among the cabaret attractions.  It's not a very big restaurant.  I'd love to see how they manage it in the space available. 

3)  Birthday celebrations.  Yes, today is my birthday.  Again. 

Following the slight gift-giving hiccup on Christmas Day, Mr WithaY has gone to a lot of trouble to make today very special for me.  He told me yesterday evening that he had invited some of our friends over for "birthday tea" this afternoon.  I asked what I needed to bake.  I was told "You don't have to do anything.  It's all organised."  And it was.  He had bought the ingredients to make:

Smoked salmon and cream cheese sandwiches
Marmite and watercress sandwiches
Scones with strawberry jam and clotted cream
Hot buttered crumpets

But the piece de resistance was the cake.  A huge, chocolate, fuck-off, surprise birthday cake.

Look...

I was so impressed by this that I had to deploy my shiny cake stand for the scones.  Magnificent, no?

I also had a bunch of beautiful flowers that a friend* gave me last weekend, which had opened up for today.  Perfect timing.

And, hey, is that a CAKE there in the foreground?

The little house behind the flowers was a birthday gift from Mother in law WithaY.  It's a bumble bee house, and when the weather gets warmer I will find a sunny sheltered spot in the garden, put it out there, and hopefully attract bumble bees to nest in it.  She was puzzled when she found out that I was given an annual membership to the Bumble Bee Conservation Trust last year as a gift, but was keen to join in I think, hence the house. 

And tomorrow night I am visiting Middle Sister, who has hinted there may be baklava.  Wonder how things will go at the weigh-in this week.  Heh. 

Other news:  I met a nice elderly lady on the bus last week who was wearing a huge, gorgeous fur coat and hat.

Me:  That coat looks lovely and warm.

Nice elderly lady:  Yes.  I've been to a funeral down in Brighton all afternoon, and it was freezing cold, so it was the perfect thing to wear. 

Me:  I can imagine.  And it's such a lovely colour.  Do people ever comment on it?

Nice elderly lady:  Yes, I have had people tell me I shouldn't wear fur.  I tell them it's not real. 

Me:  Ha!  Do they believe you?

Nice elderly lady:  Well, it isn't real.  It's not WILD mink. 

She was a card. 

*Hello Sarah!



Sweet

Mr WithaY is back, safe and sound, thankfully.  He is still exhausted after two weeks of late nights and early mornings, but is very glad to be home.  Of course, the weather has taken a turn for the worse, as it's a Bank Holiday weekend, but other than a bit of gardening we had no real plans.  There is the possibility of a trip to Salisbury to see Iron man 2 tomorrow, but we'll see how we both feel.

I have developed a hacking cough, which is nice.  Well, it must be almost three months since my last chest infection sort of almost cleared up, so I am obviously due another one.  Gah.

The Black Lung tends to appear when I am stressed, I assume that my resistence is lower or something.  Whatever the reason, it is a mighty pain in the hole*. 

On his triumphant return yesterday, Mr WithaY and I decided to go out for dinner with some friends.  We went into town and tried out a pub which has fairly recently changed hands, and has a good reputation for food.  Well, all I can say is, it is a thoroughly well-deserved reputation. 

There were four of us, and we had three courses each, two bottles of wine (between us, not each) plus a round of drinks at the bar, and it came to about £30 a head.  The food was superb.

I had a starter of grilled goats cheese with caramelised pears, chutney and salad, which was utterly delicious.  My main course was a steak with perfect, handcut chips, mushrooms, home-made onion rings and a fondant tomato.  Nom nom nom.

But, the piece de resistance for me was the pudding.  Check this out:

It's a honey and lemon posset, with home-made shortbread.  Mr WithaY chose it, and it was fab.  This was mine:

Chocolate torte with a little sort of mini-tiramisu on the side.  Forgive the rather grainy pics, I took them on my phone in low light.

Other news:  Still (mostly) doing ok with the new eating regime.  Lost another 3 pounds last week, making a total of 13 pounds in 11 weeks.  I am happy with it.  Not sure how it'll be this week, after last night's meal, but hey.  It was worth it. 

*The lung hole

Upturn

I had a lovely, lovely day yesterday.  Which, frankly, I feel like I deserved after more than 6 weeks of a chest infection with added norovirus* which was making me feel like I was 100 years old and well past my sell-by date.  I still sound like I have a cold, apparently, and can't sing yet, which is a bugger, but otherwise I feel ok.  Hurrah.

So.  Birthday. 

Mr WithaY woke me early as he was off out for the morning, and presented me with some lovely gifts.  He got me a book of unpublished letters to the Telegraph, and a collection of Punch cartoons.  I used to buy Punch regularly when I was a student, and made a scrapbook of my favourite cartoons.  I wish I'd kept it.  I found a postcard of one of them recently, a group of men and one woman sat round a conference table, with the chairman saying "That's an excellent suggestion, Miss Triggs. Perhaps one of the men would like to make it."  I can remember going to meetings like that when I started working, hundreds of years ago in the 80s. 

He also got me some very posh toiletries which I look forward to trying out.  I shall smell all sophisticated and grown-up.  Marvellous.

I spent much of the morning baking, as we had arranged to have some mates round for dinner in the evening. 

I made:

A treacle tart with lemon pastry, which worked well.  I just sieved a tablespoon of icing sugar into the flour/fat mixture and used fresh lemon juice instead of ice water to mix it up.  I'd have taken a picture, but we ate it all last night.  And jolly good it was too. 

A quiche with all the leftover cheese lurking in the fridge.  Well, it's more of a cheese tart, really, although I sliced a fresh tomato on the top to try and assuage the vegetable gods. 

A cake.  Last weekend's cake was so nice that I thought I'd try to do it again.  Less celery, more sugar stars this time though.

It's slightly less tidy than the one I made last week, but as it's rather lovely home-made strawberry jam oozing out, I don't feel too bad about it. 

Mr WithaY came home mid-afternoon and prepared the main course of fillet of venison with duchesse potatoes and veg, which was jolly fine.  It was a very nice evening, and as the last dinner party we had ended for me at 9.30 when I went to bed feeling like death on a stick, it was particularly enjoyable.

I had three bouquets of flowers yesterday.  THREE.  I felt like a film star.

These are from my lovely Mum, and are on the sitting room table.  Those tulips are magnificent.

These are from Mr WithaY and are on the kitchen table.  The jonquils smell like Spring.

These are from some of our lovely mates and are on the little table next to the sofa in the sitting room.  The photo doesn't do the dark purple flowers justice.  I have no idea what they are.  Anemones maybe?

I love having flowers in the house.  I think I might have birthdays more often.  But without getting older, of course.

Other news:  While I was leaving father-in-law WithaY's nursing home the other evening, there was a truly splendid sunset going on.  I took some pictures on my phone, as I didn't have my camera with me.   I ought to keep it in my bag, really.

 

That dark shape to the lower right is the same urn I took a picture of the frosted cobweb on.  In case you're not keeping track. 

I completed my first "proper" week back at work for many weeks, and it was ok.  The journey feels like a marathon, but I am sure I'll soon get back into the swing of it, and of course the days are getting longer so there'll be more daylight as the weeks go on.  That helps.  Leaving the house at 6.30am is much more bearable when the sun is up and the birds are singing.  Birds that aren't bloody owls, I mean. 

The walks between Waterloo and the office were not as exhausting as I had been anticipating, and the exercise is certainly good for me.  Maybe all those supplements I'm taking are kicking in.  I certainly feel much more like myself than I have done for a long time.

Oh, we have had some fish fatalities.  One of the female gourami was floating upside-down and twitching last Sunday.  We left her there for a little while, and she stopped twitching, but the upside-down floating continued.  Flushed, I'm afraid.  

There was an outbreak of fish-eat-fish yesterday too, nasty little buggers.  Mr WithaY bought a few more shrimps, stripy blue and white ones this time, as the pink ones had all vanished.  As soon as the new shrimp were put in the tank, the pink ones emerged from wherever they had been lurking.  Bastards.

Anyhoo, I saw one of the new shrimp lying on one of the plant leaves, unmoving.  As I watched, he fell off and drifted down to the bottom of the tank, upside-down.  I'm no expert, but I was pretty sure he wasn't feeling well.  I made a mental note to tell Mr WithaY when he got home, and thought no more of it.  A couple of hours later, we went to check the situation.  The shrimp had vanished, and the cory were looking suspiciously innocent.

Later that same day, I spotted a couple of the tetra fighting over a lump of Something Pink.  It was a bit of one of the pink shrimp.  We looked, and sure enough, there was a little corpse at the back of the tank.  Mr WithaY fished it out and conducted an autopsy. 

We can confirm that the cause of death was not a gunshot  wound, other than that, no idea.   We had no luck gathering epithelials.  I understand from my extensive research** that they are useful in an investigation.

We're feeding them less, as the fish shop man advised, but I am a bit anxious that they'll just start eating each other.  Gah.

Oh, and we still haven't had our oil delivery.  Bloody useless Boilerjuice.  We'll not be using them again.  Over 2 weeks since we ordered it, and no sign.  Fuckers.  And we had snow again yesterday and this morning. 

*The doctor diagnosed me over the phone. Clearly he didn't want me and my filthy vomit-making germs anywhere near him.  A wise man. 

**watching CSI.  It looks pretty straighforward. 

Collections

All the cool kids did it ages ago, but in my own traditional "better late than never" stylee I have lumbered aboard the retreating bandwagon.

 

I joined Twitter.

 

If you want to check it out (and I have no idea if I have even set it up so anyone else can see my profile, or whatever it is, sorry), I am there as livesbythewoods.  Yay me. 

 

Look, here:  http://twitter.com/livesbythewoods

 

So far, I am stalking Simon Pegg.  Not because I have any particular reason to, but his was a name I recognised, so I clicked on it in desperation.  It's a bit like Freshers Week, where you latch onto people so you aren't the only one with no mates, and then spend the rest of the year shaking them off again. 

 

I will see how long it takes for the novelty to wear off.

 

What else have I been up to, other than finding more ways to waste my few remaining years online?

 

Yesterday Mr WithaY and I went to Salisbury, the first such visit since (I think) late October last year.  We picked up the jewellery that Goldsmith's have been repairing and restoring.  Mr WithaY had to have his wedding ring made bigger, as since his accident last year he can't get it onto what remains of his ring finger on his left hand.  (Dan, don't read that post again, you know it made you go wobbly last time.)

 

I had a gorgeous diamond ring in for renovation and resizing, that Father-in-law WithaY gave me last year.  It belonged to his mother, and is stunning.  And now it fits me, and is all clean and sparkly, and looks completely fantastic. 

 

I was hoping to have had it back in time to wear to the drinks parties and things we were invited to over the festive season, but it was not to be.  When I took it in (in October) they said it would take about 6 weeks.  Back in time for Christmas, in fact.  Excellent.  Mr WithaY got a phone call a couple of weeks later saying that his wedding ring was ready, and we decided to put off collecting it till my ring was done too.  Save an extra 25 mile drive to the Big City.  We're all about the environment in this house.*

 

I waited a few more weeks, Christmas came and went in a haze of coughing, antibiotics and terrifying breathing problems, and my ring was put to the back of the "things to think about" shelf in my head. 

 

A couple of weeks ago I rang the jeweller to ask when my ring would be ready, it having been with them for more than 8 weeks by then.

 

"Oh! We haven't sent it to the repairer yet," they told me.

 

I asked them why not, given that they had said it woild take 6 weeks to fix, and they'd already had a lot more than that.

 

"We never received your written confirmation to proceed," they explained. 

 

Wait just a minute...they phoned me a week after I brought the ring to the shop, and told me how long it would take to fix, and how much it would cost, and I said "Ok, yes, go for it."  But that wasn't sufficient, apparently.  No.  They sent me a letter (which never arrived, oddly) which I was supposed to sign and send back.  As I never received it, I never sent it back.

 

Instead of then calling me to check why I hadn't returned their letter, they just sat on my ring (so to speak) and let several weeks drift by.  I assume that if I hadn't chased them about it, they would just have kept hold of my ring (so to speak) indefinitely.

 

Gah.

 

Sadly, I have to wear it on these hideous hands.  This is my incredible turkey-carving scar.  Healing up nicely, as you can see.  And admire the lovely dehydrated wrinkled skin too, it's incredible what gastroenteritis can do to you.

 

 

 

I plan to tell anyone who asks that it is a duelling scar from my days in the Prussian Army.  In 1875.

 

Talking of letters not arriving, we are still waiting for a very important and official letter from Wiltshire's finest, which they promised me in October, told me they had sent out in mid December (registered post, no less), asked me to chase up at our local sorting office (which I did, they'd never seen it) and then promised to hand deliver two weeks ago.

 

 

No sign of it yet.

 

No fucking wonder people don't feel safe on the streets when even a basic admin task like getting a letter from A to B seems to be beyond them.

 

Anyhoo.  Deep breath.  I can do that now my lungs are working properly, what a nice change.

 

Let's think of something lovely.  Kittens.  Chocolate. 

 

How about kittens AND chocolate all in the same package?

 

 

It's a box of chocolates with kittens on it. Could it be any sweeter?  In fact, the chocolates were rather nasty, but the box is a work of art.  Here's a closer view of those little kittens. 

 

 

 

Amazing.  It was like the box designer was channelling the spirit of Barbara Cartland, but with less pink.

 

Also, today I made a cake.  I am definitely feeling more like my old self.

 

 

 

Mr WithaY asked me what the green stuff on the icing was.  "Celery," I told him.  He wasn't sure if I was telling the truth or not**.

 

Look, it has layers!  I've never made a cake with layers before.  Jam and everything.

Other excitements over the weekend.  We went to the health food shop and I bought a huge stack of various supplements to help me get back to full fighting strength:

 

• Echinachea - boosts your immune system, I have to take it 3 - 6 times a day. 

• Cod liver oil with garlic - boosts your immune system and wards off vampires.  One a day. Before sunset.

• Hemp oil - boosts your...um...heart, or maybe skin.  The girls in the shop were a bit vague about it but I liked the sound of it.  One a day.

• Valerian - helps you sleep, one a day, before bed.  Presumably it's to make sure you don't wake up to fend off the vampires when the garlic capsules fail. 

 

I'm also taking Actimel every morning which is (presumably) doing me some good. 

 

I expect to develop superpowers by April.

 

And back to London tomorrow for work.  It feels like ages since I was last there.  Well, it is.  December the 10th was the last time I went into the office, so it will be a bit weird having to get back into the meat grinder commuting routine again.

 

Steve Wright was talking about ways to meet a new partner on his radio show this morning.  Apparently you should look around at the other passengers on the train on your commute, and consider whether they are likely to be potential partner material.  I will have to have a good gawp tomorrow and see what I can see. 

 

I'm not getting my hopes up. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*No we aren't. 

 

**It's angelica.  But it looks a lot like celery.