Cheep and nasty

Activities in my life since my last post can be summarised thus:

Sewing, fitfully and without enthusiasm, with a growing sense of panic about deadlines.  Self-imposed deadlines, mind, not anything that I have been ordered to make.  There's a cake sale and sort-of craft sale in a couple of weeks in the village, and in a fit of enthusiasm I agreed to have a stall there.  So of course, I need some stuff to sell.  It's very strange making things that other people will  look at and then decide if they want them enough to give me money in exchange. Previously when I have made things for people it has either been as a gift, when they respond politely, or on commission, when I know that what I am making is what they want.

Knitting, whilst watching TV and complaining about the programme I happen to be watching.  I'm about halfway through Mrs Jones' scarf, and I am pleased with how it looks so far.  I've never tried making anything that involved short rows before, and I shall definitely be using them again.  Perhaps for a charming hat.

Watching TV, usually criticising whatever is on loudly, whilst looking stuff up on IMDB to validate my assertions.  Unless it's MasterChef, in which case I just shout at Gregg Wallace and his odd shiny head.   Oh, and make monstrous "gnnaaaaaaaaarghkkkk!" noises whenever he opens his cavernous maw to devour a huge forkful of whatever the sweating terrified contestants have produced.

Cleaning the house.  The place looks like some sort of bizarre show-home, one occupied by wild animals and someone with a baking fetish.  And Davy Crockett. And a Medieval robber baron.  And a Victorian seamstress who likes cushions.

Grocery shopping.  The high spot of that particular achievement was getting a discount on diesel because I spent more than £60.  Which meant when I filled my car up, I saved almost £7.  It all adds up.  I did go to the Frome Farmers Market yesterday, though.  I bought mild goat's cheese from a tousled and attractive young man, and a horseshoe-shaped load of olive bread which is delicious

Dicking about on the Internet.  Obviously.  I've been trying to get my head round Twitter again, giving it a rather longer period to win me over than I did last time. I think I gave it about 48 hours last time, and then gave up on it, deciding it was a sack of arse.  Oh, and playing World of Warcraft with a friend in America, which has been terrific fun. Yes, I know.  I can't get my head round Skyrim, I find the look of the game rather depressing, and that limits my desire to play it.

So yes, I've been reacquainting myself with Twitter.  It's a process of trial and error.  It's been great for finding some interesting new blogs to read but I get very bored with my feed when it's full of the same two or three people saying much the same thing over and over again.  There are a few very funny people out there, and I am enjoying their input, but I'm afraid anyone who just constantly pushes their website, or re-tweets stuff I'm not interested in gets removed from my feed.

One gem I found, and which has been making me cry with laughter, is the Star Trek - The Next Generation Series 8 feed - @TNG_S8 if you're inclined to take a look.   It runs as-yet unfilmed plots for the 8th series of TNG, and whoever is writing it is inspired.

Examples:

A transporter error quickly fills the ship with hundreds of excited dogs. Worf calls them "fools" and "disgusting". 


A world with a terminal plague tries to attract the Borg as a cure. Geordi's visor falls off into the toilet for the millionth time.


Alien minstrels trap Riker in a 90's dreamscape, only Picard can swashbuckle him free. Data and Geordie tie the hula hoop competition again.


If you're not a Star Trek nerd, I daresay you will merely sigh and move on, but if you are (like me) you will love it. Take a look.  

Cooking.  Actually, the last entry on the list of non-achievement reminds me that we had some friends over for dinner last weekend. More or less on a whim, which is something that I like very much, and I spent much of Saturday making a variety of Indian dishes.  Nom nom nom.  I even made coriander flatbread - from scratch - which worked reasonably well.  I made (brace yourselves):

• Lamb and aubergine curry, with a home-made spice mix, which was fab, though I say so myself
• Tandoori chicken, basically chicken pieces marinaded in yoghurt and spices, then baked till tender
• A red lentil daal, with loads of ginger and black pepper.  It tasted lovely but looked like workhouse gruel.
• Sag aloo, with potato, spinach and spices, very nice
• Plus the afore-mentioned flatbread and rice, and some little samosas which I bought from the supermarket and which we had as an appetiser.

My excellent mate* brought a pudding.  I love living in a village.

There were a couple of pieces of sad news, unfortunately.  One of them involves our mates with the mad spaniels.  They had to have one of them taken to the vet for the last time as she was - in addition to being a venerable old spaniel lady - quite poorly.  I remember when she was a teeny tiny puppy, I spent an evening in the pub with her flopped bonelessly over my shoulder like a rag doll, completely comfortable, sleeping.  She was a sweet-natured character and will be missed.  On the plus side, she probably had about the best life a dog could ever wish for, and it was a long one too.   And she got to be a bridesmaid a few months ago.

*Hello Jo!

Master Chef

Hello virtual mates!  Hello hello hello.  Yes, it's been a while, hasn't it? 

Every time something has happened which I have thought would make an interesting and/or amusing blog post, I've self-edited in my head until I think "Actually, it would be dull and a bit shite, so I won't do it."

Bad habit to get into.  Baaaaaad. 

So, what has been going on in my life since the last rambling set of unrelated semi-anecdotes I inflicted on you all?

1)  A wedding.  Remember I told you about the hen party?  Yeah you do.  Mr WithaY went to the related stag party the following weekend - beer, watching a rugby match, curry, beer, whisky, sleep, nausea and pale fragility for the next 48 hours - which he said was "fine." 

As an aside, whenever I ask him how something was, it was usually "fine."  Sometimes it was "ok,"  occasionally it was "a bit weird," but in the main his go-to review of all social events at which I am not present is "fine." 

Many years ago, he went to a re-enactment event in Cornwall without me.  It was one I had been really looking forward to, and to which practically all our friends were going. 

I had appendicitis, which for about two years was misdiagnosed as "a stomach bug" or "food poisoning" or even "a dairy allergy" and this was during that dark, miserable (but skinny) time.  Eventually I had to be rushed to hospital to be operated on, and was able to gloat, pointing at my stitches and telling everyone "See?  I TOLD you I was ill."

Anyhoo, this particular weekend I was vomiting and dizzy and feeling awful, so I said I wasn't going to go to Cornwall.  Mr WithaY offered to stay home and look after me, but I said no no no, you go, you've been looking forward to it, have fun, you just enjoy yourself without me.  So he did, the bugger. 

He returned home on Sunday evening, sunburnt, muddy, bruised, exhausted, and I said "Well?  How was the weekend?  Who was there?  What happened?"  And he said "Yeah, it was fun." 

I interrogated him for the best part of the evening.  Who was there with who?  Were there any relationship breakups?  What scandal and gossip?  Was anyone injured on the battlefield?  What outrages were committed in the pub?  Tell me!  TELL me! 

In the end I gave up and rang a female friend.  We had a two hour conversation where she filled me in on all the many and varied events of the weekend.   Gah.  Blokes.

So, yeah.  The wedding.  It was lovely.  But, lordy, I have never been to a wedding where so many people cried.  It was like some airborne chemical had been sprayed into the room to make us all weep like children whose hamster just died.  The bride walked in looking stunning, in floods of tears, which set all the women off.  The groom started choking up as he said his vows, and ended up weeping, which set all the blokes off, which then set all the women off again.  There was one small child there who took exception to the "noise" in the room, and she started weeping loudly, until her poor mother took her out, and spent the entire service weeping on her own in the bar as she was missing the ceremony.

Honestly.  It was a soap opera wedding in emotional terms.  The sun shone for the photographs, everyone looked lovely, including the specially-bathed mad spaniels, and the food was incredible.  They'd arranged a Blues Brothers tribute band for the evening, who were excellent, and I think pretty much everyone there had a dance or two. 

We were staying the night at a pub/hotel locally, along with a dozen or so of the wedding guests, so it ended up being a convivial team breakfast the following morning, then a huge mob went to the newlyweds house and drank tea, then huzzah, off to the pub for lunch.  Mr WithaY and I finally got home at about 4pm.

Marvellous.

2)  I've been making stuff. A neighbour asked me to make her some fabric-y bits and pieces.  We bartered.  She gave me a pedicure and some gorgeous nail polish (she's a beautician, not a foot fetishist,) and in return I did her the cushion covers and a noticeboard. 

I like barter. 

The photos don't do justice to the colour of the fabric she wanted me to use, or to the perfectly-matched ribbon and fabric I found for the criss-cross straps and fabric-covered buttons.  That I made.  Yes I did.

Today I have been finishing off the last cushion cover, and will take a picture of that too, just for completeness.  I bet you can't wait.

3)  Future business plans for the WithaY household are taking shape.  I won't go into detail now, for fear of jinxing things, but I am feeling positive about the future.  Plus we paid off half our mortgage this week with some of our redundancy money.  Yay.  Watch and learn, Greece.  And Italy. 

4)  We had friends round for Sunday lunch last week, and I decided to have a go at making a sticky toffee pudding.  I've never made one before, and was inspired by the delicious one I was given for my pudding at the wedding reception. 

I followed the recipe to the letter - to the LETTER - and the end result was perfect.  Rich, sticky, dark, sweet and fruity* with a light yet dense texture.  The sticky topping was perfect too, the cream, butter and sugar sauce formed a dark toffee-coloured emulsion, thick and gooey and smelling of caramel and butterscotch. I poured a little onto the pudding as it baked and it formed a sticky, unctuous topping, as specified in the recipe.  Which I followed TO THE LETTER. 

The main course was roast pork, with a selection of vegetables, stuffing balls** and roast potatoes, served with delicious meaty gravy.  Mr WithaY made the gravy, and it was perfect.  Thick, rich, dark, savoury little flecks of pork meat floating in it from the roasting dish, just enough fat to make it cling to the food, not so much that it was greasy. 

We ate our pork and vegetables, enjoying the delicious gravy.  We enjoyed the delicious gravy so much that the gravy jug was almost empty.

I asked Mr WithaY to refill it from the pan on the stove top, as he was nearest to it.  He jumped up with alacrity and returned in a moment, the jug practically brimming.  Mmmm delicious gravy. 

One of our friends poured a generous helping of gravy onto her greens.  I picked up the jug and went to do the same.  I sniffed at it, a sudden cold thrill of suspicion running through me.

It smelled like butterscotch.

Mr WithaY had refilled the jug from the wrong saucepan.

I was mortified. 

Our friends declared that greens with pork and butterscotch sauce was wonderful, so, possibly influenced by the wine we had been swilling down, I tried it.  And you know what?  It was bloody lovely. 

For pudding we had sticky toffee pudding with pork and butterscotch sauce, and that was bloody lovely too.

Last night, all on my own, I made up some more cream, butter and brown sugar sauce and had it with leftover sticky toffee pudding.  It wasn't the same. 








*much like me, except for the rich part. 

**fnar

It costs a lot of money to look this cheap

This week is the (sort of) official start to the new way of life in the WithaY household. 

Mr WithaY finished his job last week - although today is the last formal paid working day for him - and had a leaving party on Friday lunchtime at the pub.  It was very pleasant, a lot of his colleagues came to join him, some travelled some distance to be there, which was very touching.  There were the traditional semi-embarrassing speeches, the giving of gifts and cards, and then it was home for tea and medals.

Twenty eight years and one day, he's done.  It's a long time, and a lot of memories.  But now it's all change, moving forward with the new life and all that.  We're both still feeling positive about it all, despite the facts that:

a) We are no longer earning any money
b) The world economy seems to be doomed.  DOOOOOOOMED
c) Winter is coming

Hey, what's the worst that can happen?  Frankly, given the amount of shite* that we have coped with together over the last few years, I think we can handle it, whatever it is. 

So.  Today.  Dawning of a new era etcetera etcetera etcetera.

We began by getting up at a reasonable hour, drinking tea, eating porridge and listening to Radio 4 Extra, a radio station I like more and more.  All very domestic. 

Then Kevin the Decorator arrived.  He's great.  He's fixing the huge unsightly crack across the bedroom ceiling, repainting the (cracked) bathroom ceiling, repainting the water-stained patch on my study ceiling, and replacing the broken front doorstep in our porch.  He can do anything. 

Mr WithaY made him a cup of tea, then headed off to see his mate Josh in Somerset.  They are both on the bushcraft training course, and he handily lives nearby**.  Josh is having our hideously uncomfortable futon for his house (although the more I hear about the house the more it sounds like a shelter made from brash in the forest) and in return he is helping Mr WithaY make a knife.  For bushcrafting. 

Mr WithaY has lately also been making lengths of cord out of nettle fibres.  It was the homework he was given after the last bushcraft course instalment.  The mice set up home in the bundles of cord-making and fire-lighting vegetation he has been garnering, hence his determination to remove them at all costs.  Well, peanut butter doesn't grow on trees.  Unlike the bark he needs for kindling.

He is thoroughly enthusiastic about his new career choice, which is excellent. I am going to have to learn to tolerate the seemingly endless collections of twigs, bark, reeds, plant seeds and Interesting Bits Of Wood that are accumulating around him.  He's like Saint Francis of Assisi, but for woodland detritus.

I've been sorting out stuff around the house, hence Kevin the Decorator's visit, partly in preparation for the winter, partly to try and kick start myself a bit as I have got lazy over the last couple of weeks.  In fact, once I finish this, I am going to cut out a load of cushion covers that I have been meaning to do for about 3 weeks now. 

Yeah.  Lazy.

Later on this week we are off to Gloucestershire for our lovely mates' wedding, which I am very much looking forward to.  I am hoping their mad spaniels will be dressed as bridesmaids, with baskets of rose petals around their necks but I fear I may be in for disappointment.
 
The hen party I went to last week was interesting.  I'd never been to a hen party before, which for a woman in her mid-40s is remiss.  It was at a "Spa Hotel" near Bath***, and whist the hotel part was mostly ok, the spa wasn't great.  Perhaps I am spoilt by having been to Ragdale Hall a couple of times.  However, I don't think that having to walk across a car park and a fairly busy road in your robe and slippers to get to the treatment rooms is very nice, or wait in the lobby of the block while guests and conference attendees squeeze past you.  Not classy.

The treatments themselves were fine; I had a sparkly manicure:

It lasted approximately 36 hours before I'd mangled the polish to such an extent that I had to take it all off again.

We had Champagne and nibbles and balloons and all sorts in one of the rooms before dinner, everyone dolled up in their party finery:

The photo is blurred due to Champagne.  Note the straws with plastic cocks on.  Niiiiice. 

We ate a pleasant dinner in the restaurant, in a little side room that was semi-private so our laughing didn't (I hope) disturb too many other guests.  However, after dinner we went back to one of the rooms and had more Champagne, and I suspect we may have been a tad noisy.  But bugger it, I'll not be going back there, so it doesn't matter, eh?

The hotel could be really lovely, but they consistently failed to get things right - everyone's bill was wrong, so we had to get them all recalculated, and even then they didn't seem to charge us for all the wine we had, despite being asked several times to check the numbers.  The bedroom I was in was clean and comfy, despite one or two issues with the bathroom****, and the food was (mostly) good, if a bit chaotic and disorganised.  It was ok for a one night "party" awayday.  I'd have been very disappointed if I'd booked it as a spa weekend break. 

I had a two day hangover afterwards, which I am blaming on lack of sleep. 

Right.  Cushion time. 










*See multiple previous posts about ill health, various family crises, the Shitstorm From Hades, many and varied tiresome work hassles, yadda yadda yadda...

**Within 50 miles.

***We went here...the reviews are a fair reflection of my own experience. 

****The shower head was hanging on by a thread from a large ragged hole in the ceiling, and the sink drain stank of sewage.  Not nice when brushing your teeth with a hangover. 

Mostly bullets

So. Yeah. Hello again. 

I'm not dead, nor have I been captured by pirates and sold into slavery, to be rescued in a breathless paragraph in Chapter 27 by Conan the Barbarian.  Dammit.

I've been doing a bit of travelling, of late.  Nothing too fancy.  Well, you know me.  I don't like to be a trouble.

Where have I been?  Well, I'll tell you.

1)  Sussex.  Went down to visit my lovely Mum for a day, which was very pleasant.  Also called in at Youngest Sis's house where I was roundly trounced on the Wii Formula 1 car racing game by several children.  The kitten, as is traditional, migrated immediately to Mr WithaY, where it fell into a deep and peaceful sleep on his lap.

2)  Cornwall.  We were invited by some mates to join them for a couple of days at their little holiday cottage thing in St Ives.  I'd never been to St Ives before, and I can recommend it.  Probably best not to go in the summer though.  I imagine it would be a complete fucking nightmare then.  But in early October it was lovely. 

We went to the beach one afternoon.  It was glorious.  The sun shone, the sky was blue, the sea was emerald green and had a seal in it, swimming about 6 feet from the beach.  Of course, nobody took a photo.  We were all too busy pointing and exclaiming how close it was to us. 

Our friends produced a kite from the boot of the car.  I sat on the sea wall to watch.  For some strange, possibly eldritch, reason I decided to "just watch" the others fly the kite up and down the beach.  I don't know...maybe it was a foreboding.  A little flash of foresight.  A teeny glimpse into the future.  Who knows.

Plus, my ankle was hurting after walking around up and down some steep hills, so I thought a rest would be nice.

Our friend went first, launching the kite with enthusiasm, and making it dart around the sky like a professional.  It had a long red tail*, so looked most impressive, looping and fluttering for many yards behind the kite itself.  After a while, Mr WithaY wanted to have a go.   

The wind seemed to have dropped a little, so it was much harder to get the kite off the ground.  Mr WithaY had to run a fair way down the beach to actually get any kind of lift on it. 

There were people on the beach.

If this was a disaster movie, we'd have little vignettes of the people on the beach about now. 

...The cheerful Asian family having a teatime picnic on a blanket. 

...The dad and young sons digging in the sand. 

...The elderly couple walking their small yappy dog along the waterline. 

...The young mother, quietly breastfeeding her baby as she sat and enjoyed the sparkling water and warm sun of the early evening. 

Ah. So peaceful. So relaxed.  I think there would have been a cheerful, optimistic soundtrack too, maybe something by the La's.

But then, all of a sudden, the music changes.  A menacing note is heard.  Mr WithaY is running backwards along the beach, desperately trying to keep the kite airborne.  The wind has dropped and the kite is dropping with it, swooping low and fast near the innocent bystanders.  People are starting to watch with alarm as the kite cuts through the air, narrowly missing the small yappy dog.

Personally, I would pay money to see a small yappy dog knocked sideways into the sea by a kite, but maybe that's just me.

The lady with the baby was now watching with alarm as Mr WithaY drew parallel with her, the kite darting up and down, closer and closer to her, and of course, to the baby.  I could see from my vantage point on the sea wall that things could turn ugly. 

However.  Nature took a hand.  Across the beach ran a small river.  It was in a shallow cleft in the sand, several feet wide and about 6 inches deep, the water running through it slowly.  Most scenic.

Mr WithaY, eyes fixed on the errant kite, desperate hands on the kite handles, continued running backwards.  Right up until he fell over backwards into the river. 

The beach erupted in laughter; apparently the man standing behind Mr WithaY almost fell over too, he was laughing so hard.  Mr WithaY extracted himself from the river with dignity and squelched back across the beach to sit by me on the sea wall.

The kite?  Well, that sank to the ground like a bird landing on a tree, the tail curving gracefully around it. 

3)  Gloucester.  We went up for a weekend to visit our lovely mates and their three mad spaniels.  It was marvellous. 

Work is a bit stressful, what with the massive cuts and all, but hey ho, what will be will be. 

My ankle is still a bit buggered, but is recovering slowly. 

I have lost 2 stone in weight so far, and am sticking with it.  Only 4 more to go.

That is all. 


*The kite.  As far as I know, our friend has no tail, red or otherwise.

Dog days

Hello!  I'm still here, still alive and everything, just not been doing much that I thought was worth blogging about. 

I know, I know, doesn't usually stop me. 

Hot, though, isn't it?  Blimey.  25 degrees centigrade in here, according to my little thermometer on the wall, and that's at 10pm.  There's no point going to bed yet, I'll be far too hot, so I have been painting my toenails, ready to inflict their damask loveliness on all of London Town tomorrow. 

I'm trying not to think about the train journeys.  If the air conditioning works, it's ok.  If it doesn't (a far more likely scenario) it will be two hours of sweaty muggy unpleasantness all the way to Waterloo.  And home again, of course, when it will be many degrees warmer and probably a lot more crowded.  Gah.

But that's enough about nasty, sweaty train travel.  We all know I will be ranting about it afterwards, so why expend energy now anticipating it?

But, yes, sweaty stuff.  I am currently trying out a new venture in armpit-wear.  It is this and it works.  Impressively so.   After three hours in the garden everything was still perfectly dry and fragrant.  I have no idea how it works, I expect I have far sweatier hands now or something, but hey, I can live with that. 

This afternoon we have been mostly Planting Things In The Garden.  These things, among other things:

Runner beans, marjoram, oregano, hyssop and creeping thyme.  There were also two blueberry bushes, which I have high hopes for. 

We've been to see our mates up in Gloucestershire this weekend, having a truly lovely weekend relaxing, eating, drinking and laughing a lot more than we have for a while.  Mr WithaY and I both feel so much better for it. 

They took us to the discount shopping centre at Gloucester Docks, where Mr WithaY bought new sandals.

He promises not to wear them with the socks.  Well, not in public, at least.

Here they are au naturale (sp?):

I bought some very nice tops in the Per Una section of the Marks and Spencer there, hugely reduced, and even better, a size smaller than I usually buy.  I tried on a very pretty skirt, but it was too big. Too BIG.  I was thrilled.  Hurrah for me.

We spent a lot of time fussing over the spaniels.  Regular readers will recall that these same spaniels have committed dreadful atrocities in the WithaY garden when they have come visiting.  The rosemary bush was never quite the same again. 

There are actually three of them, but the buggers were never all in the same place at the same time to photograph. 

Right.  Toenail varnish is dry.  I need to try and get some sleep despite the heat*, and then I can get up at 6 tomorrow without feeling as though it's some sort of hideous punishment.

Other news:  Brother in Law seems to be improving slowly.  Fingers crossed that his recovery is complete and rapid. 

*Yes, I know it's lovely.  And I am really genuinely pleased that the weather is so fantastic.  I am just doing the traditional British "Ooh, I don't like it when it's too hot" thing. 

Communication breakdown

I have been grumpy. I did something distressing to my back on Thursday morning as I was brushing my teeth, and had to come home from work early as it was so incredibly painful. I took as many Nurofen and paracetamol as possible but it still hurt like bejeebus.

Limping around like Igor, whimpering and muttering "ow fuckit fuckit fuckit" under your breath is ok in the privacy of your own home, but not in the office.

Anyhoo. I spent some time the other day looking at what I was doing this time last year (according to the blog). And what was I doing? Apart from whinging about work, which seems to be pretty much a constant of my life?

I was paying for my bloody car to be repaired. I know it was a long time ago, but it still rankles.

More than two and a half grand to fix a known fault with the car, and because it was reported a couple of weeks after their arbitrary cutoff point, nothing from Toyota to help meet the costs. Bastards.

Yes, yes....ranklement still strong in this one.

I was also moaning about the weather. We have already had more nice weather this year than we did for pretty much the entire summer last year. That's how it feels anyway.

Other news: We have a vegetable patch! With potential vegetables and everything! Following a conversation in the pub the other week, one of our lovely neighbours dropped round some courgette plants for us.

Mr WithaY spent HOURS preparing a nice cosy little place for them in the garden. He dug over all the soil, picked out stones, sieved it, pulled out weed roots, put home-made compost in the holes....everything he could think of. The courgettes settled in quickly, and so far have not been devoured by rats, crows, mice, jackdaws, pigeons, pheasants, sparrowhawks, herons, badgers, moles, foxes, squirrels or slugs.

Early days though. Early days.

We have planted a load of seeds in pots on the kitchen windowsill. Parsley. I think. Tomatoes. Some squashes. Basil. Some others I can't remember. If they grow, they will soon join the courgettes in the Vegetable Bed of Unimaginable Luxury.

Mr WithaY, inspired by all this green-fingery, also bought two redcurrant bushes and some pepper plants. The pepper plants are on the kitchen windowsill, hopefully about to burst into flower. The redcurrent bushes are in the garden, keeping the courgettes company.

It's quite exciting* really.

So, apart from all the burgeoning self-sufficiency stuff, we spent the Bank Holiday weekend at home. Mostly quietly. Late Friday afternoon we expected to be driving up to Gloucester to see our mates and their mad spaniels. I rang them at lunchtime to confirm what time they expected to see us.

Good job I did.

They were not expecting to see us at all, and in fact wanted to call in at our place on their way down to the South West. Arse.

Well, it was lovely to see them, and the mad spaniels managed not to trash the rosemary bush for once. We ended up eating over at the pub and our mates stayed the night, so it was a fun social evening.

Last night we went to a rather fine dinner party with mates in the village, and as a result woke up late today. Which is no bad thing on a holiday Monday.

I'm fretting about work, having had a day and a half of unintended immobility, so am going to have to work my nuts** off to meet the deadlines I have this week. A bath and an early night should help.

If not, I will be whining and crying on the train all the way into London tomorrow. Which will be nice for the other commuters.




*We don't get out much.

**Metaphorical nuts.

Sock it to me

Big excitement tonight on the train on the way home.

The guard made an announcement asking for "any qualified medical personnel to make their way to the middle of the train". A young chap leapt to his feet in the carriage I was in and dashed off down the train, while all the female passengers looked admiringly at him, and the blokes scowled enviously.

After a couple of minutes the guard came into our carriage asking for chocolate in a panicky way, which a lady was able to provide (not me, in case you were wondering). After another few minutes the guard announced over the intercom that we would be slightly delayed at Andover station because the train was being met by an ambulance.

So, probably a diabetic having some sort of problem, I assume, unless it was a heart attack and the guard was coincidentally really fancying a bag of Revels.

Anyway, the dashing young chap then came back to his seat and smiled modestly whenever anyone caught his eye. Hopefully whoever it was that was taken ill will make a speedy recovery.

Other news, on a semi-medical related note: I have a bloody huge blister on my left heel.

I wore my new bargain boots (half price at Jones, black, low heel, excellent with trousers, ideal in all respects till today) to work yesterday. Walked from Waterloo to Victoria with no problem at all. Comfy, non-slip, easy to scamper across roads in. Perfect.

Wore them today, did the same walk from Waterloo to Victoria, and ended up rubbing about five hundred inches of skin off my heel, right down to the bone. I think I might even have worn away some of the bone as well*. It's hard to tell.

I think it's because I had different socks on, and they were a bit thinner. Bloody annoying though.

So, I will be limping around at home tomorrow in my slippers, whimpering in between doing work on my laptop.

I like having a plan.

Mr WithaY, who is a complete star, made the most fab dinner this evening. It was a roast chicken which he had covered in rose harissa spices. Mmm-mmm. Highly recommended.

I did a huge traditional roast lamb lunch on Sunday while our mates were here. Which was nice. My Yorkshire puddings worked brilliantly, though I say so myself. Was great to see them again (the mates, not the puddings). Their mad spaniels performed the traditional "trashing of the WithaY rosemary bush" ceremony. It's like Morris dancing, but for dogs.




*Bloody well feels like it.

Can do

Among the many items we are gradually amassing as a result of father-in-law WithaY's recent move into the nursing home is a bread machine.

One that bakes loaves of bread I mean, not something that prints money. Which would be very welcome, to be honest, if anyone has one they want rid of.

Anyhoo, we tried it out last night, and made a slightly odd-shaped loaf of dark bread, a sort of German rye affair. As a key part of a bacon sandwich this morning it was very good. Tasty, nice texture, not too floppity. I currently have a sunflower seed loaf in there, to see how it manages bread with bits in.

Is it just me, or does "A German Rye Affair" sound like the sort of book you buy in the airport on your way to your holiday? With a gold embossed picture on the front, and a list of all the other books by the same author in big letters?

Anyhoo.

We have several huge boxes in the kitchen, full of jars, cans, packets and bags of foodstuffs, some still in date, even. We have more olive oil than anyone other than a Turkish wrestler needs, and about fifty different types of dried vine fruit. Mr WithaY has cleared space in the garage; we plan to store all the mouse-proof stuff out there till we get round to finding a more permanent home for it.

If anyone wants about a thousand cans of peach halves, please do drop me a line.

Other news: Our mates with the mad spaniels are coming over later for dinner and (we decided over a sustaining lunch of home-made soup) cocktails. Mmmmmmmmmm. In fact, I need to go and put some ice cubes in to freeze so we can have proper posh cocktails and not just huge glasses of sticky warm mixtures of mad alcohol.

Am learning to play the riff from "Every Mother's Son" by the fab Lynyrd Skynyrd, which feels like a real achievement. Yay me. Makes me feel like a proper guitarist, being able to do little riffy bits.

Still bloody freezing here. Everything was covered in the most beautiful hoar frost yesterday and today, making the place look like a Christmas card. We will light the fire when our mates get here and talk bollocks all evening.

Marvellous.

Me and my wine

Ah, Def Leppard. Before they went a bit shite.

This morning I have been mostly baking* and having a hangover.

Our mates arrived yesterday, along with the spaniels, and we sat out in the garden catching up. Come 4 o'clock, we thought it would be rather nice to have a glass of wine, it being such a lovely summer afternoon. And that's where it all started.

We were halfway through the second bottle of white wine and ice (classy, us) when our long-lost mate Bill the Spill turned up as well. He was not up for wine, being en route elsewhere, but stayed and had a cup of tea or two and a chat, which was lovely.

We drank more wine, played Stick** with the spaniels, ate olives and breadsticks and chilled out. It was lovely. By the time supper was ready we were, to put it bluntly, shitfaced.

The four of us got through five bottles of wine, a huge mound of tasty snacks, a giant dish of Moroccan chicken, and then we went to a party over at the pub. Yay for weekends.

Other news: Work has been ridiculously busy again, but after the Big Important Meeting on Friday we might be getting some more help on the team and a deadline extension, so fingers crossed for that. If nothing else it will make the rest of the summer slightly less pressured.

Mr WithaY's dad is still in hospital, and not too good at all, unfortunately.

Ah yes, last week we were sat watching one of the seemingly endless reruns of Friends. Undemanding and sometimes amusing, and great to sit and stare at blankly when you have just got in from work and are having a nice cup of tea. I asked Mr WithaY which of the cast he thought was the star of the show.

"Well, Jennifer Aniston always gets top billing" he said.

And that would be because it's an alphabetical listing, dear.

Bless.

*Muffins, plain and chocolate chip, cup cakes, a Madeira cake. Damn I'm good.

**A challenging game of skill and dexterity, involving a stick. We throw it. They bring it back.