For most of his life he’s not been interested in cooking. He doesn’t like me to explain what to do. When he roasted a chicken once he added a whole big bulb of garlic. He can cook poached egg on toast, he does cook bread, he tries to cook bacon by frying it for a minute then microwaving it.
Today he wanted to make a loaf out of self raising flour. With no yeast. I explained that would be more like pastry, and that you use self raising mainly for making cakes. I told him he could use about eight ounces of flour, four ounces of butter, four ounces of sugar, but as we had none he could use a couple of heaped spoons of sweetener. This is a granular one you can cook with. A couple of eggs, and milk, not water, which he was going to use.
I went upstairs on the computer while he went out to get butter.
I was going to explain. He knew about Crumbling flour and butter together, then I told him to add sweetener, then the eggs and milk, then some de-stoned cherries if he wanted to.
I was upstairs, and it was terribly quiet. A friend rang so I came downstairs. Hubby was just about to put the cake in the oven. I looked around, he’d used about twelve ounces of flour (not weighed it out) three quarters of a tub of margarine. Two eggs a bit of milk and a teaspoon! of sweetener. To this mix he’d added half a bowl of cherries and then kneaded the mix! I tried to explain you need the mix to be more liquid and that you gently stir in the milk to keep the cake light.
Well he tried. The cake is cooking, gas mark 4,initially for 45 minutes in the centre of the oven. I’m worried it will be a bit heavy when it comes out.
Ride a white horse to Banbury Cross,
To see a fine lady upon a white horse;
Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes,
And she shall have music wherever she goes.
I’ve started to remember old nursery rhymes…
See saw Margary Door,
She shall have a new master
She shall earn but a penny a day.
Because she can’t work any faster.
They just popped into my head. They are things I used to recite or sing to myself when I was about six or seven.
I’ve asked my hubby and he remembers
“if you stand on a nick, you’ll marry a brick and a beetle will come to your wedding’.
And ‘I wish I was a wooly worm, with wool upon my tummy, into a honey pot I’d squirm, and make my tummy gummy!,”
There was a couple, Mr and Mrs Opie that collected them and they lived in Salford, near Manchester, England. There is a whole collection of this type of verse there. I only remember this vaguely. They worked out that a rhyme could travel from the south up to the north of the country (Britain) in a week because of children repeating them. If I remember rightly. But I am getting older.
Apply online, fill in this form
The website gave me orders.
Now send in your proofs
Don’t forget to show
Your evidence of identity.
Your form is wrong
They tell me when I ring.
Please re-do this bit?
I send again, and yet, and still
There is another problem.
We accept your evidence
But you need to make an application.
But I sent that in, in April,
I reply in great frustration.
Oh we duplicated your account
It’s covid fault
They come back with more words
We will merge the forms
It will be OK,
You will here from us in due course.
Now I ring again…
The phone numbers wrong?!
Why didn’t you tell me I said?
It may be on your other account…
I’ll get it done again.
I’ve had enough,
I’ve tried so hard.
I don’t know how it happened. I just mumble on here and sometimes people like what I say.
Maybe I should assess how I write things. I’m sure my grammar isn’t correct. How is it that people are following this? I don’t think I’m particularly profound. I have some strong feelings, that people should be treated fairly and equally.
I talk about my art and how I create it. I’m not pushing sales of my paintings. If someone is interested they can get in touch. I like talking about science and nature and the environment. I try and keep informed but I’m not an expert.
What else? I’m getting older and hope I can use my experiences to help people if I can.
I really like trying to write poetry. I wrote something called ‘unexpected item in the bagging area’ a comic poem about my experiences of using a self checkout at the supermarket. That was my first poem here a couple of years ago and it kickstarted my writing.
I occasionally write short stories here. I tried writing to photo prompts but I struggled with keeping to the image. I also write short, five word, challenges where you have to include a word, FOOL for instance. Also the challenge of writing limericks, working out how to rhyme things.
I also love sharing my art. Lots of funny little pictures, or murals, or acrylics on canvas or even urban sketchers and other art groups that I’m interested in. I do a lot of digital stuff and I’m on a college course on illustration.
So thank you for following me. I can’t promise to be interesting and exciting all the time. I think I’m learning to write and blog, and your help is much appreciated.
￼Oh why can’t I cut your hair? It is curly and long, unruly and greying. It brushes your shoulders, grows out of your ears and nose. Could be used by birds for nesting material or as a pan scourer.
I could sneak up on you with some scissors whilst you sleep and might get half your head done. But then I would have to nudge you to turn over and risk waking you up. So you would have to remain half shorn till the next night.
Then each day you look more like Einstein, but you are a proper professorial person. Pottering round the potteries. Perambulating pointedly with your apparent perm… Oops got a bit carried away!
So like Sampson you hair stays uncut… Till later tonight…
A shady, spikey creature
Banging bowls together.
Hog food left out for him.
Gobbling and scoffing quickly.
I opened the back door.
A glint in his eye and..
He scuttled off into the dark…
I imagined him saying
“I’ll be back……..”
Small red crab
Swimming in a rock pool
Waiting for the tide
To wash you into the sea.
Little legs paddling,
Sneaking past the gulls
To find your true love.
Barnacles surround you,
Seaweed lashes you.
Waves crash over you,
Still you scuttle
Creeping along the strand,
Till round a rock face,
You meet her…
And you both swim
Into the sunset.
Facebook memory. One or two years ago?
Sssss sns snake…
Hisss history story..
Yelling yell yellow
Frrr fright? No friend…
I’m an old fuddy duddy, I do things how I like to.
I try and make original paintings and write as spontaneously as I can here.
I’m getting pretty nervous of the new editor. Yes I could try it but what happens if I like this one? Will they switch it off. I’ve invested a lot of time in WordPress and I hope my blog isn’t too boring. It would be a real pain to learn it all again. I’ve got enough on my plate without having to be doing with it .
I’m getting old and cermudgenley. I’m also trying to confuse spell checker with old words!
Goodnight one and all . X
Cat is chasing my knitting wool
Wrapped round its paws,
Across the room,
Fast like a famous footballer,
Knocking the ball
Back and forth.
Under the table,
Through the gap in the chairs,
Into a box…
She would beat any goalie!