Oh, My Days!

 One of the greatest joys of cake making is the ritual of ‘Cleaning Out The Bowl With Your Finger’ once the main body of the cake mixture has been deposited in its baking receptacle. Isn’t it? Yes?  (I just need to define ‘mixture’ here - mixture = butter, sugar, eggs and flour plus flavouring, for example lemon, orange, marmalade, nuts, chocolate, cocoa, dried fruit, not dried fruit, smushy vegetables etc etc blah, blah, blah according to your end cake requirements. Mixture does NOT mean one of those supermarket packet cake mixes to which one apparently adds milk and/or eggs, I wouldn’t know, I’ve never used them. NEVER. This kind of cake mixture is heresy, and if it is the kind of mixture you use, then I would politely ask you to stand in the corner over there, and not return until you have repented your heinous cake making ways.)  Oh yes, one of my earliest memories at the elbows of my cake making relatives was the opportunity to ‘lick out the bowl’ at the end of the mixing session,

 It’s been an eventful week. Nothing much in the Grand Scheme of Things but I certainly haven’t been bored. Firstly, I’ve been embracing the internet shopping, as I have decided that visits to real time shops (excepting the supermarket for my Ninja-style visits) are off the life menu until face coverings are no longer mandatory. I can’t be doing with it - the anxiety, panic, heat ‘n’ sweat-inducing malarkey of it all. Especially when the efficacy of wearing the damned things is constantly being called into question.  So, this week I’ve been at home to the delivery vans which have duly deposited ‘pon my doorstep: 7 sacks of cat litter, 308 postcards, two lovely notebooks and a new laptop case which was in a sale. The mass purchase of postcards is for me to send people as a keep-in-touch-spot-of-sunshine thing... ...the notebooks are because I am a Writer and notebooks are one of my very favourite things EVER. The laptop bag is for when I want to tote the laptop around in something light

I don't know whether you, stoic and patient readers, will enjoy this episode. I enjoyed writing it. It's a bit out of my normal way, although it is reminiscent in style to a novel I wrote a few years ago that no-one but me has ever read, called 'Indigo Anscombe, Violet and Blue.' I have a fondness for the piece. It might be released into the wild one day. Anyway, here we go. It’s a long one, but I expect you’ll see why I couldn’t split it up... Midnight. The witching hour, thought Connie. She was in her rented room at Satis House, alone now and reflecting on the drama that had unfolded earlier that evening. Florence fainting clean away, pulling the table runner and candles with her as she collapsed to the floor. Min throwing the remains of the tea pot contents and the milk jug over the embryonic flames that had started to lick at Florence’s pashmina. Clive demanding to know of his father, Hector, what the bloody hell he was doing there, sticking his bloody oar in. Aga

 With each year that passes, I grow more and more disappointed with August. In my Top 10 list of Favourite Months I think it has slipped right to the bottom, if not out of view altogether. Right there, sub-top ten, along with January.  It never used to be this grim, did it? I’m sure I remember August to be a far more cheering time of year, full of long sunny days, endless hours out and about on bicycles, a homemade cheese and tomato sandwich squashed into the saddlebag along with a bag of cheese and onion crisps, a Penguin biscuit (slippery and melted) and a Tupperware beaker full of lukewarm orange squash? Even the rare rainy day was cheered by a selection of fascinating summer hols TV programmes like ‘Why Don’t You...?’, ‘White Horses’ and ‘Hong Kong Phooey.’ And ‘The Singing Ringing Tree.’ Do you remember that? What was it all about? Weirdness, that’s what, yet at the same time, strangely compelling.  Oh yes, August used to be a time of year to look forward to, full of endless days

 I braved the hairdresser last week. It’s been 6 months since my last visit and there is only so much D.I.Y fringe cutting my face can tolerate before ‘the look’ goes cock-eyed. Hated the face covering requirement, hated the lack of the usual cup of tea, biscuit and chit chat, hated being squirted with so much hand sanitiser I needed mopping up with multiple tissues. The cost had gone up £5, too. Presumably to cover the expense of the discomfort. A big length chop was swiftly executed to form a short, layered bob. Think Edna Mode from ‘The Incredibles,’ only white locks. Like this... Anyway, not enough to put in plaits or bunches now, but a blessing in this recent hot weather.  The granddaughters are here at the moment, and today we went to Shrewsbury for a girlie shop. What a dire experience. Many shops closed either temporarily or permanently. Many unavailable for spontaneous visits because they are small, independent places that were operating appointment only ‘shopping experiences’

 Himself Lord Malarkey and I celebrate our 16th wedding anniversary today. The weather is hot. It was hot sixteen years ago, too. Boiling, especially if one is carting around a full on meringue wedding dress or a full on frock coat ‘n’ waistcoat combo. But it was a fab day nonetheless. We took ourselves out for lunch at a little bistro place in town (today, not sixteen years ago. Sixteen years ago it was full on hot and cold buffet in a massive marquee overlooking the Kent countryside with a jazz band playing and games on the lawn) to celebrate our wax anniversary (Andy bought me a candle making kit so that’s my next foray into the world of ‘Crafts I Have Not Tried Before) and then we came home and melted. Appropriate for it to be the wax anniversary, then. I did manage a bit of gardening before deciding a retreat to the shade would be sensible. And a bit of housework, too, because tomorrow, Dearest Daughter and Son-in-Law are arriving for a few days of holiday, provided their cat ceas

I wonder why Blogger has decided to change their format again? Every time they do, it incurs the wrath of many users, especially those of us who live by the maxim, 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it.' It's making me edgy to move away from it as a publishing platform and build a new website to focus on the new and exciting 'Brand Me!' Except the edge of the edginess is being blunted by the thought of having to get to grips with the wrangling of my head around actually building a website. Oh, I know I can do it if I put my mind to it - it's just wondering how many dents in the wall can Damson Cottage absorb from my computer/ipad before I'll have to redecorate. Anyway, whilst I ponder and flirt with the idea of a new website (many pages, expanded content, all that malarkey) here is another episode of 'Clive and Min.' It's a long 'un. Pop on the kettle, please. Mine's a strong white tea, no sugar, and a couple of ginger nuts. Thanks! 

And here it is! An elephant, literally, in the room... I made it a few days ago, goodness knows why because I’ve always considered knitting to be an Autumn/ Winter activity. But when the urge comes upon one to break out the needles and use up a ball of random grey wool (can’t remember why I bought it because, well, you know me and grey) then it cannot be ignored. I think what it was, was that I’d been wrangling with ‘Clive and Min’ and quite often I find that when I have partaken of a lengthy writing session, I need to faff around with something practical to help my mind to sift through what I’ve just penned and sort out the good from the bad, the ugly and the plain idiotic, like, for example, having Min eating a custard cream. She would NEVER do that.  Anyway, elephant was duly knitted in the space of two days, and has since been joined by a companion in pale grey with blue and pink ears. That one is currently in the studio, and as I am comfortably ensconced on the sofa in the living