My beautiful fish, along with all the wildlife in our pond, always keep me entertained. This morning they were fighting over a freshly laid feast of frogspawn. Must be Spring!
life
Sorry, it just came out that way…
Oh dear, I am sorry about this. I don’t really know where this came from today. I was in the mood for writing a bit of verse and just came up with the first couple of lines and, well, it kinda gathered pace from there.
Sorry, no accompanying picture to cheer things up either. I did have some beautiful dark velvety tulips last year, but the bulbs were severely trampled on by the man-fence men when they installed the man-fence a month or two ago, so I think I might be tulip-less this year…
Anyhoo…sorry again for this bit of quite depressing verse!!
Why?
They asked why
I chose black tulips for his grave
The petals
Unforgiving to the touch
with fragile strength
cloak a secret centre
Their elusive lustre
glimpsed for but a moment
then quelled in this perfidious place
How earnestly they droop their sombre heads
As lifeless they lie limp on burnished wood
And they asked why
I chose black tulips for his grave
My world this Wednesday
- The campaign for the General Election has officially started in England this week. You could say election fever has gripped the nation, but it’s the sort of fever that makes you want to tuck up in bed with the covers over your head. The campaign so far (and I’m sure it will continue thus) seems to be a succession of party leaders sniping and making snide remarks about each other. No one in the country has a clue who will come out on top, and it certainly looks like it’s going to be another hung parliament. I’m just praying that the disgraceful UKIP don’t get a look-in on any coalition.
—————————————————————————————————————————- - Yesterday,I joined the gym. No, I didn’t think I would either, but apart from their beautiful pool being just soooo inviting, I’ve been feeling generally blobby and lacking in energy, which I put down to being just a teeny bit heavier than I was this time last year. I keep reminding myself that I’m carrying the equivalent of several bags of sugar around with me all the time, and that’s why I’m feeling tired.
I’m taking my first class today, Yogalates, which is the evil son of Yoga and Pilates. I’m a little nervous – will all the others be young and fit? Will it be a bit too punishing for me? Will I make an absolute berk of myself (I usually do…should be used to it by now)? I expect I’ll live through it either way, and I’m looking forward to a good swim and perhaps, a relaxing steam, afterwards.
——————————————————————————————————————————– - I’ve been trying to tidy up the garden, but it’s so bloomin’ windy, it blows my eyes to the back of my head every time I venture out. It’s been like this for days now. At the moment the sun is out and through the window it looks quite tempting, but having just got back from walking the dog, I know that that fierce wind bites right through to your bones. Nope, I’m just going to stay here in the warm and look through the window at all the new weeds popping up and thumbing their noses at me.
———————————————————————————————————————————- - Lunching with a friend tomorrow. We are ‘ladies wot lunch’. We don’t see each other often, but when we do we like to catch up over a glass of wine and some yummy food. This is one of the great pleasures of retirement! I can’t eat too much though, as I have my regular yoga class in the afternoon. This is another reason I would like to lose a couple of inches from my waist…a spare tyre does get in the way of a good deep forward bend a bit!
———————————————————————————————————————————- - Easter weekend is coming up. The weekend of chocolate. I remember when I was little, on Easter Sunday we used to get chocolate eggs in pretty boxes, or wrapped in fancy cellophane. Now all the eggs seem to come with some chocolate bar or other, in boxes that are basically, just a bit more garish advertising.
Of course these days chocolate is the only thing that springs to mind for many people when Easter is mentioned. We should however, spare a thought to it’s origins. Don’t get me wrong, I am not religious at all, and don’t believe in all that stuff, but it doesn’t hurt to be a little generous to those who do now and again. At the very least we should take the opportunity to remind ourselves that such barbarism as crucifixion should not be allowed to take place anywhere in the world here in the 21st Century. As I was, I am sure you will be shocked, though not surprised, when you hear that yes,some terrorists groups still find it acceptable retribution. You may guess who. Whoever wins that General Election, we must hope that, together with all the other world leaders, they intensify their efforts to stamp this out. Soon.
Ephemeral – a moment of my life
Posted in response to the Daily Post weekly photo challenge. This weeks theme ‘Ephemeral’
Ephemeral – lasting a very short time.
It took me six years of hard slog study to achieve my Open University degree at the age of 58. To say I was chuffed to have passed would be the understatement of the century. I know, I know, most people manage to get theirs in their early twenties, but better late than never eh?
Anyhoo, you may be wondering why I’ve been rambling about that as something ‘ephemeral’, when clearly the process was quite the opposite. Well… just like any other graduates, OU students are presented with their qualifications at a big glittery award. The ceremony I attended was at the famous Barbican Centre in London. My husband and daughters had come along to watch and be proud, and I was beyond excited. The event itself took a couple of hours, but prior to it, there was the thrill of getting my robe fitted (disappointingly the OU students don’t get to wear mortar boards though) and getting formal pictures taken. Then the nervous wait for my turn.
I’m sure most of you will know that these ceremonies are basically a long procession of students walking across the stage, shaking hands, taking their awards and walking off again. It’s like watching paint dry when it’s not one of your own. However, when it’s your turn, or the turn of someone you love, it really is a top couple of minutes.
I remember it exactly. The tip tap of my shoes on the polished wood, the clapping and cheering from the audience (they managed to keep it up for every single person), the brief exchange of words, and the exit, all of which I managed without falling over or generally making a fool of myself (and there were stairs, I hope you’re impressed!) It was indeed a very fleeting moment in the scheme of things, but one which meant so much and has made an indelible imprint on my mind.
How to catch a mouse….gently
Just lately we have had a bit of an invasion or tiny furry friends, which I wouldn’t mind too much, but they are inclined to eat my vegetables (these ones seem particularly partial to sweet potatoes) and electrical wires. They don’t seem to be tremendously toilet trained either…
I’m not one for killing creatures of any sort (nope, not even spiders) and fortunately neither was my dad. It was him who taught me this humane method of catching mice-es. I can remember him bringing one of the successful ‘traps’ up to my bedroom when I was quite young to show me the cutest tiny field mouse running around inside.
I believe (never say never) that I have caught all of the current army.. my record was four in one day… and now we seem to be tiny visitor free. However, I would say that once caught you do need to take them as far away as possible to release them, otherwise they are liable to return to the warm haven of your home. This was confirmed when one of our teeny friends damaged his tail and we were able to identify him from that twice more. I think he was a bit gullible!!
Anyhoo…. for those who are as soft as I am, here is my pretty foolproof method for the gentle capture of a mouse:
You will need:
A heavyish bowl
A piece of board – I use an old chopping board
A penny or equivalent coin
Flour and water paste
Chocolate biscuits
Method:
Spread a thick flour and water paste on to the back of a piece of chocolate biscuit
Stick the biscuit fairly high up on the side of the bowl – enough so a mouse needs to reach up and tug to get at it!
Turn the bowl upside down on the piece of board and balance the edge underneath the piece of biscuit on the penny. This is a little tricky but you will win with a bit of patience!
The mouse will be able to get in to the bowl without knocking the penny over, but will disturb it as soon as he tries to get at the biscuit and hey presto…..
You can then lift the board together with the mouse in the bowl and carry both outside where you can watch your unharmed furry friend scurry safely away!
Five day challenge, Day 2 – Twirling
Day 2 of my five day challenge courtesy of Scillagrace. A short story this time. I’m afraid it’s another one that’s emerged from my dark imagination – sorry mum! To be honest, I’ve no idea where this came from, I’ve never taken drugs or even smoked. I did a bit of research to check for accuracy, but if I’ve misunderstood any of the details please forgive me.
Twirling
Once again, I’ve arrived home to find my one and only child in a drug induced sleep. I know its drug induced, the empty syringe is on the coffee table, next to the brown stained coffee cup with its dregs of dark, almost black brew. The tv is on, some reality programme or other, prattling away in the corner. Giggling to itself while my daughter shoots up.
I found out about her habit about seven months ago. One of her friends had practically carried her home to tell me that Jade had ‘taken something’. I took her in and sat by her side all night afraid she might go deeper and not return from that unnatural sleep. But she did, and in the morning I made her drink the strong coffee she is now so fond of, and we had ‘a talk’.
‘Have you gone completely mad? You’ll kill yourself taking this stuff.’
‘Oh for goodness sake mum, it’s only the odd tablet, it’s not like I’m a druggy or anything.’
She said she was sorry, she wouldn’t do it again. She said the words loudly and clearly, but she didn’t mean them. The following week, I found a plastic packet of coloured pills in her room.
I’d never taken drugs. Never smoked, had always been afraid of the consequences. But Jade hadn’t seemed to have had consequences. After that morning, she was bright as a button. And chirpy. So chirpy and happy it made me almost glad that she’d taken something. Recently she had been miserable and difficult. But apparently now she had met a boy.
‘He’s gorgeous mum, really cool.’ Cool was her favourite word, she used it to describe anything she’d taken a fancy to from a new dress, to chocolate ice cream, and apparently, good looks.
When he turned up at the door, I couldn’t quite see the attraction though. OK, he had a nice head of dyed blond hair, but he was scrawny and his eyes were dull, and when he politely shook my hand, his skin felt damp and cold.
‘lo missus Payne’ he drawled, bearing his less than white, less than even teeth.
It’s fair to say I took a dislike to him. The thought of him and my little Jade in any sort of embrace made me feel nauseous. But nonetheless I drew him into the house, and welcomed him as Jade’s friend, like all good mothers would.
It was him, that Darren, that had introduced my baby to his dirty, smoky world.
It was a couple of days after that first meeting that on opening our front door, I was whisked back in time to my uni days. The pungent smell of what my mother always referred to as ‘wacky backy’, was thick in the house. The two of them were sitting wrapped around each other on the sofa ostensibly watching Pointless. Darren held a still smoking spliff between his first finger and thumb and acknowledged me with an almost imperceptible wave of it.
‘hi mum’ Jade slurred and gurned a sloppy grin towards me.
‘For god’s sake, what do you think you’re doing’ I’d had a hard old day at the office, and didn’t have the energy to ask in anything other than a resigned voice.
‘blimey missus Payne, you’se lookin’ right frazzled, you should have a pull’ and he thrust the damp papered roll-up towards me.
For some reason my eyes started welling with tears. Recently work had been getting me down. There was what HR referred to as a ‘personality clash’ between me and the new manager, and I had been working all the hours god sends to try to meet her ridiculously over-optimistic deadlines.
And all the while, I’d been worrying about Jade. The arguments with her had escalated and she wasn’t eating properly. I knew she hadn’t been turning up at school. Her GCSE’s were fast approaching and she needed to get herself clean and sorted out. Anything I said was ineffectual and usually only led to the slamming of doors and that sickly smell.
I felt alone and lonely.
And here she was, out of it again, with this boy, Darren, offering me a way, albeit brief, of escaping from the black tunnel of my life.
I took it from him, and took a deep drag like I’d seen them do. I coughed and spluttered, felt like I was going to choke.
Then I laughed. A big full throttle laugh. Darren and Jade were sitting up, grinning at me, while I laughed, and laughed. All the tension, all the hate and misery, was released with that laugh.
Another drag, and a warm glow came over me, the sort I hadn’t felt in years. I plonked myself down on the armchair and just sat. Sat and watched them wrapped together. His hand was propping up his heavy head and squishing his face in a babylike way. A swatch of hair had fallen over his left eye and I had the urge to get up and gently move it away. Suddenly I wanted to kiss him, this boy, this boyfriend of my daughter’s. I imagined a dry, soft, lingering lip kiss. My addled mind started playing erotic games.
Jade had nodded off. Her thick black mascara was smudged over her face from her tears of laughter. Her dyed black hair looked matted and dry and nothing like the ‘ginger biscuit’ curls I remember her having as a child.
She was a pretty baby. Not beautiful, pretty. Quite petite, scrawny even, but with huge green eyes, which a nurse once told me she needed to ‘grow into’. And as she got older and her face grew more character, I began to understand what that nurse had meant. Before all this, before the drugs, she had been what might have been termed ‘interesting’ to look at. She still had those green eyes, but her full lips and wide nose balanced them out. At five foot five, she looked heavier than she should for her weight, but not really fat, more ‘big boned’.
It was her father’s build. He was a huge man. Shiny smooth skin, black as a moonless night, and big hands that held me in their clutch for just a few short nights. I’d lost him before I even knew I was pregnant. I’ve been on my own ever since.
I’ve not really needed anyone. I had a good job that fitted around school ok, and Jade and I were always a bit of a two-man team. She was always able to bolster me up whenever I might feel in need of solace. I had one or two ‘friends’ but nothing that came to much. I was always too busy, too involved in Jade and her life.
Now, here I was, taking a full leap into her life. Her seedy downtrodden life, that I have so spurned and railed against.
I was still staring at them when the boy turned and winked at me. It was a full-on ‘I know what you’re thinking’ wink that jolted me out of the smokey stupor I had fallen into.
‘tea?’ my legs wobbled slightly as I stood up.
‘ta! Oi, Jay, want tea?’ he shook her shoulder ‘she’ll ‘ave coffee’
In the kitchen, I ran cold water on my wrists, a trick my mother had taught me for when I wanted to freshen up quickly.
‘on your pulse, it cools the blood then, see’ she said holding my nine year old arms under the garden tap. It had been a hot day and I’d fainted. Out cold. She’d not been worried, she’d said
‘runs in the family does swooning. Your nan used to do it all the time. And me, on the tube. So embarrassing. Mind you, gets you a seat’ and she tittered to herself all unconcerned. The water had worked and I’d felt fine in no time, and ever since I had headed for a tap, wrists bared, whenever I was feeling hot, or overcome for any reason.
I dried myself on a grubby tea towel and filled the kettle. I felt quite good. Relaxed. My stomach gave a gurgle to remind me I hadn’t eaten. Thinking it must be time for dinner, I noticed the clock and was stupefied to find out it was past 10:30. Where had the evening gone? Had I slept? Did the other’s realise the time?
Jade was sitting up, pulling her hair back into a loose bun when I took the tea into the living room.
‘Mum, I can’t believe you actually took a pull! After all that nagging and yelling. Bet you feel better now’
I ignored her smug remark
‘Do you know its half past ten? Do you want something to eat?
‘We’re all right. We’re off now. Going to Spangles, could do with a bit of a boogie’ she said wiggling her hips towards Darren, and grinning.
Minutes later they were gone and I was sitting down alone to a flimsy, hastily defrosted, pizza. I nodded off in front of the tv, before deciding to go to bed at around midnight. Jade wasn’t back, and I didn’t really expect her any time soon. She often didn’t get home until the early hours after she’d been to the local nightclub. Spangles shut at two, so I wasn’t quite sure where she went to afterwards, but I guessed it was somewhere pretty unsavoury, and I worried about her. She always said she was with friends. That they were all ‘lovely’ and ‘you’d like them’. But I knew that in her drugged state she couldn’t discriminate between depravity and normality.
I lay awake for some time, tossing and turning, thinking dark thoughts. At around 3:00 I got up and got a tumbler of water and sat in bed sipping and looking at the clock. I don’t know why exactly, but for some reason I felt the need to go into her room, touch her things, feel the presence of my little girl.
Her room was next door to mine, and I didn’t turn the hall light on. I knew the way to her bedside instinctively, from all those years of soothing her ever present night terrors. I sat on the side of her bed, just as if she was there, and switched the bed side light on.
The room smelt strongly of incense, and there was a streak of ash from a recently burnt stick on the bedside table. Her room was still girly though, and there were still her old much loved toys on the shelf. Her Barbie dressed in her airhostess outfit, but with crayon-pinked wayward hair, and Gurgle her toy frog that used to go everywhere with her, both looking down disapprovingly from the shelf.
I was crying. I needed to hold someone. I was so alone and needed someone, anyone. I reached up for Gurgle. The soft bright green toy was grubby and the bow around his neck skewed, but I hugged him close to smell the residue of childhood on him.
But he wasn’t as soft as I was expecting. As I hugged him I felt his tummy had a hard patch. I put him under the light and could see that there was a gap in his stitching. I stuck my finger in and sure enough could feel a small package inside. I hardly needed to bother to withdraw it I could tell from the feel that it was more pills. Tipping them into my hand I could see there were about 10 of them, all different colours and sizes with letters imprinted on them.
I sat staring at them. They felt heavy in my hand, as if they were making a permanent mark. I guess I wasn’t entirely surprised, or even shocked. Sighing, I poured them back into the little plastic bag, but doing so managed to drop one on the floor. I picked it up. It was baby blue and had ‘SKY’ imprinted on it. It looked nothing more than a sweet, but despite knowing exactly what it was, I popped it into my mouth. If she could escape to ecstasy then so could I.
I gently placed Gurgle back in his usual position, turned off the light and went back to my own room. It seemed bigger than usual, and I twirled around to experience the space. The air itself seemed golden and I held my hands out to catch it. I longed to touch it, feel its constituents. I knew I was smiling, the spinning turned into swaying and I found myself humming. The sound I produced was wonderful. It filled my body, echoing through my very veins. I could see the walls of the room pulsing in time to my rhythm. I was enchanted by this new feeling, calm and peaceful in this lyrical world.
At some point I must have lay down as I woke late the next morning lying across the bed, holding the duvet haphazardly across me. I felt good. No headachy hangover like I do when I overindulge in wine, no nausea as when I comfort eat a whole tub of ice cream.
That was a while ago. I have stolen from Jade ever since. She steals my money, I steal her drugs. I don’t think she is even aware some go missing. Or that I sometimes leave extra money in my purse especially for her to steal. It won’t be going on much longer though, the money won’t be there. I lost my job today.
My work has suffered apparently. I have been in a bit late a few times, and had a few days off here and there I guess but is that really any reason to turn on me? That pig of a woman actually accused me of ‘letting myself go’?
‘It’s a matter of personal hygiene’ she’s said sniffily ‘Please understand, it’s just that we’re worried about you’ Frankly, I couldn’t even be bothered to respond, so she just carried on ‘Worried about your health, your so…so unkempt these days’ Then she smiled, that tight, thin-lipped, condescending smile of hers.
Well, they could stuff their job. Frankly, I don’t care about their bourgeois opinions. They can keep their small dark corner of the world.
So I come in and find Jade on the sofa. She is unkempt and unwashed. The flat is unkempt and uncleaned. I no longer care. I go to my room and twirl.
To Gym or not to Gym
You may remember that for several months I followed the 5:2 diet. It worked for me. Losing over a stone (over 6 kg) I felt better about myself, had more energy, clearer skin, smaller waist. It wasn’t only the diet of course, I was walking three or four miles at a time and swimming regularly. Without so many bulges to manoeuver, my yoga practice improved no end. I slept better, and apparently my snoring stopped (I still dispute this – I don’t snore, I just breath a bit heavily). I flounced about with more confidence. It was great.
Until we went on holiday.
Oh yes, the bikini came out. I know bikini’s on a sixty odd year old woman is unseemly, but believe me, this sixty something rocked it. No bingo wings to worry about when wearing skimpy cotton summer frocks. Swanning about in sarongs. Eating.
Oh yeah, the eating. We were in India. I love Indian food. What can I say?
It wouldn’t have been so bad, if we hadn’t spent the time we weren’t eating lying about in the sun, relaxing, chillin’, exerting no energy whatsoever. At all. Consequently the pounds piled on.
Of course, when we got home my tubbier tanned body wasn’t up to doing much exercise. I found excuses. I couldn’t do so much walking because I’ve been suffering with plantar faciitis (still am, but getting better with the help of steroid injections), I’d got fed up with the weekly battle for parking, and the grim facilities of the local leisure centre – not quite the same as the infinity pool in Kerala. Even yoga got to be a bit more of an effort.
Then it was the food fest of Christmas.
Things have been going downhill ever since. I’ve put the weight back on. Energy levels are low to non-existent. I’m not sleeping so well. The baggy belly is back.
So…. I’m tentatively back on the 5:2, but I still can’t walk the long distances I could, and I still don’t care for swimming at the leisure centre. So I’ve been considering joining the local gym.
There are one or two problems with this option though.
- It costs money – lots of money
- Other people, fit people, will be there
- It takes a biggish time commitment to be worth joining
- You have to commit for a whole year, yes, a WHOLE YEAR, and pay up front
I used to belong to a gym, when the kids were at school. It didn’t have a pool, but I’d go and use the equipment a couple of times a week, doing less and less on the murderous machines that I didn’t like, and more and more on the things you can sit down on. I actually quite enjoyed it, but at the time I didn’t need to lose weight, I was more focussed on toning up a bit (this was before my yoga days).
The gym I’m thinking of now, is swish, like, really swish. It has a beautiful pool, sauna, steam rooms, Jacuzzi, fitness suites, lots of classes…oh and a café so that you can have a nice hot chocolate with marshmallows after your workout. It is so very tempting…
But…
Whilst a big chunk of me wants to join, believing it is my key to becoming svelte and energetic again, there is a growing niggle that I shouldn’t need to join a gym to keep fit. I should be able to run about in the fresh air, garden more, yoga more, dance more…eat less. This little voice keeps telling me that I am very privileged to be able to afford to eat more than I need to keep me going each day. I should be thankful that I am healthy if chubby, rather than skinny and sickly, and that I can afford to even contemplate joining an exorbitantly overpriced gym full of narcissists. It is whispering that I should be content with who I am, be less vain, embrace old age with it’s niggly aches and pains and penchant for daytime naps. Enjoy the fact that a bit of padding fills out the wrinkles. After all, I’m not actually overweight for my build, by BMI standards, I am apparently at a healthy weight for my height and age.
So I am torn. I know I would feel better about myself if I was fitter, slimmer, but I’m not sure I can do it on my own, or even whether I should want to.
Oh, but how I would love to wallow in that fancy Jacuzzi a couple of times a week… oops, sorry, I mean swim, and run, and lift, and stretch, and…
ooh now I’ve thought about it, I need a hot chocolate and a lay down!
Every Tiny Stitch
Creating the canvas with silken thread
Each day with different colours weaving
On whitest linen in smallest stitches
The complexity of life I’m living
Red jelly and custard birthday parties
a childhood spent in lonely play
Crepe paper hats and satin costumes
Kite flying on a windy day
Sunshine yellow of early teen years
Pop idol screaming in the park
Hot pants, boas, and minis and maxis
Cow bells, music, moon walks in the dark
Shocking pink in early womanhood
living dangerously on last tube home
first job jitters, first date delights
while family snaps to monochrome
Rich dark purple of dreams destroyed
Bleeding wounds traced in crimson thread
Tear tracks, pills, and Empty purses
Disillusioned, discarded, life filled with dread
But then the scarlet of surrender
The blush of finding first true love
Warmth of babes, new lives beginning
The tangerine joy of motherhood
Now the lavender skein is needed
As the empty phase begins
How my coloured garden sows those
Wild brown wrinkles on the skin
The final years with wizened fingers
forging murals bittersweet
‘til only the blackest thread remains
the tapestry will be complete
What is that stuff?
Every now and then my husband and I (ooh hark at me sounding like the Queen) take ourselves off for a ‘date lunch’. We like food, and it is good to spend a bit of quality time together now and then, so we find ourselves somewhere nice to go and pig out (it may be a date lunch, but we don’t stand on ceremony… well, we’ve been together for over thirty years now so we should just about be used to each other’s sloppy eating habits). Yesterday we ended up in a really cosy pub, the log fires being just what we needed after being out in the gale force winds and unseasonal blizzard that suddenly appeared from nowhere.
All the food was yummy, as was the real Ale that we washed it down with, but what stood out for me was the chips.
Now, I’m not usually a big fan of chips. They can be a bit soggy, or in French fry form, a bit burnt and over crispy. I don’t have them often, but when I do, I drown them in salt and vinegar to give them some flavour, or if I’m feeling fancy, a bit of mayo a la Francais way. I’m not a big fan of tommy k (tomato ketchup to you), so never that big red blob on my plate thanks. Yesterday’s chips didn’t need anything though, they came ready seasoned and really crispy on the outside and soft in the middle (like an Armadillo as we say in our house…don’t ask… there was an advert once I think), 10 out of 10 for the chips then!
Of course, we ended up discussing what constitutes a ‘proper’ chip. Do french fries count??
Anyhoo, what with the chips/French fry debate an’ all, it got me thinking about foods that aren’t like what their supposed to be, and how sometimes they are really yummy despite being completely weird and unrecognisable. Like these goodies:
- Tinned strawberries – now I don’t know what they were in a past life, but they look and taste nothing like the real thing. They are pink, sploshy and sweet. Sometimes, I confess, I think they might be better than a freshly picked one that makes your mouth purse like a cat’s bottom because it’s a bit hard and tart or worse still, completely tasteless.
- Pot noodles – does anyone know what that stuff is made from? Oh, I know what it says on the label – dried veggies and meat, but really? Nevertheless, who doesn’t love a naughty pot noodle from time to time? They are slurpily scrummy.
- Vesta Chow Mein – I guess this is along the same lines as a Pot Noodle, being some sort of dried stuff with noodley thingys. But this is more of a meal. It’s crispy noodles a delight of crunchy oiliness, and it’s soft noodles, covered with the other…well, stuff, is again, a slurpers heaven. Love it!
- Crab Sticks – They are very pink. They are sticks. They are not made of crab. I could eat ten of them in one sitting. What more do you need to know?
- Spam – Another pink food! Jellified meat that comes in a tin. Sounds delicious doesn’t it? Spam is apparently ‘pressed pork and ham’, it tastes neither like pork nor ham, it tastes like Spam. It is amazingly versatile, in our house we have spam hash, spam kebabs, grilled spam, spam fritters, spam sandwiches… I am a Spam fan. Many are not.
- McDonalds fruit pies – Peculiar sort of sugary pastry stuff containing killer goo that will take the skin off your mouth and tongue unless you leave it for at least two hours to cool down. I think they are related to pop tarts. Yep, still good!
- Cadbury’s Crème Eggs – Yes, it’s the time of year when all our thoughts turn to how many of these little devils we can stuff in our gobs before Easter. Hooray!! Chocolate ‘eggs’ filled with errmm…what is that stuff…?
These are just a few examples, off the top of my head, of weird yet wonderful foodstuffs that are filled with e-numbers and calories to start you salivating. I’m quite sure there are many more (I bet I think of them as soon as I press the post button!). I’d love to hear your favourites!
Thirsty Thursday – Won’t you join me?
Having a nice, proper, cup of tea today. By proper, I mean not from a manky old teabag, and not spoiled by the addition of milk. As you know, I love tea, and have a pretty big selection in my cupboard, but more often than not I just grab a bog standard teabag like everyone else.
When we visited the tea plantations in Sri Lanka, we were told that the tea in our Western teabags pretty much consisted of the sweepings from the floor in terms of leaf quality, and I must say that when I do make the effort and opt for something like an Orange Pekoe, that does become pretty obvious. ‘Real’ tea is light and refreshing and not in any way bitter.This morning’s cuppa is made with tea that my daughter brought back from Malaysia for me. It’s described as ‘An exquisite flowery Pekoe with a delicate aroma’ and it is, and there is no need for anything else in the cup, just pure tea. Lovely.
Many people I know find it hard to take tea without quantities of sugar. I’ve seen people heap three of four teaspoons of the white stuff into just a small cup. Ok, hands up, I used to do the same, that’s how I was brought up. As a child mum put sugar in my tea, and it was all I knew. But many years ago now, I came to my senses, cut out the sugar (it wasn’t easy at first, but worth the effort) and got my taste buds back. I can now appreciate the infinite subtle nuances in the flavours between different types which makes it worth the effort of making a proper brew. It’s just like the differences you find between wines.
Mind you, I cheated with this one, instead of getting the pot out, I just put a heaped teaspoonful of leaves in a tea strainer and poured the boiling water over it and into the cup. Probably not the perfectionists way, but is ok when it’s just me. You’ll notice I did drag the posh china out for the occasion though. Well….you can’t drink proper tea from a mug now, can you?
Cheers!



