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Wednesday, 25 November 2009

In which Lovely One is practically blown over the edge...

Have been buffetted by Hurricaine Herbert out on Jennicliff today. Stinky going bananas after rabbits tearing around in the undergrowth. When not walking in the woods we have to be accompanied by Bloke, since Lovely One simply cannot join in the bizarre dog owners ritual of carrying around ghastly little plastic bags in which to deposit the deposit of One's canine companion. Of course, as soon as we arrived, Stinky had to 'do it' so at least that got it over with and Bloke made off to one of those nasty little poo postboxes.
Lovely Moi tottered in the manner of Streryl Meep in 'The F L's woman' on the edge of the cliffs gazing out to sea looking ethereal, well as ethereal as one can in an anorak, and trying not to think about dog poo.
It became clear very soon that the reason there wasn't anyone else about was that they'd very likely all have been blown over the edge and washed out into the briney!
Bloke had forsaken the great unwashed and starving of Deepest in fear of being buffetted out into the middle of the road in burger van, and jolly nice it was to have him home for the day with Moi!
He really is the most agreeable company, especially since he is, as the name 'Bloke' implies, a MAN.
On Sunday we braved the gales and headed up country for a visit to Boy. It really was the most perfect day. For dear little Lovely Moi it's such a source of constant delight that I actually have a partner who, not only accompanies me on these visits, but actually ENJOYS them! We went first to Rice Towers to pick up mountains of post. We wanted to see how tiny little next D neighbour was but - out - so we sheared to the Bear for lunch.
Boy arrived straight from his bed, looking completely the part - crumpled, dishevelled and teenagerish, but was nonetheless engaging company.
He relieved me of any cash I might have had secreted about my person and bogged off back to Vile exHusband's lair to slaughter aliens on the pooter.
We cleared off to BF's and had a cup of tea with them. BF has practically got cheekbones now she's shifted all that flab and hasn't got a face like a full moon anymore!
Oh, I forgot, Boy, Bloke and Moi have FINALLY arranged to go up the smoke, well up the car exhaust fumes, to Luton to visit aged P's at Christmas.
Anyway, darlings, I drift off, yet again. BF gave me a bag of nice clothes that were probably destined for the Pink One, who, incidentally, set fire to herself last week. Don't ask!
Oh, alright then, ask...
Pink said she had been 'tending a cardboard box fire in the garden' when the wind changed and she was consumed by flames. Personally, I reckon it's more a case of 'Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves' a la Cher. In fact, La Pink Une could be the result of a bizarre Cher-like disaster in which the lypo-suction machine was set to 'blow' rather than 'suck'.
Anyhow, the perfect day in which I saw many of the most important people in my dear little existance, ended in a lovely fireside clinch before bedtime, and all was right with the world.
Goodnight Grandma
Goodnight Jim-Bob

Friday, 20 November 2009

In which Stinky and Lovely Moi forrage in the undergrowth...


Well dear reader, I am well at last. Have been confined to satin sheeted four poster since Monday with ghastly Deepest Devon style virus. Stinky has been invaluable during my confinement. That is, if one likes having one's startlingly pale, baby soft skinned face licked to bleedin' pieces! I am a great believer in the healing power of 'a bit of lick' but sadly, not from Stinky!
I have, today, an interview, darlings, for a little, not too taxing part time job, so I have just ventured into the deep dark woods with Stinky as a little test run into the outside world before I sashay off later this afternoon.
I am an avid follower of that little darling outdoor fiend, Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, and as such have been foraging in the undergrowth looking for something yummy and free to have for tea. He always comes back from the great outdoors with something I'd like to have a little nibble on down his corduroys, so in the best tradition of hedgerow foragers I thought I'd have a little go!
Off I strode, in my lovely new designer wellies, with a little basket, looking for all the world like Red Riding Hood,except that I was wearing my Fastnet 100% Merino wool short wide jacket, looking adorable, of course! In Graphite Grey, by the way. Google them darlings and buy one immediately!
Anyway, I digress, yet again, dear reader...
I collected a lovely basket of funghi and berries and scampered back to base with the Stinker. I texted Bloke to inform him of my escapade and that, due to my longtime viewing of River Cottage, there was nothing to fear from my funghi. He retorted with - 'I've watched Fred Dibnah, but it doesn't make me a steeplejack'. Oh Ha Ha, says Lovely One, 'My my what great big sharp teeth you have to scoff up your lovely hedgerow soup, and if you don't I shall invite H F-W to forrage immediatley in my undergrowth!

Thursday, 12 November 2009

In which I liberate a sack full of brassieres on their way to Pinkie...

It's six forty-seven and I'm ready to take Stinky into the woods, well, alright then, almost ready. After her little message of yesterday I'm taking no chances!
It has come to my attention that people who own dogs appear unconcerned as to their, (the people, that is, not the dogs), appearance. One sees them on an almost daily basis wearing the same muddy trackie bottoms and wellies, unbrused hair, no makeup and looking positively dishevelled. I just cannot bring myself to face the outside world without at the very least a freshly washed glorious mane of blonde tresses and a swipe of Chanel mascara. Well, darlings, one has standards after all!
Much excitement, I have been allowed on the burger van! Much to the distress of Darling Bloke who had been left in the lurch by the hired help who is suffering from swine flu, I offered, yet again, my dear little services. And, guess what, he actually said YES!
I didn't have to front up at some ungodly hour like he does and so I spent a while scouring the dressing room for a suitably 'cateringesque' outfit. Sadly - nothing. So after spending an hour putting on my 'natural' makeup (why does natural take longer than tarty?) and decided upon a pair of ruched black leggings, a dear little tie back black top and uggs. I was rather afraid he might make me wear some ghastly head attire that would squash my beautiful curly blonde locks, but no, I was allowed in as I was.
He was rather put out that my lovely pink lace bra peeked out when I leant forward and I was forced to wear a cardi, buttoned up, and a rather fetching black pinny.
I say 'my pink lace bra'. Well it is mine now, following it's liberation from a huge sack full of bras that I intercepted on their way to the Pink One from BF. I have never seen so many fabulous concoctions for the encasing of middle aged nellies! I reckon old BF is a bit of an underwear fiend! I can imagine her sashaying round the bungalow in a smidgeon of Agent Provocateur and her American Tan support stockings. It's a good job BFP has got low blood pressure or he'd have been a goner yonks ago!
Well, dear reader, I liberated a good few fabulous lace fripperies and bagged up the rest for the Pink One, who, by the way, has the most fantastically ginormous knockers I have ever seen! She'll look a big bouncy Pink temptress in them, methinks! Mr P always has a vaguely nervous demeanour about him and I think I know why!
My normal human sized nellies were positively lost in one or two of the larger brassieres. I tell you darlings, little old ladies have been tirelessly slaving away for many months to knock up enough lace to make even one cup to encase BF's knockers. So much so, that the larger ones that I couldn't bear to pass on to the Pink one I have taken to wearing over the top of my clothes.
I'm just off out with Stinky into the woods. Stinky will be wearing a darling little tartan overcoat that Bloke has fobidden me from putting on her and I shall be wearing a lilac lace 'Doreen' over the top of me anorak!

In which Stinky gets her revenge...

Rather rashly, Lovely One, in days gone by... Last week, actually, foolishly offered to do the early morning dash through the woods with Stinky Mutt.

Day One - Up at six, showered, in woods by seven. OK, eight, it takes ages to dry Lovely Moi's curly blonde tresses.

Day Two - Up just after six, had cappucino, faffed about, read emails, showered, in woods by nine thirty.

Day Three - Weekend, so Bloke accompanied Moi et Stinky on what was a very much longer forage through the undergrowth than One had in mind!

Day Four - Ditto day three.

Day Five - Stinky Mutt did a 'fossbury flop' onto Lovely One in order to alert attention to the fact that she needed a tinkle. Reluctantly up at nine, showered, in woods by eleven. Hurricaine Herbert blowing, peeing with rain, got lost, drenched and muddy.

Day six - Woke up at seven thirty, 'sod the stinky Mutt' murmered Lovely Moi, turned over, snuggled into Bear's vacated space and fell into a dreamy sleep. Stinky hung on until lunchtime when Lovely Moi had showered, put on ten minute face and taken pity on Stinky who's legs and eyes were crossed by this time.

Day seven - Fell into a lovely sleep when Bloke had departed to feed the great unwashed of Devon and awoke to find a large crow on the windowsill battering the glass with it's beak. 'Shall have a quick latte' thinks Moi, 'before taking stinky into the woods'. Wandered into painting room to find Stinky had used it as a latrine in order to make a point. Shows intelligence I suppose that in a house with as many rooms as this she knew that one was mine. I shoved her out of the patio doors for a rummage in the garden.

Tommorow - Up at six, in woods with Stinky by seven, just as Bloke thinks I have been every day. Good job Stinky can't squeal on Lovely One.

Wednesday, 11 November 2009

In which I stick my lovely head in a gas oven...

Massive problems with computer darlings. I am lost without Boy, puterwise, and dare I say it, I think I've found a use for Vile ex Husband, since he could always fix any probs.
Bloke is divine in every way, but not able to fix Lovely One's computer mishaps.
Having a really lovely evening: Moi pottering to and from the kitchen with culinery delights and Bloke forcing the stinky mutt to eat a large proportion of it every time I leave the room. He thinks I haven't noticed, but I have! I simply cannot believe it's because my yummy dinners aren't mouth wateringly tasty, I think he must be trying to lose weight.
I did have a slight mishap with this evening's supper. It could have happened to any of you dear readers, it really could!That ridiculous oven of his! The top shelf goes in at a jaunty angle and when I peeked inside to check on the roast potatoes the bastard tin load shot off the end and flung themselves into the little bit where the gas comes out. Fortune shone upon Lovely One and Bloke was happily ensconsed in the shower washing away the burger grease of the day. There was nothing for it but to lie prostrate on the kitchen floor (luckily recently mopped by Lovely Moi) and hoik the festering charred lumps out with knitting needle onto said floor. The oven had gone out by this time being bunged up with today's culinery delight so I turned the gas off since I had my lovely head in the oven and didn't wish to alarm Bloke lest he find me on his return from the shower.
I managed to liberate the roasties with the knitting needle but on their passage to the kitchen floor they picked up rather a covering of the charred remains of previous yummy dinners I have concocted.
The stinky mutt is really fussy. Even she bogged off when offered a morsel.
I remember the first meal I cooked Bloke...
'What are you cooking?' says he.
'I prefer not to christen it until it's born', says I.
He wandered off laughing.
He's not laughig now!

Saturday, 7 November 2009

In which I 'knowed he was coming, so I baked a cake'...


Well darlings I am prowling around deepest in the dead of night. Just can't sleep and there is a great big bear growling 'neath the duvet. He says I shuffle/fidget/fart/snore/giggle/sniff and generally keep him awake, but it's all filthy lies I tell you!
I am currently hiding from the world and pretending to be a nice little housewife. Unfortunately one or two of the required skills for the job have passed me by. I don't have the Delia gene. I really do try to make nutritious and tasty treats to tempt the darling bear, really I do. Read 'Really I do' in the manner of Katharine Hepburn, Oh, I know what I mean!
Anyhow, dear reader, I digress, I'm good at that. On Bonfire night I decided to make something unusual and delicious and invented a crunchy coating for various body parts of the chicken. Thinking 'Colonel Sanders' I concocted a divine mix of crushed almonds, garlic, herbs, parmesan cheese and cocoa powder. Well not actually almonds as Delia said, but peanuts. Well, they're nuts aren't they? We didn't have any garlic so I substituded ginger, ditto, mixed spice, mousetrap cheese and a packet of low calorie butterscotch options. Actually, the addition of the cocoa powder was a brilliant idea of my own, but sadly didn't have any.
Bear being Bear, looked slightly alarmed when the crispy roasted chicken body parts came out of the oven, but, bless him, tucked in with gusto. He did try to divert my attention by taking me to the Ho, or is it Hoe, in Plymouth to see the fireworks. I tell you, darling readers, fireworks have come a long way since I used to terrify my pussy with a Catherine Wheel nailed to the shed door!
Anyway, lots of 'Oooohs and Aaaahs' later we sashayed back to base only to find Stinky Mutt in a state of panic having been unable to resist culinery delight and looking very guilty about having scoffed the lot!
Bear escorted Stinky to the kitchen to 'tell her off', but Lovely One, who just happened to be passing by, distinctly heard Bear THANKING Stinky for scoffing the lot so he didn't have to eat it! I ask you, darlings, has Bear no spirit of adventure?
So today I made another valiant attempt to tickle the tastebuds of the Bear. I tell you darlings I am never listening to that bloody Delia woman again! The date and walnut cake I cooked in a silicone loaf tin had the appearance, look and feel of a housebrick, complete with the large dent in the middle.
I was engaged in the important mission of painting my toenails when I heard the familiar sound of a Bear entering the kitchen to dump his work stuff and I could have sworn I heard a whimper of fear when he espied the cake, cooling on it's rack. Not to be deterred I draped myself coquettishly round the kitchen door awaiting a bit of Bear attention for my efforts. Sadly the kitchen door is of the sliding variety and I slid, along with it, into the hall landing neatly in the laundry basket.

Tuesday, 3 November 2009

In which I am wicked stepmother to a stinky Mutt...


In all the excitement of the move to 'deepest' I forgot to mention the little matter of Vile Husband becoming Vile ex Husband. Apparently it all happened on 6th October, but due to the postmen having a hissy fit I didn't find out until the moving day of 26th October, which, incidentally happened to be birthday of aforementioned Vile ex Husband. Result! Offload one hubbster and immediately begin training a brand new one!I really should be thinking about becoming gainfully employed but am currently revelling in new found housewivery and growing positively more Dozzer like by the Day. (Doris Day a la check hair ribbon and pinny - with singing of course)
Darling Bloke and Lovely Moi sashayed forth to dear old Wivey to clean Rice Towers in preparation for lovely little new tenants on Sunday. We requested a visitation from the Pink Ones for final removal of shed loads of crap and collection of remaining baggsied items.
Mrs P was fair tanked up from the night before having consumed her own body weight in Thatchers. Mr P was limping, either from recent knee op or having to haul Mrs P home on the previous evening - who knows! Best not to ask!
Mrs P had obviously been retouching her tresses with Magenta emulsion or such like. Clearly there'd been a power cut in darkest Milverton or the shilling had run out before she'd caked it all over, as her entire neck, hands, arms and most of her fizzog were an alarming shade of puce!
BF called in briefly to oversee operations but seeing Bloke was happy to leave him in charge of Lovely One. I tell you dear reader, it's as if BF and BFP have been seeing off a very old child as One has been leaving to take up residence with Bloke. Well, I suppose I have faffed about over it for rather a while, after all I'm not exactly a child bride!
Met up with Boy for lunch, mid clean, who releived me of all the ready cash about my person. Was pleasantly surprised at the state of Vile ex Husband's abode and how he's made an adequate home for Boy and the morbidly obese pussies.
I now am the wicked stepmother of Bloke's mutt. A stinky thing but rather sweet. The Mutt - not Bloke.