Cakeywakey

Well I did eventually make my photo book, in fact two.  One was supposed to be free but actually cost more than the paying one.

And now I am digging an allotment and planting veg that should have all gone in in April.  Somewhat behind but at least the ground is clear - well part of it.  Still a lot more digging to do.  Someone stole all the paving from my allotment - my home made slabs have gone except one broken one.  This gives me an idea.  I will crazy pave my paths.

It turned cold so I started crocheting a blanket.  It is beautiful; my first attempt was hideous but nice friends got me the kit and I am now in with the crochet blanketeers.

I must get off cake.  Other people do coke but I do cake.

virtually inopenable book

http://www.albelli.co.uk/share-online-photo-book/c69eb11e-ebe2-4d32-b33c-2af0cd7fb441?utm_campaign=CRM_SML_EML_T9885_WidgetCrea&utm_source=Service-Mail&utm_medium=E-Mail#

Well that didn't work.

http://www.albelli.co.uk/share-online-photo-book/c69eb11e-ebe2-4d32-b33c-2af0cd7fb441?utm_campaign=CRM_SML_EML_T9885_WidgetCrea&utm_source=Service-Mail&utm_medium=E-Mail#

Oh well.  Back to the drawing board.

Free as Air

I have finished my latest painting.  Phew.

I am now free to do whatever I want.  I can't even procrastinate because I have finished work for the weekend.  Oh happy me.

I will finish a patchwork quilt then continue with my next one.  Oh the fifteen PhDs (projects half done) are going to get a bank holiday workout.

I spend a lot of time in front of the telly doing nothing.  This is madness when I have so many projects that could be hand sewn whilst absorbing the news, the murder, the soap, the antique, or usually the cricket or golf.  So it's out with the knitting, the patchwork, the embroidery and the journal.

I feel today the world is my lobster.  I will bask.  I won't do anything horrid or boring. I suppose some exercise wouldn't go amiss.  My allotment needs attention.  I must make it fun. My life is bloody lovely.

Presents arrived yesterday.  A little bag of sheer perfection from Designer Susan and some black and white fabric and a book from Suzanne who is returned from her Antipodean adventure, thank heavens  because one more bungee jump or zip wire and I would die of fear, just watching.

Lovely times, happy me.

No time to lose lautrec

Do you ever feel there is just not enough time to do stuff, I mean do anything?  Everything has to be preplanned and there is never enough time or the right time.  I do achieve things but by setting hideous deadlines with punishments for failure to meet them I am grindstoning it throughout the night sometimes.  I only set these so I can have some time to do nothing.  Staring into space is one of my all time favourite passtimes.  It is a matter of getting the balance right.  I don't work.  I had to elect one of my hobbies to be the most important so I chose the only one with any pecuniary return - painting.  This makes all the other pursuits mere daliances.  Oh.  I hadn't looked at it like that.  My life is spent making things so I can feel happy with my ability to see a project through to the end and boast about it.  I like to show off.  Work then show off.  If I get paid that is the very greatest applause of all.  Mostly I don't.

I need to tone it down a bit.  I currently have 8 patchwork quilts and four paintings on the go.  Then there is knitting and sewing and printing and embroidery and and and.  STOP.  Ok.  Time to take stock.  I will finish 6 of the 8 quilts one by one.  I will finish 2 of the paintings.  That is enough goals for now.  It tidies up a few ends.  I have paintings for people but they can wait.  I have almost every hour of every day allocated.  Staring into space time is becoming ever more elusive.

Well this is Mrs Smith doing what she does best, panicking about the time constraints on her life.... Whilst procrastinating.

Twenty sixteen

Happy New Year.

Well what happened?  I definitely ate and drank too much, ended up wearing a wet suit to dinner and then got a cold.  None of those things are remotely related.

My parents were golden.  Good guests.  My boys decided we were having more fun than them so they came for our post New Year weekend too.  I had to make extra pies which sort of scuppered the whole efficiency of advance preparations.  Next year I will make extra and freeze everything.  Oh the joy of cryogenics.  I had managed an extra lasagne just in case.

The award for beautiful behaviour and over all loveliness goes to the dog who was an obedient little sweetie all weekend.  I am sure he will rapidly degenerate over the next few days.  His fleas will return along with his smell.  He had a New Year bath in preparation.

As for resolutions, I am following the Benjamin Franklin method of improvement through 13 virtues except I have only seven and none of them are silence, justice or anything too taxing.

I call it my TOFFEES list

T - temperance - stay off the pop
O - orderliness - clean up
F - food -  eat less
F - frugality - spend less
E - exercise - take some
E - effort - make some re work
S - start - get up before 8.30am.

I have failed on every single one so far except perhaps frugality.

And now I will take my stinky cold to bed where I might stay until late January when we depart for a month in the Caribbean.  

Chrimbo

Christmas seems to be complete madness of such bonkers consumerism that has left me flat broke.  And fat.  Sorry to sound so bah humbug but I can hardly breathe for eating and spending.  I don't know why or how we do it really.  I would like to tone it down a bit for next year but I know I won't.  Well, I might on the food because we really do not need whole hams and whole cheeses, huge fish in their entirety, mince pies and Christmas puddings.  A fruit salad would be nice.  Actually, I feel a vegetarian week looming.

And now we have New Year and then post Christmas diets.

We are off to the Caribbean at the end of the month. Hooray.

Gingerbread House

I am in a bate.  This is because we found a very nice house for Mrs Smith, mother of Mr Smith, here in our village/town which we cleaned and mended and polished and licked and got all ready for Mrs Smith to move into.  Her loathsome eldest son, brother of Mr Smith, has filled it with junk.  Everything he didn't know what to do with, such as a table tennis table, he has had delivered to this little house.  I pointed out that it isn't his house and he is not to fill the garage with junk as his mother might like to keep her car in there.  When are the table tennis championships to be held?  With no bats balls or nets one assumes never.  I have threatened to set fire to all this rubbish if he doesn't get rid of it.  As far as he is concerned his mother's house is Big Yellow Storage with a maid.

In the meantime I am getting all excited about our trip to France tomorrow.  Hope the weather gets cheery.  It looks a bit grey today.

Mrs Smith actually moves in today as she spent the night at our house last night though I have absolutely no idea why since she has a perfectly good house of her own.  I will deliver her to it and make sure she stays there tonight.  

Ennui

I am bored.  This is odd because I am never bored.  The boredom is really caused by fatigue which just means I am really lazy and can't be arsed to do anything.  I am still tired after my wonderful trip to the other side of the Atlantic and I am just a teensy bit pissed off that I am not in that glorious sun shine being bored there.  Mr Smith has gone to the metropolis so I am rattling around in my great big house without motivation.  I have been swimming, done my laundry - well half my laundry ie I put it in the machine with a squidgey thing and offered up a little prayer to the god of washing hoping to see it again on the other side.  I did the shopping.   This was quite exciting as Mr Smith wrote me a list that I didn't read before leaving.  As I couldn't find my glasses I just got what I thought it said.  Oh Dog food, I bought doughnuts.  Oh well.

I did the crossword which was ridiculously tricky today and ate some ice cream.  It was a rather delicious yoghurt ice cream which was amazingly low in calories.  Admittedly it wasn't right down there with celery or cucumber or water but it wasn't Richter scale calories considering its deliciousness.  160 for two big scoops.  Well, maybe they were supposed to be really tiny scoops; I don't know because they just drew a picture of scoops and gave the cals.  I ate two medium sized - no I didn't.  I didn't scoop at all, I just dug.

I have to walk the dog and cut out some white squares.  Both these tasks fail to fill me with glee.  I also have to paint two white squares dark green but that is too dull to contemplate.  Oh there is the thrilling prospect of taking my washing off the rack and ironing some of it.

I am going out tonight.  That could be exciting but in all honesty it is the sewing group's annual knees up and I have an inkling there might not be a male stripper.

I think I will go and visit my recently bereaved friend.  Oh why do husbands have to die?  She will be so sad and lonely.  I love her dearly.  I mustn't cry.  No no no.  Happy thoughts.  Laundry, dog walk, crap on telly, worse on YouTube.

Oh, I see from the front page of the Torygraph that the Queen is now on Facebook.  Do you think she'd like to be friends?
 - hatch tag Liz @ BHouse.

Mrs da Vinci

Ghastly dream where I left my handbag on a train from Kings Lynn to Diss.  I don't know what this means.  I have never taken a train journey through Norfolk other than a teeny steam train around some nursery gardens with Mr Smith with his poo face on.

I am newly arrived back from the Caribbean and I could sleep for a week.  I have decided to emerge in late Spring but only if the weather's clement.

I was rather masterly painterly on holiday and Mr Smith is getting a bit whip cracky as he tots up how many meals or nights each painting is worth.  I have done so well he is now considering air fares.  OK.  By the way, I don't actually have a studio.  He is working on that.  I do have paintings to crack on with but I am so stupidly tired I cant start.

Our master plan is to spend a month in the Caribbean next year.  All my painting money will go to the holiday fund.  Time to paint some better pictures I feel.  Maybe some British ones too.

Oh so pretty, so pretty

So well and happy and kids all a ok and doggy woggy lovely and Mr Smith out hitting little white pellets into holes on greens.  I am baking today.  I have three cakes Delia, Mary and me and another Delia - I always want to give Delia a complimentary H at the end, don't you?  Here is how they are doing.  In no particular order - Delia's banana loaf - bloody perfect.  Mary's banana cake - slow ie not cooked in the time it said.  My almond and cherry, and all the leftover stuff in the cupboard short of chilli, cake - complete rubbish; it will burnt on the top before the middle cooks.  Delia's Dundee - this requires 2 - 2.5 hrs of cooking. I think half an hour is a huge time difference.  We will see.

This morning in that bit of morning before you are really awake, or before anyone else is awake, like on Christmas morning when you can sneak a look at your pressies so you know whether to feign surprise or not, I did something bad.  I accidentally ordered the iron of my dreams from America.  It is yellow, floats up and down in the air on magic legs and cost more than $200 due to stupid import duty.  I only know I bought this because I have just had an email confirming what I thought was a dream.  Oh well.  It will be lovely and very weird.

I have asked Mr Smith for two things for Christmas. One is a fancy mixer and the other a sports bag.  The impending introduction of these items into my life post has rendered all other bags and mixers awful and dreadful and inadequate.  The magimix is just no good and all bags wrong of handle or capacity.  Roll on Christmas.

Make me better

I have a stinking cold.  You know how you shouldn't ........but antibiotics really help.  I had some hanging about from a previous ailment.  I can't say I feel fine but I feel a lot better than I did and that is not just my cold clearing up.  I am full of it.

Now, I am being very makey these days.  I made a tea towel bag at a workshop last week which is superb and I have a big sewing bag on the go - instructions a bit wordy but I am getting there with much help from lovely neighboury person Who gave me the pattern.

On Wednesday at sewing group I got elected to be bookmaker - not taking bets but person who has to make a Christmas book then demo it to all and get them all to make Christmas books to hang on a tree.  Fun or nightmare?  Mine will be very arty. I want to get on with this but no chance with a stinking cold, a bouncy puppy, a bag to make and a Mr Smith demanding a meal.  I also want to make Donna a lovely bag for her birthday.  60.  Blimey we're all getting old.  How scarey!

And now back to bed with pills. 

House party

People are coming and the pudding has gone wrong.

We have slain a fatted lobster, hung temporary curtains as the new ones are still with the curtain lady and cleaned and spruced our house.  The boys have come home and messed it all up again.  I still have to finish the headboard I am making for the other spare room and trying to get the dog wee off the bedcover in the small bedroom. That damned puppy; he ate yew berries and had mammoth shits all over the kitchen floor.  He starts school on Monday.

On Thursday evening Glen the Good hosted a giant ice bucket challenge at the pub.  He rigged up plastic half barrels on a scaffold, stuck everyone underneath it and you can imagine the rest.  I watched from the safety of my nice dry house and popped round afterwards to congratulate some very wet people.  It was a brilliant event and raised over £500 for a local charity.  Well done everyone.

My weight stayed the same this week, yet again.  I really despair.  I might have to actually do the diet in order to shift some pounds.  I will this week but this weekend might be a bit tricky.  Actually, the pudding has gone wrong so I might be safe.

And now to be the hostess of the mostest despite Mr Smith's best efforts to scupper the weekend.  He has bought the tiniest leg of lamb to feed the five thousand.  It will be a case of Is that nice for you? as he serves each person a teeny slither of meat on their plate.  Oh well, they will have to eat lots of pudding - oh they can't, it's gone horribly wrong.  

Number Six

We went to the dog show.  He came sixth.  Our puppy who hadn't a clue what he was supposed to be doing, sat down and had a bit of a scratch then bounced about instead of walking nicely and tried to play with the other well behaved pups.  Useless.  But he won a rosette ... which he ate when he got home.  I now own the sixth best puppy in the world.  We are so proud.  There were only seven pups in the whole class.

I love things like that - local dog show.  It was fun and low key and all the dogs were nice and not growly and their owners were delightful.  We watched several events - puppies, seniors, young handlers (best dog with a child), greyhounds and we left at friendliest dog which looked a bit over subscribed.

And now he is exhausted.

Eaty Arty

We have been eating rather well of late.  Mr Smith is getting wonderful dinners every night. My new cook book arrived The Hairy Dieters.  We have followed their recipes to the letter and made some amazing meals.  The portions are rather on the large side as they are for big hungry hairy bikers rather than fat little artists so I get it for lunch next day.  Haven't lost an ounce.  Actually, this is because I went on the razzle on Tuesday and got slaughtered.  I still feel hungover and it's Saturday.

Hythe dog show today.  We are taking the puppy and putting him through his paces.  He is hopeless at anything that involves obedience and is totally thick so the agility course should be a hoot. He looks pretty.

Took the eldest fruit of my loins to a Folkestone for the day on Thurs where there was some dreadful art passed off as the Folkestone Triennial - the sort of thing that required a lot of words to describe its conceptuality.  We didn't see Yoko Ono's step ladder or Andy Goldworthy's stairs with cement chucked down them but fell in love with the ticket office, a giant seagull with a window in its wing.  Thank God Mr Smith wasn't with us.

My pompom shoulder injury nags on.  Much better but still apparent.

Is it a bird, is it a plane?

There are certain things I had rather stupidly overlooked when moving to the country such as the clanging of church bells and the smell of manure.  Then there are nice things such as tradesmen and practitioners being a lot less expensive, people in shops being cheery and polite and everyone knowing the names of birds and trees.  Mr Smith: Robin, horse chestnut.  Me: Blackbird, yes I know it's brown; it's Mrs Blackbird,
Christmas tree.  After that it's just bird, tree, let's go shopping ..... for a bird book and I spy trees.

The reason for all this: I found a dead bird, in my dog's mouth.  He didn't kill it but was so proud of his trophy and furious with me for prising his jaws apart to remove feather and maggot.  It was ringed so I looked online and reported it.  I am supposed to keep the ring.  But it is attached to putrid bird and I don't fancy cutting its little leg off.  Consider it reported, end of.  What type of bird?  Gawd, I dunno, one with wings, green wings.  So it must be a greenfinch.  Looks like a greenfinch to me.  Dead greenfinch.

I am repairing well.  I made a pompom sheep and some biscuits.

Rerotation

Arm still hurts like billio.  I even had to forego sewing group on Wednesday in favour of sitting around moaning.  I have been trying to do the treatment and exercises prescribed by the osteopath but, given the amount of pain they render, I suspect he was joking.  I am a fairy with one wing who can only fly in circles.  I have to admit it is a lot better this morning but don't tell Mr Smith.  I need the sympathy which is fast waning if it was ever there at all.  My injury is an inconvenience to him - no oats and he occasionally has to help me with an impossible task such as a zip.  So I think I will keep him as auxiliary nurse for a while longer and no, I will not go to his dull golf club picnic with wasps on Sunday.

And now I want to make pompoms. Am I mad?  No, of course I am not going to make pompoms; that's how I wrecked my rotator cuff in the first place.  I will finish off a quilt edging, apply moisturiser to my crusty ears, make a hair appointment and stick to a diet.

Mulberry, lovely pup, has learnt to lift his leg.  He still does girly wees too but we are so proud of him.  Perfect.

Rotation rotation

At the top of your arm there lies something called the rotator cuff.  This is a part of your body of which you can be blissfully unaware, rather like your liver or pancreas; that is until something goes wrong.  Oh my goodness me how it hurts.  I took it to an osteopath who was thoroughly thorough and good at the naming of parts but it still hurts and by hurt I don't mean gives me a little bit of gyp.  This is the full blown searing agony of a tendon strain that makes you want to scream for your mother temporarily forgetting she is not of the sympathetic tendency and doesn't care to be disturbed whilst on her latest caribbean holiday or flat buying spree in Chelsea.

The problem with lolling about on a sofa all day feeling sorry for yourself watching crappy films eating rubbish food is it makes you very fat.  Rock Hudson was SO good looking (ref to crappy films).  I tried to walk a bit but every step jolted my shoulder and made me want to cry.

Yesterday I took my eyes to the loveliest optician in all of Kent.  He declared my eyes spectacularly brilliant and just recommended sporting the reading lunettes whenever necessary.  No charge.  Must go to pound shop forthwith and stock up on more cheapy readers.  Can't drive due to stupid shoulder. Oh well, I will look at specs on line.  I remember one I loved years ago called Specky Four Eyes.

My puppy still has fleas.  I have waged war against the fleas with potions and sprays but I found one on him that looked in rude health ready to start a family.  Do these things actually work?  They are reassuringly expensive.

Mr Smith has been gardening.  I am impressed.  He is very destructive but it all looks very neat and tidy.  I think I quite liked it messy.  Oh well, it keeps him away from me and my shoulder.

Ow

Something ghastly has happened in my shoulder department.  I cannot move my arm without screaming in agony.  I think it is pompom makers arm as I made hundreds of pompoms and I think the repetitive tying has strained something or caused something to trap and my golly does it hurt.  It feels as though I have an arrow sticking through my shoulder joint.

I have spent two days in bed or in front of the telly motionless.  Pain killers really work and if I o.d. ridiculously I can then move a fraction of a inch.   Someone told me it might be a trapped bicep bit and it will take months to recover.

So all handicrafts are on hold.  I can't even read as I simply cannot concentrate.  Ow.

All things Mulberry

Mulberry has grown.  He is so so so sweet.  We are in love with our puppy and so is everyone else.

The pub had a beer festival.  It was loud.  We went and I got scowled at.  Glen the Good was once more good.  All seems to be forgiven.  But I am not gracing their portals again in a hurry.

Our Mulberry tree has fallen down.  Mr Smith puts on his mulberry gathering outfit and picks away furiously.  Once in a while you get a sweet one.  I made a Mulberry Mouse - amazing.  Just think blackcurrant.

We have redecorated our spare rooms and are awaiting elegant curtains.  We need them by Tuesday when we have a full house - Mr Smith's golfy friends.  I am running a B&B for free!

I seem to be enormously fat.  Oh dear.

Ironing out the kinks

I am barred from the pub.  Well, that is I barred myself.  After a frightful run in with Glen the Good, I am not entering the portals to be despised, slagged off or both.  They can do that without me.  I don't really like pubs that much anyway.  I feel uncomfortable amongst people I don't know and who, on the whole, seem a bit snooty towards me.  They are suspicious and jealous and seem to think speaking the queen's English is a nasty infection that might be catching.  I think it is time to start behaving appropriately and stop upsetting people.  I suppose I should be doing charitable works or something.  Just fancying David Cameron and being a bit loud aren't really great qualities for endearing yourself to man in the pub or anyone else.

Now I am concentrating on being nicer and getting thinner.  Mr Smith is away in France jouer au golf.  Je suis stuck at home scared to go out of my front door.  But I have done all the washing and ironing (which took me forever) and my darling boy has put Netflix on my iPad - though it isn't actually working.  I learnt how to fold fitted sheets on YouTube and found the lump on the back of my head is probably just a wart, not a cancerous melanoma.

Oh how I love our little dog.