Saturday, July 30, 2011

Great white cakes

Shall I clean my house or make shark cakes?  No contest really.


I have delegated the cleaning.  Son number two is hoovering around his brother but the pleasant sound of hoover o'er carpet seems to have stopped as they have both settled down to a computer game.  He hasn't done the stairs, sitting room or dining room as requested and they look as though they need ploughing.

I was only away for two days and my stupid vegetables all grew so big they could win the County Show.  I like embryo beans, pois petites, teeny runners and courgettes preferably smaller than the size of children.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Gloriously glorious

Look, this horse is smiling.
So am I.



I had a fabulous day at Goodwood.  Frankie Dettori smiled at me, so did his horse, so I put money on them to win and do you know .... they did.  Unfortunately, I wasn't quite so lucky in my other choices.  I still had a lovely day and I was so pleased that I wore what I wore as I looked suitably elegant and my shoes were fine;  I did take some flatties just in case.  We had a lunch table in a tent overlooking the racecourse which gave us a base. In fact we didn't have to move from it all day if we didn't want to as lovely Tote people came and took our bets and then came again to pay us our winnings.  We had a delicious lunch and a superb afternoon's racing.  We could drink unlimited wine which made me instantly teetotal.  I just did not want a headache or to fall over or wave my knickers at a horse.

I stayed at a B&B run by a contender for Britain's most martyred woman (though sadly she has just been pipped at the the post by my mother-in-law).  She made everything extremely hard work and you were made to feel how hard she had to slave for your money.  "I've made up your room with clean sheets and towels, I've hoovered and polished and cleaned your bathroom and I will be doing it all again when you've gone."  She had this really irritating way of making all questions rhetorical. For example "What kind of toast would you like?  I've made you brown."  After the eighth one of these I thought I was going to scream "I don't want brown toast, I want white.  I hate smoked salmon with my scrambled eggs.  I don't want cereal which I told you last night you stupid old bat.  I want Earl Grey tea.  And I want to go home."   but I found myself saying "Oh brown, just perfect.  Smoked salmon, how delicious.  How kind of you to provide such a wide range of cereals and dark brown tea.  I could stay here forever but sadly I have to wrench myself away to return home to my family."  But really you couldn't fault the place - it just suffered from an attack of over-service by the lonely spinster owner who so desperately needed a husband to peck. Oh I am so lucky to be married to Mr Smith with holes.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Glorious Good hat

Tomorrow I am off to Ladies Day at Goodwood Races in a dress that doesn't fit and painful shoes .... but a lovely hat.  I tried on the dress and I can just squeeze into it but to be honest I look like a big pink sausage that's bursting out of its skin - a bit like my resemblance to a black pudding when I went surfing in a wetsuit.  Let's face it even total starvation ain't going to get me down a dress size by tomorrow so I think it's a case of dash to the shops; I don't want to frighten the horses.

Later: I dashed. I found the perfect thing in Monsoon sale so no more squeezy fat for me and I am having a shoe rethink too as I have to wear them all day and it will be a long day what with paddock inspections and collecting my winnings (should I be lucky).  The one thing I am happy with is the hat.  Here - see for yourself.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Daffodears

I saw this amazing cake on line and thought Oh Wow, how I'd love to make that.



Then I saw this, and thought mmm .... not quite as good.  It's the bit of string that lets it down really.


Then I saw this and thought Oh God, it can't get much worse.....



But it so could:-









Hookahs and hookers

Who's Queen?  Well the Queen is queen, obviously, but apart from her, who is Queen of Cakes?  La Reine des Gateaux - I'll rule France as well while I'm about it.  My cake ensemble was a great success and some bloke I recognised off the telly ate many an icing rose.  Marianne looked wonderful for someone of 80 and there was a grand reunion of us college girls.  It was great to hear what everyone was up to - I seem to have produced the most unenterprising children of anyone.  I made my electrician and my film boy sound dedicated and wonderful with bright futures rather than useless layabouts performing the mere minimum.

I came back by tube from Edgware Road which I can tell you is just the strangest place on a Sunday night.  It is a hive of Arab activity and I did not feel as though I was in London but in a middle eastern city such as Beirut without the bombing.  Outside the Arab restaurants there were men seated at tables smoking hookahs and ladies selling their daughters (the ones with lots of make-up and no headscarves). There were ladies selling jewellery, men selling carpets and suitcases, lots of women swathed in black robes pushing prams and there, in the midst of this hubub, was me, a bit lost at 11.30 on a hot Sunday night, the only person not in a nightie, thinking I'd accidentally been transported to another part of the planet.  I didn't know how I was ever going to get back to my real world as the District Line was closed.  I had to walk back through Dar-es-salaam via Cairo to get to the Bakerloo line for Waterloo where I caught a train back to the familiarity of leafy suburbia.  It was so lovely to get home to snory Mr Smith .... and that pile of washing up.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

I did it

Exhibit A:

Marianne's birthday ensemble



Exhibit B:  

Something for Mr Smith to do whilst I'm at Marianne's party.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Marianne

My bad mood was hormonal - no, really.  I once missed a period, had a hot flush and went to the doctor, all on the same day.  That was my menopause.  The next month normal service was resumed and looks like it will be so for ever after.  I have a ghastly headache which I've been sporting for three days now. I really do wish it would go away.

My friend Marianne is 80 tomorrow and is having a party.  It seems odd that she's 80 because I think of her as almost the same age as me.  We were at college together in Whitechapel  for 4 years which was really just an excuse to go out for a nice lunch.  Anyway, for her party I will do what I do best .... make cupcakes.  I am pondering over my design.  Our course was textiles so should I knit and weave my cakes?  I think not.

When she was six Marianne and her brother came to England from Austria with her mother as a Jewish refugee.  Her mother was a cook and went to work in various parts of the country.  Marianne has a strong Austrian accent but can't speak any language other than English.  I have no idea what became of her father.  She married a rock star, but I have never found out who, and they bought a little house near Marble Arch where she still lives today. He died very young which I always thought was sad but she never remarried and enjoys life on her own.  She has lots of frightfully showbiz, glamorous friends as well as lots of arty waifs and strays and everybody loves her.  She teaches dressmaking to asylum seekers and refugees and became a godmother by mistake to one of their children; she was invited to the christening and politely turned up to find herself in the starring role at which point to come out with "But I'm Jewish" didn't seem polite.  She learnt not to do that again but spoils her little African godson delightfully.  He's probably quite grown up now with his own kalashnikov and gang in the East End.

So it's cake making for me today, once I've ditched this nightmare of a headache.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Calmer karma

I can't do this without sellotape - can you?

I am in a bad mood.  The weather is horrible, rainy and chilly and not a bit summery.  I am feeling irritable today.  I am not going to do any of the following:-

Reunite Miss Ross and her runaway dog on the Heath ... yet again.  Get a long lead for your dog, you stupid old bat.

Be elated at the next weedy bit of work experience gained by the newly graduated ex Student Son.  Get paid employment like normal people you idle little shit.

Stay in to take delivery of endless rubbish sent off for by the Apprentice son that is never what he actually wanted as he misordered yet again.  And NO, I am not going down to Putney Post Office to pick it up either.

Make a picnic lunch for Mr Smith's day at Lords (in the rain).  Buy some sandwiches you mean git.

Reassure Gwen that she will make a brilliant hotel manager on her tiny little island in the sun.  Asking your knuckle scraping staff, most of whom can't hold a pencil, to write down their job descriptions is not going to be a great start!

So, as I unsellotape my fingers and go out to the shops for the picnic supplies, stopping at the post office, dropping in at the job centre, taking an extra dog lead with me, then dashing off a "You'll be a super hotel manager, don't worry" email, I will start to think calmer thoughts.

Oh, and before I forget, yeah Carina I am sorry your father is drawing his last ventilated breath - isn't he dead yet?  And your husband has lost a bit of his ear (due to surgery not carelessness).  I will add a Van Gogh and some plastic Spock ears to my shopping list and send you good cheer, despite my rotten mood.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Another Graduate


Oh it feels like when he was born and it was another boy.  Such a relief.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Barnet Fair - Hair


Today is hairdresser day.  No, that implies it's National  Be Nice to Your Hairdresser Day or some similar ceremonial recognition of the Teazy Weazies; I just mean I am going to get my barnet attended to with the endeavour of becoming less grey and more presentable for the Student son's graduation ceremony tomorrow.  I only tell you this because I hate, absolutely loathe, going to the hairdressers - a bit like the dentist.  I am sure it's going to hurt.  Actually, nobody is cutting anything today; it's just an episode of Roots.

The Student is on work experience at a big film corporation.  After arriving an hour early (keen you know), he spent the day sitting around waiting to see the man with whom he had an appointment only to discover he was on holiday, then the rest of it unloading a van.  This is not exactly why he has a degree in cinematography.  And he has a cold.  He was initially rather cross at having to miss a day of this work experience in order to attend his graduation but I wasn't going to be deprived of my opportunity to be a proud mother.  (I'm thinking back to junior shepherd in the infant school nativity play with tissues handy.)  The film people didn't mind him skiving and I think now he's not too fussed either.  Mr Smith thinks it's a right pain in the pants and harps on about how his parents didn't come to his graduation.  This is probably because he went to a polytechnic in the West Country and was the youngest in his family of four graduates; the novelty had probably worn off by then.  We  also have to pay to attend which is the real reason he doesn't want to go.  I paid for the kit hire and family mug shots - hence my trip to the hairdressers.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Harvest Home

The sprained wrist righted itself enough to be able to gather my home grown vegies.  I mean vegetables, not vegetarians; I don't have any of those.  My family are all "Where's the meat?" every Vegetarian Tuesday.

Strawberry Surprise

The Lovely Claudia came to the aid of the party and we had a harvest festival in my vegetable garden then at my table shelling peas, podding broad beans and shredding runners.  Oh what a high time we had.  Well, that's because I made her try five different type of cupcake and we positively had "de sugars".  She's a hopeless guinea pig for my cupcake experiments as she is far too polite to say any of them are vile and takes away all my disasters for her family - probably dumping them in the nearest skip on the way home.  Well I palmed those dreary garlic looking ones on her and she could have taken some of the hidden strawberry surprises but we had to cut them all open as we were just too curious (or rather I was) to see if the strawberry was still in there.  Where exactly I thought it might have gone I don't really know.

Almond cracknell cakes not flying bat cakes
These almond caramel cakes are just delicious - quite hard work to make but well worth setting fire to your kitchen as I nearly did.

This cupcake thing is all a bit hit and miss but it's only a hobby.  Mr Smith should just be grateful it's not pottery or welding.

Sunday, July 17, 2011

May contain nuts

I have strained my wrist and it is absolute agony.  Typing this is hurting but one must suffer for ones art. I think I did it shelling pistachios but if you told me I'd actually been arm wrestling with Geoff Capes, I'd believe you.

The Apprentice, my cupcake no.1 fan, requested pistachio cupcakes.  They looked rather good in the picture in the book.  The first problem was procuring the pistachios.  I needed unsalted pistachios;  hence my safari to Tesco on Friday.  The student is a prize pistachio sheller - so glad he learnt something other than how to roll a joint at university.  He and I shelled away and it was very difficult; they can be tough little buggers to get out of their shells.  I baked my cakes, made them lovely cream cheese toppings and shelled a few more really difficult nuts and crushed them using the proper magimix attachment because I like extra washing up.  The result:-


"Oh look, garlic cupcakes, I'll give them a miss" says Mr Smith.  Actually, they taste a bit sawdusty and not as  scrumptious as the strawberry jam indulgences I usually rustle up and definitely not worth the enormous effort.

All evening my wrist hurt.  I awoke in the night with this searing pain.  I took a couple of neurofen and got through the night but now I am a one armed bandit.  Oh how it hurts.  I am going to wear a sling so my family realise I am injured and not just pretending.  Well, they'll still  think I'm pretending but better.  I am now going to look up sprained wrists and suffer every symptom including carpal tunnel, tendonitis, rms, sprang, fracture, arthritis and rheumatism.  OK I made up sprang, anything for a bit of sympathy.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Mrs Smith goes to Tesco

I spent much of yesterday evening compiling a shopping list.  Everyone added their wants and it seemed pretty comprehensive.  In the morning Mr Smith added a few late entries including coleslaw. "Don't forget to get coleslaw unless you want to die" was the general vibe. I decided to try Tesco as I've never been there before; I'm a Sainsburys girl.

It was a sunny morning when I set off  for Tesco with the car roof down at one with the exhaust fumes of Roehampton Vale.  I pulled in to Asda.  Oh bugger.  I came out of Asda and, narrowly missing a bus, rejoined the A3.  I then remembered that I had left the shopping bags at home. Then I couldn't find Tesco.  It was marked Superstore which is ridiculous as it is very far from super.  I eventually found it and parked my lovely car across two bays as is my wont.  Oooh, I say, free trolleys.  I know trolleys are always free but you usually have to pay a  £1 ransom and then not leave them strewn about the car park with gay abandon.  It doesn't seem to matter here.

I then lost my shopping list - just as well I've got a good memory.

I then went into the shop.  OMG it's enormous.  But where is the food? Unless you happen to be oriental absolutely nothing looks vaguely familiar.  However, tempted though I was to run back to my car and drive away, curiosity got the better of me. I bravely ventured beyond noodles and I did my shopping which took ages because I couldn't find anything.  The people who looked like Tesco helpers armed with guns and a poor understanding of English were absolutely useless.  I didn't like to press my point for fear of being shot although acting out rhubarb to someone from the Congo in aisle 17 did make me lose the will to live.  The man in a bate in wines wasn't any better.  He didn't know what wines they did or didn't have and didn't care.  He told me most of the staff are part time, they are shunted from pillar to post, given no training and everyone hates their job.  So glad we had that little chat; it made me feel much better about my first shopping expedition in Tesco!

Eventually a man in suit came to my aid as I was looking befuddled in nuts.  He was the Customer Services Manager - ooh goody, just the chap. Over the pistachios he explained that the armed personnel are actually doing home delivery shopping for all the people like me who just can't cope with sodding Tesco, and their guns read the prices.  They don't know where anything is because they have sat nav to guide them to each product and never learn from it.  They also do the shopping at the speed of paraplegic snails and steal quite a lot of stuff.

I told the Customer Services Manager that investing in their work force would be a good idea.  He agreed with me that the Customer Service is shocking and said that is why he shops at Waitrose!  Well, I think I might too.

When I eventually got to the front of a mighty long checkout queue I couldn't find the magic card, the one Mr Smith pays.  Thank goodness, in a mad panic, I found the replica in-case-of-emergency card.  Phew.  I got a 5p off petrol coupon - how exciting.  I also caught a glimpse of that Customer Service Manager's relieved expression as I left.

I spent a while looking for my car.  I thought I might have to call on the services of that Customer Services Manager again but it wasn't that difficult to spot due to its unique parking.  I found the list in the car and, amazingly, I had actually done very well.

I had to go to Krispy Kremes for a consoling donut but this is really because I got lost and needed to turn round in their car park.  Whilst I was there it suddenly occured to me ... I'd forgotten the coleslaw.

Greenery

Mr Smith cleverly persuaded the Student son to clip the hedge outside the front of our house.  I suppose he threatened to withdraw financial support and make him actually get a job!  He made quite a good effort although I had to get him everything - step ladder, hedge trimmer, rubbish bag, broom.  Somehow he couldn't manage that part himself.  However, when he'd finished I decided the hedge is far too high; you can't reach the top any more so there are sprouty bits sticking up.  I got the heavy duty clippers and gave it a good hack marking the height I would like it to be.  There is now an enormous hole in our hedge and a very irate Student.  Apparently that was his best bit. We need a man.  And a chainsaw.  Maybe I could hire one but how on earth would we dispose of the hedge trimmings?  It would take us 3 months of continuous trips to the tip with plastic bags full of hedge.  However, I am tempted to get the required tool and just zoom all the way along.  Mr Smith is going to call  Les Underpants, our local tree surgeon, but I bet he's expensive.

This is what I have in mind.

I had an excellent harvest last night of things green in our vegetable garden.  I fed them a medley of broad, french, runner and borlotti beans with a few peas, brocolli sprigs and courgettes in a lovely creme fraiche sauce on spaghetti topped with parmesan and parsley.  They moaned. This would be so much nicer with:- bacon, salmon, salami, ham etc.  The idea was to taste all the home grown vegetables; the sweetness of the peas, the courgettiness of the courgette, the broad of the beans.  Oh Philistines, why don't I just give them hedge trimmings and be done with it?  Anyway, I have trouble eating my vegetables; they have been so carefully nurtured they are almost my children.  NO, we can't eat Clarissa cabbage, she's my best one.  I'll buy some in Sainsburys.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Very Disturbing

I have just alighted upon a gloriously awful website www.crappytaxidermy.com.   Have a stiff drink or very strong cuppa first then press the link.  I warn you it isn't just the familiar Damien Hirsts or Victorian monkey bands; no, it is a site dedicated to gloriously grotesque things done with dead animals or parts of dead animals (particularly wings and antlers) in the name of art.  I don't know quite which is my favourite: the giraffe chair or kitten wedding.  Anything two headed or grossly manipulated just makes me feel quite unwell and, beware, there is a lot on there.  I am suddenly feeling quite vegetarian.... but somewhat voyeuristic.  Maybe I'll do something creative with Granny's mink coat.

Oh go on then, have another one ...
Pygmy giraffe - a whole new species

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Encore Placido Flamingo






There is nothing quite like the sensation of eating a flamingo - the crunchy sugar and buttercream upon your tongue before you bite into the sponge body is just divine. I quite surprised myself.  I know I posted a picture yesterday but here it is again just so you have the tune AND the lyrics so to speak- if only I could post Tasteblogs.



I am trying to bake a cake that has less vesuvian qualities.  I think my main culprit is oven temperature.  It's too hot so the outside cooks too quickly leaving the inside to rise leisurely (like the Student son) and it overdoes it producing a big tit of a cake when I want a Kiera Knightly. The only way to work this out is to keep experimenting, surreptitiously.  If Mr Smith finds me wasting time, ingredients and electricity I'll be in terrible trouble. I am not supposed to be baking cakes or eating cakes.  I haven't yet told him I have signed up for a confectionery course.  I'm sure he'll realise as soon as he gets stuck to the kitchen worktop.

My friend Gwen from Chicago is going to become a hotel manager.  Go Gwen go.  Rather her than me!  I am going to become a difficult guest - much more fun.

Welcome little Miss Beckham.  I know Half Past Seven is a bit of an odd name but you didn't actually expect them to call you Sarah did you?

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Flamingo go go





I made a flamingo cake ... why?  Um er no idea, I just wanted to see if I could.  The flamingoes' heads keep falling off and they need proper legs rather than stupid sticks but you get the general idea.  I think straight pretzels dipped in pink stuff would work, though the flamingo cupcakes might be too heavy and I don't know what kind of pink stuff or where on earth I could buy straight pretzels.  I'll look next time I go to Sainsburys.  Oh why bother?  It was a one off.  I am not making flamingo cakes again in a hurry.

Must dash, time to walk the dog before I eat flamingoes.





Monday, July 11, 2011

Cake wrecks for everyone

I have heard from the Confectionery School of Sugary Magic and Witchcraft. My cheque is being processed and I am being allocated a personal tutor.  Oh this is so exciting.  I am going to be sticky for a whole year.  In fact, if I progress to Part II, I can be covered in icing for three years.  I realise why I need to do this course.  I imagine glorious and fabulous cakes but don't have the technical knowledge of how to construct them.  I throw it all together and hope for the best but, to be honest, it doesn't ever look like the picture (in my mind).

There is a glorious website dedicated to cake wrecks and there's a fantastic section of what they ordered/what they got.

What they wanted

What they got.

And, although I think I can produce cake A, in reality it is much more likely to come out like cake B.
Mrs Smith strongly recommends a visit to www.cakewrecks.blogspot.com.  Mr Smith recommends you go there too ... because Mrs Smith says so.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Just exterminate me more

It transpires, predictably, that the Student's film wasn't a Hollywood blockbuster in the making but actually some chap's bet as in "I bet you can't make a film" ...  "I bet you I can."  Anyway, it was good experience for the Student and hopefully he will have made a few contacts in the movie business.  In the meantime he's back in bed in a very very messy bedroom with me yelling at him to tidy it up.  I have a feeling this will continue for the rest of his summer/life.

Mr Smith isn't playing golf today which means he's daleking around the house asking why things haven't been done inc. why have I tumble dried the laundry on such a sunny day etc.  I am hiding.

I had an amazing dream last night .... flamingo cupcakes.  Oh just watch this space.  I know there are a few technical challenges here along with Mr Smith doing the usual Why?  What's it for? What a waste of time, money and energy.  It's OK I'll just ignore him and continue to turn my kitchen flamingo pink.

Not by me
If things don't go to plan I can always make this Blue Peter Dalek cake and exterminate myself.  Looking at the selection of these on Google, although I am amazed they posted them, I am so much more impressed with people's dreadful wonky efforts than the sugar crafted perfect creations that don't look edible.  There's something about the love and recognisable bits of kitchen involved in their construction that is so appealing.  Do I really want to be a C&G Confectioner?  It's a bit late now as I have paid for the course.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

Swimming or Cupcakes? No brainer!

The Student son has now taken up Hanging On quite seriously.  He hung around the film set all day yesterday, starting very early - a bit odd for a chap who never emerges much before 12 unless seriously chivvied - and ended up at the Wrap Party.  So he must have hung nicely and, I presume, actually worked though not for money.  Wrap Party implies it's all over.  Perhaps they'll make another film and let him hang around a bit more.  Well hung on son.

Mr Smith was trying to make me go swimming this morning.  This seemed a grand idea when he mentioned it last night but actually is a bit daunting by the light of day.  When given a choice of staying in bed with a smelly (but gloriously soft and snuggly) dog and a right wing newspaper with a challenging crossword puzzle all washed down with a lovely cup of tea, somehow swimming with Judith Big Bra and the Saturday Morning Keenies just can't compete.  So it looks like I am spared physical effort and can make some honey cupcakes with little bees on top instead with Graham Norton on Radio 2 in the background.


Today is Planting Out Small Leeks Day along with onion and potato inspection.  Ooooh my life is a thrill a minute.

Friday, July 8, 2011

Blueberry muffins in Bognor

I had to take all my possessions out of my flat today ready for summer lettings.  This included 3 open bottles of ketchup, half a dried up quiche and some wayward tomatoes that escaped all over the car park in the drenching rain.. I am too mean to throw these things away so solemnly transport them all back home.  I made a half hearted effort at cleaning the fridge then I left it for a bit to visit Rachel and Baby Tarquin and when I got back the cleaners had arrived.  Oh heavenly angels of cleanliness and harpic, how I love you.  It will now sparkle and all will be prepared for the summer lets which start next week and go right through til September.  I really hate smelly people in my flat but I do love their money.

Poor Designer Susan has broken her arm.  I took her flowers and good cheer.

Yesterday afternoon I made cakes with Alexia and made Arty Antonia's kitchen very sticky, as she will discover.  However, it was worth it for the best blueberry muffins ever,  Well done Alexia.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

La famille

We didn't win Euro millions, but nor did anyone else.  It's now something like £166 million.  Yup, I could do with that.  I will buy a ticket this time.... of my own.  The Apprentice kindly bought me a ticket but if I won I'd have to give it all to him or we might never speak again.  Oh the evils of wealth.

The student did some film work last night.  Amazing.  Well, I don't know if he was actually working as a cameraman or just hanging about the set looking spare but, whatever it was, he did it all night.  Well done him; I am proud mother of a hanger-on..

The Apprentice wants to buy a barn in France.  Sorry, barn is far too grand a word.  I think it's probably a pile of hay bales.  Anyway, it's in the wrong part of France where absolutely nobody goes, ever - Normandy.  Not even the French go there which is why it has become a British enclave where nobody speaks French and they all get ripped off by the locals who see les rostbifs as a good way to supplement their incomes through taxes various.  Roof tax - but we don't have a roof.   His friend has lost money hand over fist in this game so he should be warned but the friend is the one suggesting this marvellous investment.  Admittedly he now has a very beautiful barn conversion but it took all his money and nobody would ever ever want to buy it as it is in the middle of a field, kilometres from anywhere. I say Non.  He says I am tres negative.

Off to make cupcakes with Arty Antonia's daughter, Alexia, today.  I am quite excited.  I have packed my entire kitchen in my car.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Pointed remarks

The Miro exhibition was snazzy and jazzy and quite uplifting.  The hamster bedding has not shifted from my ears but is becoming more bearable which makes me wonder whether it is actually diminishing or am I just getting used to it?  It is a ghastly sensation and it's making me feel quite irritable.

Cor, there's an awful lot of construction work going on in London considering we are living in impoverished times.  The Shard is looming.  Ken Shuttleworth  (Norman Foster's side kick) assures us we have enough silly shaped buildings.  Oh yeah, a bit rich from someone who stuffed a gherkin in the middle of our city.  Anyway, I have to say I really don't like the Shard. I am worried that I might no longer be able to clearly see St Pauls and the London skyline will no longer be recognisable.  However, my worries are far too late as the thing is bloody huge.  No, I won't show you a photo, just look out of your window; you should be able to see it from wherever you are, it's so damned large.

Well, that's today's rant over.  I told Mr Smith it would rain yesterday ... and it did, all over the laundry on the line.  It looks rather cloudy again today.  Time for a tumble I think ... followed by an extermination by the Senior Dalek as I waste a bit more electricity.

Price of a life sized Dalek: £1,600.  However, you can get one for £300 on eBay - £500 for a red one.  Seems quite reasonable actually; I am quite tempted.  But let's face it, I don't need one as I have my very own already.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Miro, Miro on the Wall

This is very odd.  To mark the end of my cold and beginning of Mr Smith's, mice seem to have taken up residence in our ears.  Mr Smith's mouse squeaks. I have more of a dormouse that is fast asleep; in fact, dormice, as it is both ears.  This feeling of fluff in my head is pretty ghastly, even worse if I eat anything crunchy as it is very loud in my head.  Is this tinnitus?  I just looked it up and I am definitely going deaf or mad or both.  I'll take a pain killer and see if it goes away then head off to the Miro exhibition at the Tate with the Student who, despite no longer being a student, I hope has a student discount card.



I've never been a great fan of Joan Miro.  The Miro Gallery at Barcelona is only memorable for the giant bait Mr Smith was in when I tried to drag him round it.  I had to park him in a bit they had for parked husbands and do it by myself.  I remember a white wall with a wiggly line down it and I really had one of those "Is this really art?" moments.  Ok, it's not Velasquez; it's blue blobs but I'm in a blue blob mood today so I'll go with an open mind; Mr Smith will be firmly parked in his office.

Monday, July 4, 2011

Master Pastillagier

Oh this is so exciting, I can pick some of my vegetables and pod them and eat them.  Things are looking a little thirsty after such a glorious weekend but I will get out there with a hose this morning and have a harvest this evening.

It's Mr Smith's turn for the cold and he is suffering in style with much huffing and puffing, snorting and groaning.  Although I am sorry he isn't feeling his very best, I am pleased he will find out just how rotten it is having a summer cold as he wasn't a bit sympathetic to the Apprentice and me when we were suffering.  I am still not a hundred percent but that might be the remnants of my hangover.  I will take myself for a swim and sit in the steam room for a bit which will clear my sinuses and let me imagine I am in some tropical haven, not South West London.

When all my tasks are done and I have exercised the bod, cleaned, shopped, cooked and gardened I am going to sign up for a confectionery course so I can get a qualification in my new found hobby.  I notice the course involves gateaux making - oh how divine.  I will be so fat!

Sunday, July 3, 2011

Snoozy tennis

I wasn't bored for long as Mr Smith and the dog and the Apprentice all joined me on my seaside retreat.  So much for a nice quiet bit of solace by the coast.  Actually, it was lovely to see them and they didn't all come at once.  The seaside was so beautifully quiet in the week but on Saturday became horribly peoply.

Mr Smith accompanied me to a party and he actually enjoyed it.  I had a teeny weeny headache this morning which was even worse when we went to collect the Apprentice from his ferry.  I slept right through the boring tennis just emerging from my hungover snooze at the final thwack by whatisname defeating Nadal (then eating the Centre Court) so I could enjoy the prize giving which, in my mind, is much the best bit.

So now I am back home where normal service will be resumed with the fun of activities such as laundry, sock pairing, house cleaning, gardening and chivvying the Student into clearing up all his stuff.  Oh jolly japes.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

exile

Mrs smith at the sea all alone; it's a bit boring.