France impending

Only two days til we go to France.  Mr Smith is compiling a list of essential items to take with him and I note that Mrs Smith is not on it.  However, he has added things like tea-bags and porridge.  Good grief he'll be trying to work out how to get the Daily Telegraph delivered next.  I see he has packed dishwasher pellets and washing powder.  Oh no, that means there will be a washing machine in our rented accom.  Oh he will be so happy - laundry king.

My essential packing list is more along the lines of a good book, a sundress for if it's hot and a jersey for if it isn't.  I will also take the Bayeux tapestry as it feels quite fitting for it to be finished in France.

The lavender bags are coming on a treat.  Well, actually they are hideously labour intensive but they look quite shoppy and I'm really pleased with the story so far.  I had a nasty moment when I bought the ribbon as I got the spool stuck on my thumb in the shop.  I pulled and pulled to get it off but found it was well and truly stuck.  I resigned myself to wearing it for the rest of my life and tried to pay for it in situ with an embarrassed little laugh and "I think I'll wear it now if that's OK."   It made my thumb very sore but at least I shifted the damned thing with brute force and some pain; one has to suffer for ones art.  I showed Mr Smith the injury on my thumb but he looked marginally less interested than he was by the lavender bags.
 

Jock's back

Mr Smith is home from Scotland back in his sparkly clean house and has admired the chair.  I am annoyed that I stupidly put the front panel in upside down but changing it would be an almost chair remake so it stays like that, irritating me, forever.  I shall just wallow in the relief of not having it on my "Things to do today" list.  Mr Smith always manages to keep that quite well stocked.  He suggested I start by making his morning porridge.  I suggested he might like to reconsider this idea but I didn't put it quite like that - something more like fuck fuck fuckity off was my response.  I don't want to mess up my very clean kitchen.

Now it's lavender bags.  My lavender is drying nicely;  I go round the house with a Sainsbury's bag shaking the bunches vigorously trying to catch all the little bits but missing.  I haven't quite worked out my bag design yet.  I think something square and pouchy is what I have in mind with little hearts appliqued on and ribbon trim and a hangy bit.  I have a nasty feeling this isn't going to be as easy as I first thought.

I finished my C&G homework, like the good little student I am, and photographed all my pretty purple marzipan shapes but they came out slug grey.  I tried everything from white balance to shutter speed but still they came out grey.  In the end I sent them off with a note saying "Think purple".  This is my least grey effort.  Why didn't I just do green?

It's finished!

Now I can do whatever I like for the rest of my life.

Chair acupuncture

I cut down the lavender which was far more difficult than I expected. I read the instructions on line for drying lavender.  There was something about a dark airy room and nothing about upsetting it all over the floor in a clumsy moment.  I will hoover it up and spread an aroma more pleasant than that of dog, our usual smell, throughout the house.  In the absence of a dark airy room such as a garage I have hung bunches of lavender all over the place.  "Why does our house smell like an old lady's handbag?" ask the boys.  Oh go away.

Why does what I am supposed to be doing and what I am actually doing never equate to the same thing?  I am supposed to be covering that chair.  It was something I was really quite looking forward to until Mr Smith made it my "task whilst he was away" whereupon it became Herculean and unappealing.  I have covered the bedroom in pins and bits of cotton and stared quite hard at the chair but I then started hand quilting the secret patchwork which is totally compulsive.  I could sit for hours and hours quilting away.  All I need is a little cotton bonnet and an imaginary friend called Jacob reading the Bible to me and I'd be totally Amish.

I thought perhaps I could take the secret patchwork to France with me and quilt it there.  It would be easier than taking the chair.  It looks like the burning of some midnight oil tonight unless I want to face a lecture about starting things and never finishing them followed by extermination on Mr Smith's return tomorrow night.  As soon as it is done I can sit in it and design my lavender bags.

Still on my own

My latest secret project

After a whole day, and night, of languid loveliness I have to get my act together and perform a few tasks.  It all starts with a dog walk, a kitchen clean, a swim and a cup of tea - all at a bon heure.  Oooh, gone all french.  This is parceque nous are going to France next week.  Before this vacance I have vowed to lose 5 pounds.  This shouldn't be too difficult as long as I don't finish the entire battenburg single handed at breakfast or elevenses.

Monsieur Smith is still en Ecosse.  I hope his golf is enjoyable and not underwater.  Yesterday's rain was quite sheetingly dramatic.  The dog and I stared out of the window all afternoon.  We do things like that when not being judged by the quick and the dead.  When it eventually cleared up we went for a lovely steamy walk across the Common.  It was rather ethereal and had a mystical quality quite unlike the bit of scrubland covered in dog poo that normally greets us in the guise of Putney Heath.  I'm sure I saw a fairy; the dog tried to eat it.

Today, I will cut down the lavender and design lavender bags.  I want to make little squares that can be bundled and tied with attractive ribbon like the sort of thing you see in Country Living. I feel there is margin for error here - squares being the first tricky bit.  How about unidentified lumpy shapes?  I'm quite good at those.  Then I understand there is some drying of the lavender involved otherwise we will have lavender compost bags.  Oh well, off I go to start the harvest.

One hundred years of solitude - 3 hours actually.

Mr Smith is away golfing in Scotland.  I have been counting the hours to his departure, planning my time whilst he's gone with popcorn for dinner and X Factor for mental stimulation.  However the joy of battenburg cake for breakfast is outweighed by the drag of the morning dog walk in the rain, dealing with the rubbish and making my own morning cuppa. I am quite looking forward to his return.  Struggling against oneself in the "Who can be first to solve the word puzzle" just doesn't have the same appeal.

My C&G Confectionery course is going spiffingly well with excellents all round so far.  My family just laugh with an attitude of "How sad!"  The postman delivers exciting packages of equipment which is a bit like having a birthday every day.  He even did me a special delivery of my missed package - what a good chap.  I can now marzipan a square cake with no wrinkles and make coloured shapes.  Goody.

A few months ago my poor mother-in-law had a terrible flood in her house from a burst pipe.  This still hasn't been dealt with by the insurance company as they are terribly mean and won't cough up the full whack. She battles on bravely whilst my boys go "Poor Granny, her shit's got fucked" which makes Mr Smith and I so glad we paid for their education.

It's raining so hard; even harder in Scotland!

Oh Happy Days

The Best Boy (formerly known as the Student) has a very nice new girlfriend.  His bedroom is looking a great deal tidier all of a sudden, though still condemnable by any public health authority (with lax standards).  The lovely girlfriend and I made chocolate orange muffins and they were heavenly - so dark rich and chocolatey, and orangey and gooey and scrumptious and divine.  BB was trying to show off so did wonderfully helpful things like picking vegetables and making a pie.  Behaviour like this from a shirker of Olympian standards is quite out of character; long may it last.

I went to Dorking yesterday - a lovely little market town where all the shops are Robert Dyas with old fashioned fronts and a jingly bell as you open the door.  I felt like Mrs Bennett going to buy ribbons or Mr Pickwick buying more papers.  I went to the quilt shop and spent a hideous amount of money on backing, siding and middling for my latest effort.  I can't wait to put it all together but I am pretending that it doesn't really exist as I am supposed to be finishing that chair.

Mr Smith is going away to play masses of golf in silly trousers over bank holiday so I plan to finish the chair, finish the quilt and eat popcorn ... and watch really crappy telly with the dog; Borgias and X-factor.  The kids can piss off. Oooh it's lovely being me.

New things

Getting new things is just so exciting.  I haven't had a present for ages so I was extra excited when my new swimming goggles arrived.  They made me swim wonderfully well; positively fat mermaid. They're actually more of a mask which is all the rage these days.  They're great as they suction to your face, don't let water in and don't leave marks around your eyes like goggles; they leave marks like a mask over your whole face!

I went to Argos and bought a mop. I know this doesn't sound very exciting but it is if you are my kitchen floor.  Anyway it's a very groovy mop that you can put in the washing machine.  (I assume you have to remove the handle first.)  I have yet to try it out as it is still in its box with its special squeezy bucket in the hall.  Mr Smith will soon comment using a rhetorical question and pained tone as in "Is this mop and bucket set a feature of our hall?"  Oh he's such a wag.

Whilst I was out swimming and getting new things one of those little notes arrived through the letterbox "We waited until you were out to deliver your parcel."  Aha, more new things.  But I can't go and collect them from the post office because while I am doing so I know more new things will arrive and I'll have another one of those notes and no new things.  Oh what a dilemma.

I also got new hair yesterday and very smart it is too.  Short but not joining the army short.  And not grey.

Olympic standards

I would have gone out yesterday.  I had every intention of going to Putney to buy a mop (Oh my life is so exciting) but I got stuck in a world of ironing.  I dashed away all afternoon and felt absolutely whacked by the end.  I also meant to go swimming.  I put on my swimsuit in anticipation but just ended up doing a bit of breast stroke around the kitchen whilst chatting to Michael Phelps.  Imaginary friends take up so much of one's time.  Luckily Phelpsie didn't mind me cleaning up whilst we went over some of his medal successes.  I was hoping he might give one to me for my housework achievements.  "And the gold in the ironing event has been won by Mrs Smith for Great Britain."  There I would be on my rostrum proudly waving to the roaring crowd as the national anthem booms out. "Later in the week we can look forward to seeing this outstanding competitor in the kitchen floor washing and hoovering events - over to you in the studio, Sue."  Sue Barker then gives me a whole 5 minutes of praise, reshowing the event with different camera angles and bits in slow motion with a close up of my medal.

Mr Smith went fishing yesterday and caught a beautiful salmon, in Sainsburys.  We cooked and ate it last night; it was very good and I am still so full.  I might sink in the swimming pool but I have to go anyway as I am meeting Sharon Davis and Duncan Goodhew there for some imaginary private coaching.  I am so full I hope I don't sink during my swim.

Later this morning, before my mop buying, I am going to the hairdressers which is something I hate.  I like the colour bit but I don't like having my hair cut as I always think it's going to hurt.  Silly, I know, but when they come at you with scissors ... oh my God.  Anyway, I want a new hairstyle - I am considering bald then I can just plonk on a wig.  I remember a poor girl at Oxford called Roz who wore a wig.  Nobody knew until it came off in Jeremy Thingie's hand when he snogged her.  He was so dismayed he ran away then told someone in the strictest of confidence so by the next day the whole of Oxford knew.  At least any future prospective snoggees were better informed.

It's pouring with rain.  Maybe I won't go swimming after all.  I might cancel the hairdressers too.  I'll stay in and do some more housework ... oh but I need a new mop and a little rostrum for all that medal winning.

Not going out

I have become a complete recluse of late.  With the aid of internet shopping and Mr Smith to gopher I really never need to leave the house except to walk the dog.  This is a woeful state of affairs and results in me looking very scruffy and talking to vegetables.  I have booked an appointment at the hairdressers and today I will go for a swim.  I have told Clarissa cabbage (the only one with a firm middle) of my plans and the runner beans seemed interested.

Having cleaned the boys' bathroom I thought I might make a start on their bedrooms or at least get them to have a bit of a go.  The horrible Student now Best Boy (or gaffer or grip or something in film) tells me he is working far too hard to tidy up and anyway he likes it like that.  But it's a health hazard.  There is an enormous pile of clothes in the middle of the floor.  "It wasn't there yesterday, you must have made it."  Well, yes I did because I picked up all the stuff strewn around the room and, if I could smell it from outer space, I put in the laundry or, if it seemed just crumpled I placed it in the pile to be put away. "You had no right to go through my stuff."  Oh please move out, please.

I am having a wasp battle.  They are very cleverly sneaking into the Apprentice's bedroom and stinging him in his bed.  Now if it was the Student/Best Boy that would be a different story.  We just can't work out where they are coming from.  I follow wasps round the garden asking them where they live.  Mr Smith thinks I'm barking mad; nothing new there then.

Your maid's name is Mum

Quick Quick quilt is quick but I have run out of fabric so I am going to put all the pieces in a bag in the bottom of a drawer and wait for it to grow more. Or I suppose I could go to the quilting shop and buy some more but I am far too lazy.

Anyway, I have a new project now. Having got an excellent report from my tutor for my design module on my C&G online course I was feeling all glowy and proud of myself but then noticed she had given me the wrong name or maybe it's the wrong report. Oh well, I can progress to the cake decorating bit now.  Ooh yikes, this looks plenty tricky.  I need kit.  Off to the cake decorating shop I go.  What are marzipan spacers?

I went upstairs to the boys' bathroom this morning.  An hour later I emerged having picked up wet towels, billions of dirty clothes, shoes, socks, loo rolls strewn everywhere, bags of rubbish, beer bottles, coke cans, college work, construction manuals, tools and a display of empty shower gel bottles hung like christmas bobbles over the side of the shower.  I then cleaned it which included decontaminating the loo and basin, scraping the shower and scrubbing the floor.  I am just composing a note "Dear boys, Your mother has cleaned your bathroom.  Please try to keep it like this."  Oh why bother, it's not as though they'll take any notice?  I now have all their washing which will take me most of the week to work through.  I have set Mr Smith that task; he likes laundry.  Sometimes I really like Mr Smith.

Quick quick quilt

This is my favourite of all my finished quilts

I am feeling marvellously inventive which is not a good idea as I vowed not to start anything new before finishing existing projects BUT I have seen some patchwork designs that are super quick that I could rustle up in no time.  I could then take them to the professional quilters for finishing and by Christmas have some new throws for my seaside house.  Actually these things are never all that quick and after an amazing flourish at the start they just become loads of bits of material that sit around in a bag or box forever.  I have about five or six of these and am now about to give birth to another; I can feel it.  Next week Mr Smith is going to Scotland so whilst he is away I could do a whole quicky quilt - especially if I cut out all my bits today.  He need never know.

In the words of Miranda's mother "such fun".
In the words of Mr Smith "Where's my dinner?"

Nothing new

When in doubt I just make another little house.  As I have been extremely puzzled by everything of late I have churned out whole towns; this is a mere morsel/hamlet of the whole.  No I haven't done my homework, my housework, my garden or my chair.  I will be castigated but I have a lovely Houses quilt so I don't care.

In the big clear up of my fabrics yesterday I came upon several started but never to be finished projects.  I will, I must, finish something before starting ANYTHING else ever.  I am just too creative for my own good and horribly extravagant.  So today, now in fact, I am going to finish my C&G homework then can I make a few more houses please whilst I think about that chair?  OK.  I'll do the chair over the weekend.  I wonder if any of my imaginary friends can come and help.

Fabric store

Alan Titchmarsh rang to say he couldn't make it so I didn't do the vegetable garden.  However, Mary Portas dropped in and told me all about her new shop at House of Fraser in Oxford Street.  It sounds really good; I can't wait to go there. She helped me fold and arrange all my fabrics so the shelves look like shop shelves and not like my messy workroom at all. It took us the whole afternoon. She had quite a few fruit muffins but, as she was in fact imaginary Mary Portas, I had to eat hers for her.

At 8pm Mr Smith wanted to know why I wasn't in the kitchen producing his dinner.  He just doesn't understand how tiring it is having all these celebrity friends who pop in unexpectedly and demand cupcakes.  You have to be prepared and have a big appetite; luckily I can do both those.  Unluckily Mr Smith isn't a figment of my imagination.

Creative not tidy

The Lovely Claudia and her nice niece came and made cakes and oh my goodness my house is sticky.  I peeled the dog off the floor and hoovered the dining room then scrubbed the entire kitchen with lashings of Cillit Bang.  When Mr Smith came home it just all looked sparkly and smart until he sat down for dinner and got stuck to his chair where the nice niece had wiped her icing covered hands.  Oh well, we had so much fun a bit of fall out was inevitable on a day of such messiness.  We were amazingly controlled in our cupcake sampling - Well, the Lovely Claudia wasn't and ate many a Fruits of the Forest Muffin so she couldn't manage her lunch.  They are pretty delicious and I think I will make some more today - even though I am a bit cupcaked out.

The patchwork chair I am supposed to be working on is having a little rest.  I cleverly worked on it in situ and our whole bedroom floor was covered in little bits of cotton.  I hoovered them all up and Mr Smith is so pleased to have a clean bedroom floor that he has stopped his nagging to get the chair finished.  Somehow "Could you cover the floor and entire house in little bits of thread?" wasn't on his request list today.

My garden is dying - it looks like it has been poisoned but I think it's just that time of year when the vegetables and roses and flowers have come to the end.  The dahlias look bright amongst the dead glads and the odd sunflower is still just standing.  So it's time for some really destructive gardening.  I will pull things out and lay beds to rest.  Nasturtiums and runner beans live on with a few middleless cabbages, the odd courgette and teeny leeks.  Actually, I was quite excited at pulling on my wellies and making a start but that dalek has just wheeled himself round the corner and told me to put everything into bags and not leave it strewn about.  Has the man never heard of compost? - all over the lawn.

Another day in Paradise

I have no imaginary friends calling today though this doesn't rule out the possibility of them popping in unexpectedly.  No I am too busy trying to get the chair finished, tricky though it is.  Then, as a treat, I can take apart the housing project patchwork and put it together properly.  And I must remember to finish my C&G homework which is mighty tricky.  I've run out of long words, even ones I don't quite understand, to describe Texture.

The Lovely Claudia and her niece are coming to play tomorrow.  The nice niece describes my house as Paradise.  We will make cupcakes and eat cupcakes until we feel sick, as usual, then get stuck to the dog.

The seaside flat is currently let.  I would so like to go there but I so like the money I get from the lettings I'll put up with next door's screaming kids, the wasp attacks and riots of London.  By the way, we killed a zillion wasps by spraying a bit of ant powder at the entrance of their nest whilst they were asleep.  ("We" means the Apprentice son; Mr Smith is far too weedy and I am not tall enough.)  Result: a kitchen sink full of dead wasps and some interesting crunchy bits in the cupcakes.

My life imaginaire

My imaginary friends today, Nigella Lawson and Kaffe Fassett, are busy helping me.  Nigella has just helped me put extra lovely jam in the sponge cake with advice on lashings of cream as we all like lots and she showed me how to lick the spoon in a very saucy way.  Mmmmm.  She can come again.

Kaffe is being superbly nice about my slightly botched up patchwork chair and has just suggested a really good way of tackling it by turning it all inside out.  I once met him when I went to see him signing his latest patchwork book. I stood before him breathing his air and he said "Hello" oh so nicely and Americanly and I just looked at him and blurted out "I have too many of your books and really don't want any more."  He looked a bit baffled.  I ran away.  I didn't go to see him yesterday although I know he was there at the Quilt Show. I couldn't face a repeat performance; no doubt nor could he.  Maybe he was hiding.

It's really coming along.

In the absence of Kim & Aggie it looks as though I will have to clean my own house.  Two imaginary friends is enough for one day.  I have delegated the task to the kids - well, the washing up;  Mr Smith can hoover and the dog can take out the rubbish.

No rest for the idle

Mrs Smith's new imaginary friend: Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall.  We go foraging together.  Whilst we pick blackberries and hunt for sloes, of which there is a vast scarcity this year, I ask him what it was like eating human flesh (placenta) but I am so amazed by my own bravado that I fail to listen to the answer.  I am slightly overprotective of the dog as I don't want Hugh to eat him as he does all his furry friends at Riverside Cottage.

I vowed I wouldn't start any new projects until I've finished off a few of the old ones but I went to the National Patchwork Show in Birmingham today and I was really inspired and want to make loads of lovely quilts but not til I've finished the patchwork chair.  I want to make a fish quilt, a beach huts quilt and a pineapple quilt along with finishing my Canadian quilt, my housing project and the Bayeux Tapestry.  Busy me.  I'll get cracking tomorrow and restart my house-a-day policy.

Carry On Procrastinating

Day of industry.  I will finish my, soon to be started, homework which should not be confused with my soon to be started housework, and crack on with that chair I am busily patchworking.  My homework is a bit pointless but I will do it in order to get good marks on my Confectionery correspondence course.  I have a sneaking suspicion this course is run by a couple of daft bints like me and Designer Susan from their kitchen table and I am the first person to sign up.  I can imagine them going "Oh my goodness, someone has actually signed up for the course and sent us a cheque.  We'd better devise something, quick, what can we think of to make her do?"  Then when I send back my efforts they go "We didn't think she'd actually do it."

To kick off my day of industry I swam a mile - literally.  I did an hour's swimming which has made me rather tired so perhaps I will postpone the industry for a bit.  Mmmm another day of lounging around - oh goody.  I got caught by Mr Smith yesterday afternoon doing the crossword in front of the afternoon film.  He was in the area so thought he'd carry out a spot check.  Very alarming it was indeed and I missed a big chunk of my intellectually stimulating film - Carry on Regardless.  Sid James was running an employment agency and ... oh well, you can guess the rest.

Patching things together

My friend M-C rang me to say the Clapham riot was awful.  She is American and her description of events needed a little translation; she told me the curry shop and the telephone company were raided - Currys and the mobile phone shop!  The Party Shop got raided which gave me visions of rioters with balloons but it was masks they wanted in order to conceal their identities.  They then set fire to it and that Helium went boom completely gutting the place.  I'm slightly baffled by people stealing mobile phones as I don't know how you'd make a stolen mobile phone work because when you go to buy one it takes hours to set the thing up. Jamie's cook shop was fine as nobody wanted any avocado oil.

I would join a clean-up gang but I don't have a decent broom and to be honest I am rubbish at cleaning as Mr Smith will verify - I will send his mother.

In order to take my mind off all this mayhem I am covering a chair in patchwork. I started this project two years ago and now I realise why I never finished it.  It is a lot of work; I will be sewing blooming squares together forever.  But I will be so pleased with myself when I've finished it, as will Mr Smith - (be pleased with himself for nagging me to get it done.)

Riots

Frightened by the riots?  We're scared shitless.  It's time to put the army on the streets and set a curfew.

I have assured Mr Smith there is unlikely to be an uprising in Richmond - it's very posh and lovely there - so he's fine to go to work.  The herds of deer in the park are simply munching grass not forming a gang.  Our two boys are far too lazy to go out rioting and anyway they don't need to steal trainers or mobile phones as they have idiot parents who give them these things.

My friend M-C lives at Clapham Junction where there is apparently an uprising.  Gosh, I hope she is OK.  Clapham Junction is one of those places with a very nice refined bit with a Jamie Oliver cook shop, a little market and lovely boutiques on one side of the road and an enormous council estate on the other.  We all live next to a dodgy neighbourhood in this city, except perhaps my parents or the Queen.

I only think we are preserved in this area of South West London by a scarcity of really rough gangs - though there are some, I can assure you, and a non-existent police presence.  They are more likely to join someone else's riot slightly further afield rather than do over the Co-op.  Having said that, it only takes twenty odd people in a bit of a bate wielding a box of matches and a desire for a new telly with absolutely no visible law enforcement to cause appalling chaos.  Actually, I am frightened.  I fear for our corner shop and our post office.  I also think this could go on for a very long time.  Buds can no longer be nipped - it's gone beyond anyone's control.  Anarchy - a scary word.

Tee hee hee

Today I shall cackle.  I haven't had a good cackle for ages.  I have laughed but not nearly evilly or smugly enough.  I cackled with delight when I beat Mr Smith at today's word in the Telegraph word puzzle.  Here are the letters, unjumble them faster than Mr Smith and you are today's winner then you can let out a little cackle of delight:-  TNGLEEANM
I did it in no time because I am super clever and he is dead thick ... cackle cackle.  Actually he is quite clever, much cleverer than me generally, but I like to make a point occasionally heh heh heh.  Gosh there I go again with my cackling. (Answer: Gentleman).

Here's who I hate: The AA.  This is because I called them out for some roadside assistance but they wouldn't come.  Well, it wasn't actually roadside assistance it was more supermarket assistance as I was in Sainsburys and needed the AA as I had forgotten I'd come by bus and couldn't carry all my shopping home by myself.  No, that's not entirely true.  I had a flat tyre.  Anyway, a nice man helped me and I  limped my poor car home and now have to get the tyre fixed - today's task.  Gosh, what would I do if I worked?  Glad I don't.

I have almost finished the two assignments I had to do: Sofa report which I am sending back today unfinished - just reached end of tether on that one, and my Lines homework for my C&G course which I think I've got a bit wrong but never mind.  The written questions are really hard.  I just make up loads of bollocks with big words that I don't entirely understand and hope for the best.  I'll do some cackling to help me along.

The Battle of Blackberry Field

Mr & Mrs Smith went blackberry picking ... together.  Well, not really together because when we do things together Mr Smith has to turn the whole thing into a competitive event of olympian proportions whatever it is.  We even shop competitively with trolley confiscations and checkout battles.  So we had to pick our berries from different sides of the field with a definite "Last one to fill his punnet is a sissy" attitude.  I thought Mr Smith might win as he is taller than me and approaches it with the hunger of a Yorkshireman at the sight of free food.  (Correct on both counts.) It was a dead heat. Just as well as we only had the dog as an umpire, on his side of the field as an added hazard.  Would I stoop to unsporting tactics? Yeah probably.

I got a bit messy with my picking, all purple fingered and a bit prickled and stung by nettles as I reached for the really huge juicy berries.  I have designed a blackberry picking outfit which consists of a magenta boiler suit and purple wellies with special mauve gloves like those exfoliating ones they sell in Superdrug.  This is not to be confused with my strawberry picking outfit which is very pretty with a flowery straw hat.

Now what on earth am I going to do with all these blackberries?  We have eaten so many we are all going purple.  I have made 3 summer puddings and filled the freezer and Mr Smith's Yorkshire boots.






(If you know how to make photos go side by side please let me know.)

E numbers and marshmallows

Mr Smith says I am to clean up the kitchen, post the (unfinished but now too boring to contemplate finishing) sofa report and do the shopping whilst he is at golf.  So I made these instead:-

I'm doing zebra cakes next .... and the shopping, cleaning, ironing and posting.  Or shall I just watch an old episode of Miranda on BBCiPlayer?

Aristophanes is coming for tea

What I was supposed to do today:-
Washing, ironing, hoovering, boring sofa report, C&G coursework and washing kitchen floor.

Here's what I did instead:-

Then I had to wash the kitchen floor because I got stuck to it.  Ribbit.

Credit where credit's due - on my card.

Observation du jour: Working doesn't half get in the way of life. I know such activity goes against the grain but I like to earn a crust occasionally.  I am writing a report on an imaginary sofa purchase for a market research company only I keep getting carried away and have almost bought a really expensive Beautiful Sofa by mistake.  I have no intention of actually buying a sofa but I am just going through the motions in order to get the money and it's proving to be quite hard work as the lies are becoming ever more elaborate.  I have just discovered that the people I am working for want to come round and see my new sofa once it has arrived and, as my whole report is actually a tissue of lies, I don't know what I am going to do short of developing a rare infectious disease and then dying from it.

Mr Smith is beginning to notice my spending on his magic card - magic because he pays it.   One reason I have been using the magic card rather enthusiastically of late is because I have somehow messed up all my other cards.  Well, I can't always find all my credit cards as sometimes they have holidays in other handbags or they expire and I lose the new one. Sometimes I have the new one but have lost its new number or I simply can't remember its number or I know everything about it but it's got fatigue from overuse, for example one of them had a missing number and one had got too full (greedy thing).  There is also a problem with American Express - nobody likes it because it's American, which is odd as I consider it somehow glamorous and it makes me feel all multi national (which I'm not of course).  Anyway, today I am having a credit card round up - they are going to line up neatly and all get their proper numbers at the money machine which I will then write on the back of them - well, ok, maybe not; I'll tattoo them onto my hand.  I can pay the tattooist with a credit card.

Smoothing my way through Yorkshire day

Ironing.  How boring is it?  Beyond dull, arsenumbing and mindless.  I really can't bear it.  So why do I do it?  I am going to introduce a new rule called Crumples Law that everyone is duty bound to obey, including my mother-in-law.  Ironing has been around for a very long time - I suppose since we stopped wearing those dry-clean only bear skins and began weaving in the cave.  I do have the very most wonderful ironing machine which is super speedy and makes your sheets flat in a trice but it's still a palaver hoisting them onto the flat rollers.  As I was turning the hay this morning Mr Smith did notice that I was trying to get away with unironed sheets.  He sent me back to the ironing machine.  But they're only crisp for one night; something I didn't point out to Mr Smith for fear of a demand for clean sheets every day like a five star hotel. He'll be phoning housekeeping next and wanting little chocolates on his pillow - dream on.

A hotel in Mexico where the bed linen origami was magnificent.

Mr Smith declared Monday Yorkshire Day.  Was it or did he make it up?  I believe it actually was as I have just looked up www.yorkshireday.co.uk which has a declaration: "Yorkshire Day is held on 1st August each year in an effort to celebrate all things Yorkshire."  After his hard day down the coal mine Mr Smith needed a quiet sit down. Whippet, go get thy master's copy of Yorkshire Post and Woman get thee to kitchen and make Yorkshire pudding for our tea.   Ay luv.

Today will be London Day with copious amounts of London Gin and no ironing.

The last shark

Duh nur  Duh nur  Duh nur (or however you do your Jaws music).  Every time I opened the fridge door there was a shark cake looking at me.  Not any more there isn't!  Oh biting into a shark is just an amazing experience; all those teeth.  I'll just have to make some more.

I haven't done my C&G homework for my confectionery course.  This is because it was "draw a line" and I drew the line ... at that.  I told the tutor that I'm an artist a bit like the man with a walk on part as a spear holder goes "I'm an actOR".  Oh, alright, I'll do my mark making homework ... reluctantly, and in the meantime do something clever with strawberries, cream, meringue and dog food.  Mr Smith has been shopping and that's what he bought.

Sofa so good

Here's my dream sofa:-

but I can't afford it so this is what we are sitting on; we take turns:-