Mrs Smith is moving

Well, we've made it to the end of the year and it was quite an eventful one really. We went to the Caribbean, our little boy graduated from his university much to our amazement, we erected a shed (a mighty expensive palatial shed), went to France, I got super fat, the Apprentice got himself properly employed, Mr Smith got himself properly unemployed, I managed half a C&G confectionery course and a broken tooth, the dog got tail alopoecia and we got the leak in the top bathroom sorted out. I think that just about sums up the excitements of our year. Just as well we don't go in for those awful round robins. I always reply to them with "nobody in prison or on serious drugs" and hope they get the hint.

On the other hand the unachievements are notable. I have not done any of my intended tasks of 2011. Actually I did finish a few things. I made three patchwork quilts, a zillion lavender bags and almost finished the Bayeux Tapestry; there's a teeny bit of mast to fill in; the little men and little horses are getting cross as they can't sail straight. I will sort this out for them later today.

Today is planting day. My mother gave Mr Smith a vine for Christmas that, according to the label, produces grapes suitable for both eating and wine making. That'll tbe fun; we will invite you all to the first pressing in our bathtub in September - clean feet only please.
Firstly, I have to dig a big hole, whilst he looks on, add fertiliser and sexy compost then replace sods. Mr Smith will then be fatigued and require a cup of tea following this strenuous activity. Oh he's so lucky to have a wife to do these things for him.

New blog location for New year: Mrs Smith's Olympic Blog.
www.mrssmithsolympicblog.blogspot.com

I have done this so you can just click on it and whizz straight there.  However if you are on any fruit machines e.g. Apple or Blackberry this might not work - it didn't for me.

Blue soup

I have failed spectacularly to find a dentist so I have reinforced my mend with more filler. I have so overdone it, covering the whole tooth and quite a bit of the one next door in temporary filling material, that I am now a bit embarrassed to go to Harley Street with my mummified ivories. On a good note my dreadful mend seems to be holding up quite well.

Christmas films: I haven't seen many but Shopaholic was just what I needed yesterday as I lounged on the sofa after my Richmond Park dog walk feeling all post-Christmassy. Last night I watched Dorian Gray which was very debauched; I had to send Mr Smith to bed assuring him it was all terribly boring and not his sort of thing at all. By the way was Colin Firth really bad? I got a bit confused.

Mr Smith bought me the Covent Garden Soups recipe book for Christmas so I can cook him interesting soups for his lunches - oh lucky me. Maybe he had a premonition that I was going to break a tooth so needed mushy stuff. The book gives you a soup a day, each with a date. Today I will make both eye of newt and toe of bat. In fact the recipes for this time of year all seem to involve things we have handy - good old Supermarketman. There was a particularly delicious soup yesterday, Christmas wrapping soup. I think today is ham and hemlock or something.

This is the week where everyone has had quite enough Christmas but is still sitting around hating their family and yearning for them to return to work. I've just remembered Mr Smith has no work. It's permanent. We are stuck in the inter Dec Jan groove forever and ever watching rubbish telly and eating brussels sprouts and chocolates with paper hats on our heads irritating each other for eternity. Oh well at least there will be a different soup every day.

Smashing Christmas

What with my broken tooth and Mr Smith breaking all our china, I think we are having a rather clumsy Christmas. We have now sent Mrs Smith Mother of Mr Smith packing. I only really lost my rag with her once which, seeing what a bloody irritating woman she is, was exceptionally well controlled. I feel it's all over now and my tasks before New Year all revolve around my lovely presents. There are jigsaw puzzles to be done, apps to be downloaded, books to be read, sweets to be eaten and a vine to be planted. Mr Smith can choose the spot, dig the hole, place roots therein, replace earth and tread down sod and I will ring my mother and tell her how splendidly I planted the vine and we will send her the first vintage.

And now I must find a dentist who isn't skiing or in the Caribbean.

Alan Measles and me

I was going a little stir crazy here in my mad house of overeating so I decided to venture out in search of culture. Almost anything I fancied was closed but I found Grayson Perry at the British Museum so I dragged Mrs Smith Mother of Mr Smith off on a piligrimage to Bloomsbury. It is a fabulous exhibition and if you haven't been just hop on your pink motorbike and zoom there without further ado. Best exhib I have been to this year. Look out for all the references to Alan Measles, a teddy bear with godlike status who just makes me want to draw and draw.

On my return over a cup of tea and attack of a Christmas cake with very hard icing, I broke a tooth - a front one. Oh blow! I dashed down to Boots this morning and bought myself a My Little Dentist Kit. When I got back Mr Smith had somehow rammed too many books on the shelf in the dining room whereupon the dresser came crashing down smashing all the plates and teapots to smithereens all over Mrs Smith Mother of Mr Smith. Oh well, quite cathartic really; we dusted down Mrs Smith MoMS and got her to hoover up the bits. I can be gloriously cross with Mr Smith for a very long time.

My parents came to lunch today suitably laden with gifts. We dutifully relieved them of these replacing them with different gifts. They thought I'd done a good job on my home dentistry tooth repair - I think I look a fright, but at least there's no gap. Perhaps I should take up dentistry in the New Year; I could save us a fortune.

Aye aye pad, captain

Ate too much, drank too much and feel like poo - me too. It's Christmas.

Worst present: a pot of mustard taken from the cupboard and wrapped by Mr Smith because traditionally he always gives me jars of mustard. I thought I'd cured him of such behaviour along with selfish cookery books of exceptionally impossible recipes. There are also some rather odd pieces of china from MAd Carina purchased in one of her madder moments in Harvey Nic's sale.

Best present, and this is best present ever ever in the whole wide world, an iPad. How I love my eldest son. I suddenly feel very grown up to have a son who has bought me an expensive toy. And wow oh wow it's just so wow.

Christmas urgency

It's Christmas Eve and we can no longer put off the inevitability of Christmas so we are cleaning.  I have latrine duty.  When don't I?  There are parts of our house that only get an annual cleaning - these gets bigger and bigger until we simply close the door and leave that room for another year.  Bathrooms gleam, showers shine, loos sparkle and we are all bursting.  Well, we can't use our nice clean facilities.

For some barking reason that escapes me (one does odd things at this time of year) I decided to master panettone.  This is supposed to be light and fluffy not ammunition - oh!  I want to rush to a shop and buy some, rip all the paper off and pretend I made it.  I would but I'm a bit fatigued from all that loo cleaning.

The dog inspects all the presents under the tree and is so pissed off there aren't any for him tears off the labels.  Hint: don't leave them chewed up in your basket, this is a dead giveaway.  Why don't you just pop them into Mr Smith's golf bag, we'd recognise his teeth marks anywhere.

Sing choirs of angels

Come on Christmas; I'm all excited.  Let's sing a Slade song.  Oh do let's not.  I'll do Wizard instead.  Is Roy Wood still alive?  I suppose he must be and very rich too.  Listening to the exquisite Military wives on the radio I thought they'd be beautiful angels with those heavenly voices then last night I saw the programme about them - a load of fat tattooed slags really but, Goodness me, isn't Gareth Choirmaster a dish!

Gosh, I can hear Christmas chimes - it's Mr Smith lining up the dirty silver for me to polish.  Mrs Smith Mother of Mr Smith is arriving tomorrow; wouldn't she like to clean the silver?   Perhaps this is not particularly Christmas spirited of me - I don't know, I've made her do it on so many previous years it's almost a tradition.  Do you think she could clean the bathroom and hoover her bedroom too?  I'd like a nice afternoon nap in front of some super crappy film.  Oh, could she walk the dog as well?

Oh well, I'd better look lively; a man in a bate is getting out the silvo and I'm in a Christmas mood.

P.S. I've just googled Roy Wood and found he supported Status Quo at a concert in the summer.  Everyone must have been longing for him to burst into "I wish it could be Christmas every day".... in August.

It's all Claudia's fault

If there is no food in Sainsburys this is because Mr Smith, in the guise of Supermarketman, has transferred it all to our bulging fridge, cupboards, sideboards, worktops, both bursting freezers and anywhere else he can ram it.  We're full ... til May.

The Lovely Claudia was going to drop round with a book she borrowed then denied borrowing then owned up to borrowing.  She cancelled but it was OK as I had in the meantime Amazoned a new one.  People who bought that also bought .... so I did too and spent most of the morning reading "When God was a Rabbit" , an absolutely blissful read.  This was most remiss of me as my house is in an awful state and it's almost Christmas.  Did you see that programme on Channel 4 about a prissy village with a messy hoarder right in the middle who upset them all no end?  Well my house is almost as bad.  Admittedly you don't have to tunnel your way through rubbish to get to the kitchen but you do have to step over an awful lot of debris in most rooms and the silver needs cleaning - tomorrow's task.

I did the ironing then I found a hoover I had never used.  I bought it for the Best Boy when he was at University.  It was remarkably pristine.  I plugged it in and experimented with the attachments and the different buttons one of which made it so powerful you could suck the paint off the walls.  After hoovering myself a few times and suffering suction marks, I applied it to the stairs - cor blimey, I didn't know the carpet was that colour! I was going to clean the sitting room but I got sidetracked thinking how dreadful our cushions looked and thought I'd run up some new covers.  That took the rest of the day along with applauding Supermarketman's ridiculously extravagant and overindulgent shopping and making a particularly disgusting soup.

"God, those cushion covers are hideous."  Shut up and eat your soup then you can clean the silver.

Halls decked

I have tarted up the hall with a few sprigs of other people's christmas tree offcuts.   These are not the non-drop variety so it's a bit like getting married every time you enter or exit our dining room with seasonal confetti all over your head.  I have now left the hoover on permanent standby and stopped inviting friends round to admire it.  It looks like a bald and lonely Christmas for me and Mr Smith.

Mad Carina's mad Christmas

Having a shopaholic friend, Mad Carina, is totally brilliant on several levels.  Firstly, you get fantastic presents and billions of them and secondly, it makes ones own overspending at this festive time look monastic in comparison.  My only minor gripe was I tried to tell her a few months ago that I didn't need to have every cupcake themed item that has ever been made - (enough with the cupcakes already).  So she gave all the (my) cupcake shaped and flavoured gifts to the Lovely Claudia.  I did notice and I do mind.  I actually need a bath-hat that looks like a cupcake and cupcake writing paper and a lovely cupcake shopping bag and ... well I stopped looking at that point. Actually, I am being a little spoilt here as I am drowning in fabulous gifts.  She buys me all things I really want but don't know I want til I see them.  I have put them back in the lovely shopping bag they arrived in and I will take them out and play with them one by one including the darlek pencil and the book of my favourite lies - yet to be written.

I gave one measly gift to each friend which I can assure you took great levels of control and little dosh.

Coven Christmas Meeting

Oh sisters three with a cup of tea and a cupcake we will cast goodly spells.  Ooooh I absolutely love the coven. What are we doing today?  Oh yes, Christmas.  Firstly, we have to make a Christmas swag thingy then we will have lots of lovely pressies.  I have made Carina a beautiful patchwork quilt - well, it's a bit dodgy in places and doesn't seem very square and the hearts aren't very well attached so they'll all fall off in a couple of years.  Ok, a rather tatty patchwork quilt.  I have bought Claudia some really stupid babushka boxes that she won't like but I do - there are billions of them.  Now I must rush and stir the cauldron so they have some enchanted cakes for elevenses and turn Mr Smith into a frog and put him in the garden whilst my friends are here.

Mrs Smith's Christmas hint

Now is not the best time of year to lose the sellotape.

Twinkle twinkle little swirl

Now I am all set to make things Christmassy regardless of being married to Britain's biggest bah Humbug.
I had difficulty erecting the plastic swirl, that passes as our tree, as I couldn't quite reach and had to ask Mr Tall who sighed and begrudgingly attached loop to hook. It really does look like someone nicked our tree but left the lights. I have now added a few bobbles to give it a bit more twinkle.

Two cakes have already been eaten in this house.  One was a huge panattone - not any more.  I am now looking into how to make one.  The other was a Christmas cake; Mr Smith scraped all the icing and marzipan off his slices rendering them less festive.  I have another one of those on which I have just got to finish piping boring scrolls and dots for the final unit in Module 4 .... yeah, boring boring ... for my C&G Confectionery course.  Then I can shove on Father Christmas complete with calcified pieces of icing from cakes past and add his side kick, a three legged reindeer who might be older than both my children.

I need to know when Mrs Smith Mother of Mr Smith will be arriving and leaving for her Christmas with us.  I have bought her hyacinths which have gone beserk and grown far too big too soon.  I talk to them slowly and am threatening them with the nasty cold outside; much as I do with my boys.  I have just heard Mr Smith talking to his mother on the phone.  When is she coming?  Oh he did ask her but didn't listen to the answer; he was too busy boasting how he put up the tree single handedly.

Jingle bells Batman smells

There are a couple of chaps at the seaside who tend to hang around together who I call Batman and Robin.  Batman (Wayne) is OK, he is an ex-policeman who runs a detective agency which is apparently pretty useless as they have no business;  Gotham City doesn't seem to require his services.  Rob, his side kick, has become a nightmare.  I asked Mr Smith what I should do.  "Ho, ho, you've got a stalker."  Thanks for the magnificent support.  It's only mild stalking.  I have been investigating stalking - well, I spoke to a couple of chaps in the pub about it - and it is very common.  They had both been stalked by women, one for 4 months and one for 16 months.  If the stalker doesn't actually do anything but just appears wherever you are, you can't do much about it.  You simply have to wait for them to get bored and go away.  If their behaviour becomes aggressive you can take out an injunction or restraining order.  I think Robin will now fly away as I have had words.  I will, however, take the precaution of asking someone to walk me home; I wonder if Superman's available.

Hairdressers today.  I hate hairdressers.   But I want smart Christmas hair rather than grey birds' nest on top of head.  I then have friends to visit and calendars to deliver.  I will ask Designer Susan how to make my Christmas swag - she's brilliant at that sort of thing.  You tube showed me in 5 parts in real time which took about 2-3 hours and it was really really boring!  Alternatively, I could always ask Mr Smith to help.  Oh, silly me, Santa's Little Hater; I forgot.  Anyway, he broke my clippers last time he used them.

O Tannenbaum

Yesterday and today are being spent gently working my way through an enormous list of tasks.  I am doing quite well.  I can declare my Christmas shopping done ... tick.  I have wrapped up all the gifts and I would put them under the tree but our hall is decked with the contents of the Apprentice's car which he cleared out yesterday.  I think he just tipped the car upside down all over the hall floor.  He was thinking of arranging all the grotty bits of cable, screws, rusty tools and drill bits into a tree shaped structure.  If they're not cleared up by tomorrow I will put them in his bed.

I will start Christmas proper over the weekend.  I have completely given up with a real tree as Mr Smith's lecture on it being a waste of money and refusal to help decorate it on the grounds of "I didn't want a tree in the first place" just gets me down.  So we have an odd arrangement that looks like our tree has been stolen but they didn't take the lights. It's a spectacular spiral of luminescence that smells of plastic.  I sellotape glass balls to it and wish we had a real tree.  I'm making a swag this year or bough or festoon or garland or big bushy thing over the dining room door.  I looked up "how to" on Google.  The best help was really from how to make a wreath although I don't want to make a wreath as I already have one of those and Mr Smith never fails to be rude about it every year.  I will distract him with my bushy thing instead!

Tiring

Did you see that prog on the telly about the Japanese Tsunami?  It was a really good compilation of witness videos and people talking about their experience and why they recorded it.  Me, I would have run for the hills, but they just kept filming away.  Maybe they had the brilliant idea of "Oh no, I am going to lose everything so I will sell this piece of documentary evidence to secure my future." The chap who almost drowned in his car somehow managed to save his film - I don't know how because when I left my camera out in a slight shower that was the end of that.  I guess his was Japanese.

Cor what a blustery night and I was out in it performing a graveyard shift of market research for Michelin.  I didn't have to drive in the sheeting rain testing their special new super grippy tyres, though I so wished I had. A boring questionnaire of 76 dull repetitive statements went on and on until I could hardly keep my eyes open.  I got drenched in Oxford Street coming home in the middle of the night with no people around, afraid that the big Christmas lights might fall on my head.  I was then concerned that my train might be blown off its tracks so I carefully chose a route that didn't involve crossing over the river which was bound to rise up and engulf London - I went under it by tube then from Vauxhall on a fairly busy train - safety in numbers, we will all die together.  We didn't, but my phone did.  It had no signal which meant I couldn't get Mr Smith to collect me from the station but had to take a bus that could have been hit by a falling tree or be blown over.  Actually, it wasn't that bad but I would have been happier in my warm snug bed next to warm snug Mr Smith.  "You're late."  Yeah, I was out testing all weather tyres in a Tsunami.

Deck the halls and be jolly

Mr Smith and I spent the weekend at the seaside.  Mr Smith read his book, watched some telly and looked miserable.  I, on the other hand, went to the pub and saw a few mates, tacked a whole patchwork quilt, watched an excellent film, Vicky Christina Barcelona, walked the dog, ate something weird for dinner, gathered branches for my Christmas swags and the next morning went for a very rain swept walk along the beach before breakfast at the greasy spade.  We went house hunting - useless without a proper appointment as you can't see anything much from the road, in the rain, and you can't barge in when they're having their Sunday lunch with "We were just passing so thought we'd give your place the once over."  Mr Smith didn't see why not!

And now to make a Christmas swag.  I'm off to the dentist again this morning so I'll get Mr Smith to make a start - perhaps not.  My friends should be good at this - coven meeting with bits of wire and boughs of holly falalalalalalalalala.

Sock it to me baby

I am writing to you from the queue in M&S Kingston.  All men in Surrey will be receiving socks for Christmas this year; I have first hand knowledge of this fact.  If I die in this line it was not without noble endeavour.  The madness is truly with us.  I want to yell "STOP, good people, Christmas is yet two weeks away and the shops will not run out of tangerines or crackers or chocolates or socks, honestly."  But, I do feel rather smug knowing that I have done my Christmas shopping but for a plant and a cracker.  Plants for aunts and crackers for everyone so we can wear nasty little paper hats, read out groany old jokes and fiddle with  little metal puzzles or dollies' screwdriver sets throughout lunch.  Actually, I might deputise the cracker buying to Supermarket man.  On second thoughts I'm not sure I can face Mr Smith's "waste of money" lecture.  Oh to live with a Santa's little hater is such a joy.

Today it's Christmas Cards

Mr Bah Humbug is being worse than ever.  He is desperately trying to get out of sending Christmas cards by being a poo.  All he has to do is put his name on them then place each one in its envelope.  Last year he attached the stamps ... bolshily.  The year before that he addressed three of them in extra bad handwriting so I had to take over.  We tried me writing and him reading me the addresses but I couldn't keep up; he shouted the postcodes at me so loudly I cried.  He won't even post them.  But he did buy the stamps and if you've seen the queue at the post office I'd say that was probably the worst bit of the whole procedure.

Yesterday evening he went to a wine and cheese eating contest/tasting.  He came back very late with a lovely party bag of cheese, biscuits and chutney.  These things were all prepacked; Mr Smith did not just fill his pockets with cheese and chutney having imbibed much wine though he was rather well oiled on his return.

It's 25% off at M&S til Sunday.  I'm off to get Mr Smith some darlek socks so he can exterminate his feet.  In fact I am going to finish my Christmas shopping today.  Then I can wrap everything up - I love wrapping up presents, don't you?  Mr Smith thinks it's a waste of paper.

Christmas teeeeeeth

It's Tanya the Terrifying Hygenist this morning.  Tanya is very nice but she has a droany voice and I can't bear her awful painful instruments. It all makes me feel quite unwell.  I have to slog up to Harley Street by train, plane and automobile, actually I mean bus, train and tube.  It takes ages and will be crowded.  I am tired.  I want to sleep some more and not go to Terrifying Tanya.  Needs must.

I really must stop buying presents for myself and get some for other people; it's socks for boys today.  They will be pairs of socks which is something novel for them.  Maybe I'll get some nice tights for me too, I deserve a present after being good at the dentist and my resolve is low.

Mr Smith is being extra bah humbuggy these days.  'Tis the season.

Mrs Smith goes to Costco

"Don't buy any food" said Mr Smith as I departed early this morning for one of my favouritest shopping expeditions in the whole wide world; the Lovely Claudia took me to Costco.  Oh how I love Costco.  Sadly, so does the rest of the world and it was very busy which was annoying as we didn't get a great deal on fake snow or extra long tinsel.  I think all that had already been purchased.  There was only one thing for it really - buy food.  I did buy sensible things like fairy liquid and shower gel too.  Oh heck, I forgot the ketchup.  I'll tell Mr Smith they didn't have any left.  Oh well I really don't know where I would have stored it anyway - we are full.

I finished the cupcakes and cupcake calendar and delivered the first one to the Lovely Claudia.   I then sat down and ate the blue one, the pink one, the orange one and that bruised looking one that looked a bit sad. Well, I was hungry after that foray to Costco - I wasn't allowed to buy any food, remember.

Hercules had nothing on me

The dentist yesterday was just ghastly.  And I have to have more.  And I had to pay £500!  And my teeth are in a shite state.  Of course most of this is my fault for not going to see Terrifying Tanya - the ghastly mad hygenist.  I thought I could do it myself with lots of inbetweeny things but then I got a bit lazy, then we went to France, then Mr Smith lost his job, then it is now which means Christmas.  She will see me for a good torture on Thursday.  Oh goody I can hardly wait.  Oh this is so horrible and so expensive.

I vowed to take things easier after my brain tumour last week that M-C had to remove in class.  It's all building up again.  Not the headache but all the tasks. And now for cakes and calendars and christmas shopping and carrots for the dog - we're trying to turn him into a rabbit by giving him carrot sticks instead of constant gravy bone biscuits.  Oh, and Christmas cards;  perhaps Mr Smith could get us some.  On second thoughts perhaps not as I found him trying to recycle last years'.  He has refused to buy any on the grounds that he doesn't want to send any because he's too mean.  The odd thing is he takes great pride in receiving them: "Look I've got more friends than you."  But I have real friends who I see all the time who don't feel the need to send me pictures of robins once a year rather than meet me.

Director's cut

He's back from Poland.  The Best Boy, that is.  It's a bit like having Roman Polanski living in your house ... in a not particularly great way ... unless you are really into art films that is.  I am now watching one with him - quality time.  However, we have so far been interrupted by a dog walk, three telephone calls, Supermarket man with an enormous load of shopping to unpack and the return of the Apprentice.after his long day of electrical apprentiship.  At least one person in this family is employed.  Oh sorry, must stop chatting and pay attention to the arty wierd little vignettes of the film and be so happy I don't have to be young or pseud ever again.

Pet's corner

I went to the seaside and had a lovely time.  All my troubles melt away there; as do my aches and pains.  Marvelous Marylin showed me how to make pot holders properly and Adam the Dreadful Printer printed my calendars - badly.  No, he's not particularly cheap and he keeps up a consistently poor standard but he's local and does the job quickly and they're done now.  The fuzzy things are cupcakes.  I am going to print the front covers myself and I have just had a brilliant idea ... bear with me.  Firstly, I need a batch of nice flat topped cupcakes.

Later: Alfreda Cakesmith here.  Cakes rose up in Vesuvian fashion with crusts of magma on the top.  I left them in a bit too long in too hot an oven.  I was busy reading the dog's letter to him from Harrod's pet spa.  The £199 luxury pet spa experience is on special offer at £99.  I've decided we are quite happy with our dog looking like a compost heap and smelling accordingly and I will cut the tops off the cupcakes and ice them flat.

My nice C&G Confectionery teacher says it doesn't matter a jot that the top of my royal iced cake looks like the surface of the moon; the second coat will make it all ok.  That is the second coat.  Oh well, stand by for coats 3-36.  Mr Smith wants to know what's for lunch.  I am delighted to say I have no idea as I am on the "weekend off" diet which means I don't do weekend cooking; I just stuff my face all day long with whatever I want including cupcakes and lots of royal icing.  

Dentist tomorrow .. groan.  I will have to buy myself a really nice "I was good at the dentist" present.  A nice little Ipad would suit me well.  The Apprentice says he's getting me one for Christmas - bet he doesn't.

Charity begins over the road

You know those really slim elegant women who dive into the water with hardly a trace of a splash then swim 20 really quick lengths of sleek front crawl in a graceful manner then effortlessly hop out over the side and still manage neat hair?  I want to be one of those instead of a wallowing hippopotamus who lumbers up and down the pool puffing and panting then hauls her massive arse up the steps that she feels will give way any moment then tries to wrap her wobbly bits in a silly little towel.  Actually, the towels at the club are quite generous. Unfortunately, so's my bum.

Somehow Thursday has become Friday and the week has disappeared and I haven't taken the calendars to the printers or the car to the garage or the teeth to the dentist or the dog to the vet or the cakes to the church.  Oh who cares?  Everything will come fine in the end.  I try to delegate tasks to Mr Smith but I think he just prefers being bored.

I took the dog for a walk through the council estate with the crunch of syringes under foot to take my Christmas donation round to the local yoof charity.  I asked directions from a woman who looked like she had a crack cocaine addiction whilst coming down from her latest heroin fix  I have to own up to the reason I support this charity is a sort of insurance policy for keeping the little sods off my car and my property. Also, I like what they do. They take kids to Africa like pop stars doing rednose projects.  They give them a place to hang out, things to do that aren't criminal and get them off drugs and/or drug running.  They are actually totally brilliant. Keep up the good work. www.regenerateuk.co.uk.

Destress distress

I was supposed to be going to the seaside today to run away from Mr Smith and relax but I have work.  I will go for a gentle fat swim which means slow laps in a meditative manner rather than an aqua marathon at war with the water.  I still have a slight headache.

I finished my calendars and they are just tickety boo.  Here's December.

I thought I'd take all these cakes to our church Xmas fair but I think some of them are now so yesteryear they aren't quite as good as they look.  I'll try a couple and if they are actually mouldy I'll rebake - just nice simple ones.  The Christmas trees have cocktail sticks through the middle holding them up - a nice surprise as you bite into it!

Relax ... ommmm

When your ship is sinking you cling to the nearest thing.  Mr Smith and I do a lot of clinging these days.

My headache was partially alleviated by M-C, my brilliant sewing teacher, who assured me it wasn't a brain tumour but tension.  The muscles in my neck were getting tighter and tighter until I there was a danger they might snap and my head would roll off.  You will all be pleased to know this will not now happen thanks to M-C's brilliant neck massage and a general calming down by me.

Mr Smith will have to do things for himself as I will be staring into space for the foreseeable future with light knitting and Corrie for mental stimulation.

Questioning one's faith

Sneaky weaky Mr Smith is out all day but he didn't warn me so I haven't been able to get excited.  I have a billion nice things to do today including staring into space and finishing off October and February on my cupcake calendar.  I also have the next module of very tricky cake decoration for my City & Guilds.  I have absolutely no idea why I signed up for this course as I have always been happy with chucking the icing on, flicking it about a bit, shoving tat on top and calling it Christmas - ditto Birthday, Wedding, Christening, Bah Mitzvah etc.  Do I really want to be a master confectioner/ idiot housewife who enjoys wasting time and money making stupid cakes?  Actually, today I am being an idiot housewife who makes patchwork quilts.  I have my class in Clapham this morning - nearly forgot and I cancelled the dentist for that.  And I still have this awful headache.  Mr Smith has the perfect cure; he is going to cut my head off.  Here's the axe ... up a bit, down a bit.

Dieting for December

As Chris Evans told me over the ironing this morning, there are only three days to slim down for December.  So Mr Smith and I have made a start.  I found an old diet book entitled The Weekend Off Diet.  Easy peasy lemon squeezy - you follow it all week then scoff whatever you like over the weekend.  Jolly good.  Steak for dins. I cooked some cauliflower for Mr Smith as he would never understand watermelon, feta cheese and rocket salad.  It was most exotic.  I am going to call this the melon cauli deit (melancholy) although I feel quite cheery.

I was a super busy little bee today.  I buzzed round the bathrooms with my mop and bucket including that frightful gents we refer to as the latrine - I never use it unless absolutely desperado.  I did all the horrible tasks I've been meaning to do for ages - gardening, ironing, shopping, making a useless pot holder.  Mr Smith helps with his whip and clipboard and some pacing.

I thought I deserved a present and sure enough the Lovely Claudia sent me an on-line advent calendar.  This is so so exciting.  I can't wait to open the first window but I haven't lost enough weight yet.

By the way, I have now had a headache since Friday.  It's definitely a brain tumour.  I have had no wine for at least a day.

Dear Mary

Last night Sensible Alison and her husband, Presuming Ed, came to dinner.  It is lovely having your oldest and bestest mates round because you can be relaxed ... except we never are because I always aim to serve them a ridiculously over the top dinner with all the whistles and flutes.  This simply means I cook a medley of impossible things that push me to the limit and I am always absolutely exhausted by the time they arrive. Then I have a sip of something lovely like g&t or champagne and weehee I am up and running again. If only one had staff. There was a bit before dinner when I sat down and just said "I don't think I can be bothered with dinner, it's cremating away in the oven but I am just going to sit here and chat for a bit" but the billows of black smoke came issuing forth from the kitchen so I had to go and see what the staff were up to.  They'd gone home. Mr Smith did the vegetables.

The menu: Just to make your mouth water and be grateful you didn't have to cook it:-
Fish filo parcels with creamy wine sauce;
Duck breast in red wine sauce with potatoes, sprouts and green beans;
Profiteroles.

Dear Mary Berry,
In your cookery book you state 1lb of salmon and 8oz prawns are required for 8 little 7" parcels.  Have you actually cooked this you stupid old bat?  I went all the way to Asda to get more fish as Supermarketman had only bought a minnow's worth of salmon which, actually, would have been quite sufficient.  I hate you now and am going to tell Delia and I don't want your book The Great British Bakeoff for Christmas any more.  Please find enclosed all the extra fish.
Yours sincerely,
Mrs Smith

P.S. You say serve the profiteroles with chocolate sauce but give no recipe .... anywhere in the book.  I made  something up which was far too rich and gooey. Mmmm ..... Oh I mean horrid.  No, don't wash up the plate.

I am waiting for the imaginary staff to come and clear up.  Such a long wait that I dozed off whilst doing the crossword and woke up with biro scribble all over the duvet.  Now they'll have to launder the sheets as well.

He's out

Mr Smith is playing golf all day in Kent.  This is blissikins, heaven, my home to myself, my life to myself, no monitoring for a whole day.  Tempting though it is to stay in bed all day reading the paper and enjoying little naps, he will be back this evening and I can't face a "Nothing's done; what have you been doing all day,  lounging in bed as usual?"  Oh, I don't know, it's almost worth it.  

The Best Boy's trip to a film festival in Poland hasn't got off to a great start as the girlfriend was ill and had to get off the plane at Stansted.  She has a stomach ulcer and shouldn't have gone abroad in the first place let alone expect the idiot BB to look after her.  I do feel sorry for her but she isn't much fun always being ill.  So he's on his own in a foreign country trying to figure out zlotys and where to get a beer.  I think he met some other people attending the same film festival on the plane and they will look after him.  He does 'pathetically incapable' quite well.

I am desperately endeavouring to get my calendar cupcakes made.  January is looking good but all other months are going hideously wrong and we are drowning in hideous cupcakes.  October's pumpkin is mighty tricky and I am going to have to cancel December altogether.  I am hoping our church might be having a Christmas Fair where I can offload some of the excess.  They don't look all that edible!

I have a headache, a dog to walk, a load of shopping to do and a dinner party.  I thought an afternoon with a bit of knitting in front of Corrie catch-up would be just the thing.  Well, if I buzz about like a mad thing all morning I might manage it.  Mr Smith isn't here to monitor me after all.