Gaslighting, Smooth Talking, and John Major and the Cold Sore.

The Sainted One had a field day when I went away for forty eight hours. He could indulge all his fetishes without interruption, don’t get me wrong, this is not what you might think. He sorted rubbish (putting the contents of bags into other bags) reloaded the dishwasher, sorted the cutlery drawer and the latest, which is bulb changing swopping blown fuses into lights which are considered superfluous to requirements. This might explain why I found a hair on my chin after a very smart dinner party with some immaculate women, I think I did not look good and there was a rather bright downlight so maybe the chin was not as conspicuous as I thought? It must be said though, the S.O redeemed himself by reading out loud the last ten thousand words of my book which is now two thirds completed. He does it quite beautifully, it’s all the training you see that is what politicians do . While I was away I met some impressive women , but some of the time we were at cross purposes, one of them mentioned she had a son who was a chef and working at Checkers. I perked up a lot and mentioned the time I sat next to John Major at Checkers and counselled him about his large cold sore, I suggested some Zvorax cream might cure it before his high level meetings the following week. He said he couldn’t go to a chemist and had nobody to send. The S.O took some round to Number Ten…. I had such a nice letter. The lady thought I was insane, Checkers was a local restaurant.

One must not do this sort of thing, I have made a note. At the weekend I am catering for the extended family again, my son’s birthday. My cooking is awful at the moment, so watch this space.

Another Year , The day I Ate a Spider and Psalm 139.

So another year, another cake, and another joke or two? I had a wonderful birthday, after all it is important to receive as well as to give, and so I did, buckets of it , and there was Christohpe the chef I could never make food as delicious as that, the best present anyone could think of. He is in the background of the picture on my blog. Any woman should be judged by their women friends and mine are a class act, goodness do I adore them. Someone whom I admire for their quick humour ( a man , it makes a change) remarked that it was another year to look back on, I replied that I was concerned about the fact that there might be very few people at my funeral which was obviously a year closer; I added a bit resentfully that there would be hundreds at his but that I would probably not be there to see them, “neither will I” he came back, a trifle mournfully, because he likes nothing better than a good party.

Now to the humour bit, one of my six grandsons is keen on practical jokes, he once put cling film under the loo seat so I peed all over the floor and my clothes, frankly it was not very funny, but worse was to come recently, as you will see; fully aware that I am an arachnophobiac, he put a spider in the stem of my glass, I was rather merry at the time and didn’t spot it until the last sip. How about that? Has he ever heard of hostages to fortune, this will be a big one!

I felt very low today, positively engulfed by strangely malevolent forces, they could not be ignored, and had to be addressed full on for fear of irrevocable damage. Are people really bad? The answer is yes, but they kid themselves that they some sort of high moral plane, when actually they are out for themselves. I urge them to read psalm 139, the most beautiful of all, I read it at three am, it set me up.

Il Retorno Del Nipote, Babettes Feast a la Clapham, and The Phone Bill.

The return of the nephew is a joy, wonderful conversations about food, and a departure from the awful repetition which overtakes my cooking. It’s partly because the Sainted One does not seem able to distinguish between pasta and rice. One of those idiotic spats started about this, the Nipote’s fabulous risotto was hailed by the S.O as pasta. This misinformation was substantiated by the fact that risotto was “under the heading of pasta in restaurants.” Frankly I was not prepared to engage with this. So there was another “stand off “ But things got very serious today when the phone bill was put on my desk with all calls itemized and checked some underlined in red with stern notes. But there was one item which necessitated a long a grim letter , it was a call to a mobile on January 21rst costing over ten pounds. “Talk Talk” have been instructed to investigate this fully, and I am informed that depending on the outcome of the investigation the consequences for the guilty one will be severe. I have put ten pounds on his desk and informed him that it was a call made by moi !!!!! He would be advised not to press charges, it takes two to tango and it was soooooo much fun this is not a good look S.O, ignorance is sometimes advisable.

There was a gathering here two days ago seventeen women who were all connected in the most delightful way, somebody gave me a chef as a present, it was quite the best thing which has happened for a long time. He made enough food to feed ten more in the evening . There was a lot of rubbish in the recycle which was left by the bin men because there was some tangerine peel in one of them. Well I suppose in every life a little rain must fall.

“When Did You Last Cook Me A Meal?” Lost Going To Specsavers, and Chancing You Arm where the Sun Doesn’t Shine.

Yep that’s a politician for you never miss a photo opportunity. There we were parked outside the house with the Sainsbury’s Bags ( the Sainted One Had come, because of my cracked rib). The mood suddenly turned ugly and he was leaning over the car addressing the neighbours, arms out spread like the sermon on the mount …. And then the fateful words “ all this food and when did you last cook me a meal?” OMG moi,, who is not only known, but greatly admired for my sweet gentle nature exploded. The invective was Oscar level, several young mothers sent their children hurriedly inside with rugs on their heads. My friend Elvira complimented me “I never knew you had it in girl I am proud of you” she applauded. When we got inside I grabbed my diary, in which the menus are written on a daily basis. This was ignored so moi, understandably, hurled it at his stomach, where all this delicious hard laboured food ends up each day, including home made porridge each morning with brown sugar and a dab of cream and a delicate cup of tea, to the bedside. “ the next meal can go ………” I suggested

Today there was silence …… but a grim face emerged from the man cave, “When you attacked me with your diary you broke my glasses, I am off to Specksavers in Oxford Street to have them repaired ,” “Oh Yeh” I said in a gentle soft voice ,” so where exactly do you keep your glasses?” I asked . He was out for four hours because he got lost. Now hear yee people of Clapham and everywhere that is a parable of a story think about it Politicians they are all the same. No more porridge mate!!!!!

The Nipote has come back to live here for a bit, it is totally fabulous tonight he mad a risotto, this meant time to get back to the thorny question as to whether Sir Hartley Shagwell used a sedan chair or a carriage to attend a court soiree at Kensington palace in 1741. I am leaning to wards the carriage its quite a hoof from Mayfair.

Brian Sewell and the White Umbrella, and a Donkey called Pavlova

I have just been to the launch of Brian Swell’s book The White Umrella. In the Evening standard it was referred to as a children’s book which is entirely incorrect , it is a book for every age and will be a classic. It was published of course by the legendary Naim Attallah of Quartet, he knows a thing or two, and dare I say it I am also published by Quartet. Sewell’s book is the most charming of tales about the rescue of a small four year old donkey and a walk from Peshawar to Wimbledon. It grabs you on the first page I have smiled my way through the first half in one sitting, the rest I want to spin out because it is a metaphor of enchantment. There are many subtle references in its pages which will chime with readers of any age or intellect. I will not hurry the next half, it is to be savoured like the last bite of a chocolate truffle. I never thought I would have such joy tucked up in bed with a small donkey and Brian Sewell. He is a the most delightful of men and a host of his admirers tuned out to celebrate. His love of animals is evident on each adorable page so wonderfully illustrated by Sally Anne Lasson, this is a thing to treasure and leave to your grandchildren in a special bequest list.

The Ice Cold Heart of a Bigamist

For some reason I keep hearing about men who manage two different families, or ones that have discord around them which they make no attempt to sort out. And then of course there are millions of them who have love affairs where they can have pillow talk with the other woman. Vodka and sympathy, and lots of stuff the wife doesn’t want to do. You all know what I mean of course . And then there are the divided families, if you are the cold bollocks kind, the last thing you want there is harmony, that spells ganging up and the first lot of kids saying “that’s exactly what he used to do to mummy” then of course the game is up, he can’t get away with being selfish Sofa B any more. I saw this recently witnessing two perfectly nice families who had been kept apart for years with secrets and lies and I suddenly got it! I told the principal victim but of course it was too late so I kind of wish I hadn’t, adultery on a monogamous level is really an unofficial form of Bigamy…. It is a great word. But then bigamists of any sort are stupid men by and large, they are betrayers who cannot tell the difference between real love and loyalty and a house of lies which  always cause misery in the end.  Women get on well in groups and harems work rather well I am told, you can all share the bin duty I mean that metaphorically, principally him of course.