Dying swan

Is it safe to assume I won't look like this forever and my swollen face will subside? I have now developed an awful headache - I mean a really really awful headache that seems immune to headache pills, even really strong max and plus ones. I thought maybe I need antibiotics then I remembered I am on antibiotics. Mr Smith's sympathy is beginning to run out - it started waining after the garage flowers; the cups of tea are getting fewer and it seems to have definitely petered out now at the dawn of day 3. I would like to pull myself together - actually, what I would really like to do is malinger on the sofa with lots of little treats such as chocolate buttons to gently suck on and sloe gin to trickle down my throat but this dratted headache is preventing even that. And my face hurts. As for the inside of mouth - let's think about something else. I am not supposed to clean my teeth for a month or at least until the stitches are removed. You can probably smell my halitosis from where you're sitting.

Listening to: Tchaikovsky and the pitter patter of rain
Looking at: Mr Smith here and not at golf, due to the rain
Reading: The Sunday Telegraph mag
Smelling: Corsodyl mouthwash, plentifully applied
Feeling: Fucking awful

Malfunctions

My laptop is a bit like me I fear; not working very well. Yesterday it posted my blog 5 times - I have now reduced this ridiculous number of posts to a sensible amount of moaning although it was quite descriptive of how crap I felt. There is a crumb under the keyboard which moves around making certain keys difficult to use. At the moment it is lodged under the c which is OK as c isn't a letter I use that frequently and is only a minor inconvenience compared to the spacebar, where it was previously lodged making all my blog come out as one long word like German.

I look like I've got mumps after my op with big fat cheeks that hurt. I look like a hamster. Mr Smith assures me I don't; he says I look more like a chipmunk. He bought me flowers yesterday - some tulips from the supermarket not a bouquet from interflora but then he's always been a garage flowers man with a budget not exceeding £3.50.

Reading: The Poisonwood Bible - fabulous
Cuddling: Frozen peas
Watching: DVD of Beautiful People - brilliant
Listening to: My family trying to do things without me.
Smelling: Clean sheets and my dog curled up at my feet, martyr style.
Feeling: Quite horrible.

Post op

OWCH!

Operation Day

Mad Carina and I went to Peter Jones for lunch via a very exciting little cupcake shop which inspired me for greater cupcakes. They had no sharks I noted.

Last night I D Jane and I went to Antonia Roll's exhibition in Wimbledon and very impressive it was too. The subject of the exhib was her partner who died of cancer and the paintings are quite lovely. There were heaps of people and heaps of paintings and Antonia gave a little sermon which was charming and moving and I was so amazed I didn't cry. I realise I am so lucky not to have lost anyone close to me to this awful illness.


Antonia & me - Desiguel girls

I D Jane has forgiven Tarzan for the squash racket incident. He went on a rotten ski trip last weekend and seems to have learnt where his comforts lie - not in an igloo in Davos!

Today is the day of my dreaded tooth operation. I am having a bit of roadworks done under my teeth so I imagine there might be slight disruption to my eating for the next few days. I'm off to Harley Street at 4.30pm for much anaesthetic; the complete knock out. Mr Smith hopes I don't mind if he's a bit late collecting me as he doesn't want to pay the congestion charge. I hope Mr Smith doesn't mind if I am violently sick all over his shoes.

There's a shark in my cake

I met my mother-in-law at the Van Gogh exhibition at the RA - (Is it Van Goff or Van Go or, if you are Dutch, Van Gurghkhhhh?) Despite Mr Smith assuring me otherwise, it wasn't too crowded and we were able to see more than the backs of people's heads. I managed to be wrongly dressed in a flimsy little mac on the coldest day of the year. In fact I have been wrongly dressed every day this week - I need a dresser to give me the order of the day, perhaps Mr Smith could oblige? Actually, he's the sort of chap to promote a bikini in the snow.

href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO037upFB52d1bMBokM7Ae6D9mxMZY2qtqSSKlOY2a_wK-GSfZJw5l9qmm_jlaoxtFDWHeMaVt5xFr_I64ifYMlzgyYJ8H1cf_tlgc3g2mVPZZVw6WV0Wt-5MiaqLVXXO7OzRKi9z0jru2/s1600-h/IMG_1342.jpg">

Life's a bowl of cherries

Oh what a thrilling morning - I ordered hoover bags on line and talked to my mother on the phone about her on-line farming. This afternoon will be highlighted by a dog walk in the rain. Honestly, nobody's life can be this boring, surely?

I feel something creative coming on and maybe a foray into that Cordon Bleu cookery book; it's about time I challenged Mr Smith's taste buds again.

Inspirations of the day: Dutch tulip fields, Grayson Perry's Walthamstow tapestry and something with pears for pudding.

Grumble in the jungle

Whee hee, it's Sunday and this means it's alcohol day. Shall I start with a pink gin at breakfast, like Granny? The woman's 96 so it can't do you that much harm. Just think, if she never drank she could have lived to 180. Actually, I have to stay sober as the Apprentice and I are going shopping. I am not dressed yet as I have been enjoying a proper Sunday morning with the newspaper as one should. Tesco have issued a dress code for shopping which includes shoes, shirts and no pyjamas - we won't go there then.

Yesterday I delivered some eggs to Internet Dating Jane and we had a chat about her Tarzan. He might not be quite the King of the Swingers she was really hoping for. I mean, he's very nice but I realise that qualities such as dependable, reliable and sensible might not go hand in hand with spontaneous, fun and whacky. I don't think the squash racket was possibly one of the world's greatest romantic gestures but then I'm married to a man who gave me a tool box for my birthday last year. I married Mr Smith because he is as solid as a rock and I am so loony tunes crazy I do it for both of us ... whilst he watches the cricket.

Egg donor

I went to visit my ailing grandmother in Suffolk. I was so glad to see her before she finally departs this life and I think this was mutual. I am pleased she has the best possible care; she is looked after by a joint team of carers, Fat Cosy Alison and Mr Fat Cosy Alison, who have to be the world's nicest people. Not only do they tend to Granny's every whim but, whilst I was there, to mine too. Granny is like a tiny little sparrow tucked up her nest of a bed all cosy and safe with people flying in and out to feed her a few worms now and again. I read her the newspaper and chatted about my children and other bits of trivia until she drifted off for a little zizz.
(I hoped I hadn't actually bored the poor woman to death.)

In the afternoon, during one of Granny's three hundred snoozes, I went to visit Internet Dating Jane's lovely Mum who lives nearby and let me play on her farm. I want an egg producing plant, with chickens and egg boxes. I pressed a button and out came eggs which were then stamped and packed all automatically. Such clever chickens. I also met some very beautiful cows and little baby new cows and a great big bull with lots of rosettes. I resisted the temptation to pop a little calf in my car but went away with loads of eggs and felt quite buoyed up for my evening shift at Granny's bedside.

I returned to London to be greeted by the washing up, the laundry languishing in the machine (although I had made a request in that department) and an unwalked dog. Mr Smith looked quite pleased to see me.... and my eggs.

Mardi Greedi

So what have you given up for Lent then? Apart from pancakes. Mr Smith and the Apprentice somehow made me agree to abstain from alcohol for the prescribed forty days and forty nights. However, I have made an interesting, if not vital, discovery. If you start Lent from Shrove Tuesday, i.e. Ash Wednesday being Day One, and you count all the way to Good Friday, it is in fact 44 days of fasting in the wild. This is four more days than the original contract - therefore I can drink on Sundays, well some Sundays. Actually, the vicar told me this when pissed one Sunday in Lent - no he wasn't really, but he told me you get Sundays off so you can take communion. Aha, now it all makes sense. See you for a jolly knees up on Sunday.

House prefect

I wasn't feeling my absolute bestest this morning so I thought I'd write myself an off games note, skip aqua zumba and stay in bed with a super trashy book, a cup of tea and a smelly dog. To my horror there was a spot check. At 10am in waltzed Mr Smith ... "Aha, I caught you lounging in bed all morning." There was only one thing for it, feign near death and demand a cup of tea as the only cure. It didn't work.

I am now performing subversive housework. Anarchy reigns in the dishwasher as I shove in all the "handwash only" bone china, silver and large utensils. Absolute disobedience has broken out in the laundry department as I not only wash 5 tea towels on their own in the machine but tumble dry them too - AND it's a lovely sunny day. I did not wash the bathroom floor as instructed, I hoovered it instead. The dog got stuck in there yesterday and tore open several constipation potions. As he has shown no side effects I can only assume he didn't actually consume any but merely decorated the bathroom floor with it, making it grittier than the Kalahari. I am toying with the idea of ringing an ironing service for all the sheets; actually, they may as well do it all including the 5 tea towels. Of course I have to carefully cover my tracks before Mr Smith stands in judgement which can take longer than just doing the boring tasks. Domestic Goddess? Oh I so hope not.

Look what I did today.

Grannyville

To all you on-line Farmville farmers - get a life! I don't care if you've been awarded an "Excellent Farmer" award or how many pigs, sheep, chickens or wheat sheaves you have produced. I am sending you all foot & mouth, weedkiller and a fox. This includes my mother.

I am thinking of starting Grannyville. Before your granny dies you have to acquire as many of her priceless possessions as possible. You will have to pay lawyers, nurses and doctor's fees and medicine bills. Mine still lives on, by the way.

Shall I make Westie cakes today? Or shall I stick vigilantly to my diet and continue to lose no weight?

Squashing romance

I was wondering if Internet Dating Jane's Tarzan was going to give her an engagement ring for Valentines. No, he gave her a squash racket!

I imagine a conversation along the lines of "Shall we play squash?" "No, I can't play squash." "Why not?" "Um, er, well, I haven't got a squash racket for a start."
Honestly, he seems to be from the Mr Smith school of wooing. I did tell him to buy her some chocolates; I will pop round later to eat them.

Romantic Candlelit Dinner for Mr & Mrs Smith

Mr Smith and I pored over the Cordon Bleu book together. Cor what a palaver. We shredded a cabbage, washed the shredded cabbage, drained the shredded cabbage, blanched the shredded cabbage, rinsed it in cold water, drained it again, fried it with onion, read it a little story then stewed it for an hour on the hob with two guinea fowl and some polish sausage on top. One also had to make a bouquet garni and repeat the whole cabbage procedure with some lardons; I can't believe I actually did this, but I did. After the prescribed time the guinea fowl hadn't cooked through and the cabbage was reduced to mush. I asked Mr Smith to slice the sausage, as I was trying to clean the silver candlesticks that he insisted on using in order to romaticise the meal. (Why? He doesn't do romantic.) He hacked it up into gigantic slabs of sausage. I must say I had some misgivings about this meal from the first read through of the recipe but only due to the Herculean quality of the work required. If I do this again I will simply braise the guinea fowl over the cabbage in the oven and add a few delicate slices of sausage to garnish.

The pudding didn't fare that well either. It was a quite delicious strawberry charlotte but the charlotte bit, made with my very own sponge fingers, had gone mushy. At least it held its shape. I really should have followed the instructions more carefully and made only 3-5hrs prior to serving. But I was making silly little dog cakes then.

The result: Two exhausted people stirring a bit of school cabbage and meat around their plates in limited lighting with the dog and the Apprentice popping in and out at 5 minute intervals. Romantic? Well, we drank pink champagne.

Be my Valentine .. or else

Mr Smith broke the tradition of a lifetime and not only bought me a valentine card but also a valentine mug for my valentine tea in bed. You see, nagging works!

I have cooked and cooked and cooked and stared at loads of washing up hoping it might just go away. In the end I did a deal with Mr Smith; I would wash if he dried and put away. He left it 'til morning thereby cutting out the middle motion and did manage to put it away, mostly in the wrong cupboards. I will sort it all out later.

I am now off to the Polish shop for polish sausage (not beeswax) but I have no idea which one I should buy as there is a vast array. My recipe for "Pintandeau au choux avec saucice" isn't very specific but it does have a picture. This seems somewhat rustic fare for Cordon Bleu. The recipes get progressively more difficult as you work your way through the book and this appears on page 12- the pudding is on page 350 and took me the whole of yesterday to make, including baking my own sponge fingers. It's ok, the novelty is wearing off and I am beginning to admire the bright spark who invented pot noodle.



It's silly dog cup cakes today. Sharks next.

Happy Unbirthday

I have had such an amazing week of presents. In fact it's been a present a day and sometimes two. Yesterday the Lovely Claudia came to visit with two lovely presents. The first was a book on cupcakes - not just any old cupcakes but THE most amazing cupcakes you could ever imagine. I have made my first batch and very silly they are too. Dog cakes are next; there are several pages of different breeds. Her other pressie was a pie slicer in the shape of a shoe with a detachable stiletto heel - daft but brilliant and useful for stabbing Mr Smith with if he makes any comments about wasting time on silly little cakes which I can't eat as I'm on a diet (which is going hopelessly by the way).

Gordon Blue

Mad Carina came round for belated birthday tea and cakes and pressie swap. I gave her wooden tulips and she gave me books - a veritable library of books, all brill reads. I have decided to come back to the educational ones in my next and get stuck into the chic lit without further ado. What a great friend - she knows just what I like.

Yesterday Mr Smith bought me a Cordon Bleu cookery book. I opened it and nearly fainted from the sheer hard work required to produce any of the dishes. Where do you buy chervil? So far I have managed chicken stock that involved making little herb parcels wrapped in leek leaves - I know, it will taste just the same as if I bunged them all in with the chicken but I am being a perfectionist. I will feed some of the boiled chicken to the dog - Cordon Bleu for the dog? I will then make a nice easy peasy Delia chicken pie for Mr Smith and he will very pleased with his purchase.

Internet Dating Jane cooked me the most lovely dinner last night and gave me a lovely birthday present, (posh garden twine with dinky little scissors). She will make Tarzan such a good wife ... if he asks her. Valentine's Day is coming up soon; Mr Smith's least favourite day of the year.

Face off

Three good things I did this morning, or rather two good things and one big fat piece of procrastination:

I went to aqua zumba and did my thing. My very fattest friend turned up and, along with the other fat ladies, we followed the movements of the graceful balletic teacher like the hippos in Fantasia.

I planted the tulip bulbs I bought in Amsterdam. I don't know if they are deep enough or whether they'll just throw themselves out of the ground. It started to snow, very hard, so I couldn't really speak to each bulb individually. I just dug a hole and shoved them in and plonked some soil on top and gave them a group hug. If they fail to appear in the Spring I'll shove some wooden ones in the spaces.

I Facebooked. What a waste of time. I just thought I ought to as everyone always asks me if I'm on it. I am now. Annabel Church Smith - I must be the only one and I have 2 friends - Internet Dating Jane and her dog.

Say cheese

In Holland I went a bit beserk at the cheese shop and bought loads of cheese. Not to worry as we've already eaten most of our three Goudas and are about to make a start on the giant Edam (like the ad for babybel). When you buy Dutch cheese in this country it's just a bit of yellow rubber but in Holland it's so creamy and rich and cheesey.

About that diet I was following .... well, I have to admit pancakes and chocolates weren't the central core of the thing. I wonder if a 6lb weight gain in two days is a record? I am now back to the grindstone and limiting the cheese intake.

One of my birthday presents was a tea box with dividers for different tea bags. I have been busily filling each little compartment but I am afraid soon their flavours will mingle together and they'll all taste the same. Lapsang Grey Pekoe?

One hundred and two years old

It was our birthdays. Mr & Mrs Smith are now 51. Mr Smith finds this most surprising as he rates himself as about mid thirties. Mid thirties? That's ancient! I never got much past 13.

For Mr Smith's birthday he bought me a lovely bottle of Dior something or other at the airport. For my birthday, the next day, he bought me everything I wanted including a pancake for lunch. That's how it should be. Well, I did pay for a chinese dinner but it wasn't very expensive - unlike my birthday dinner at Amsterdam's finest which required a mortgage.

I bought loads of exotic tulip bulbs in the flower market and now have to plant them which I would if it would stop snowing. I also bought loads of wooden tulips which are rather kitsch and fun.

Amsterdam

Internet Dating Jane lent me a red umbrella to take to Amsterdam as rain was forecast. She and Jack brought it round, him with a little note attached to his collar thanking me for all his walkies during the week. What a polite dog! I've always liked him. We drank some wine and I got sloshed; this did not aid my packing which, apart from the umbrella, was a bit rubbish.

When we got to Amsterdam it was raining - hooray for the umbrella. It was also quite cold and I had failed to pack a scarf or gloves - I bought a scarf or rather Mr Smith bought me a scarf as my Euros ran out on day 1. I also bought the whole of Amsterdam which I had difficulty squeezing into my suitcase despite it being rather empty on arrival due to my awful packing.

I loved the flower market, the Van Gogh museum, the shops, the cheese, the trams and the wonderful architecture of Amsterdam. I did not like the stink of drugs everywhere, the lunatic number of tacky tourist shops or the freezing fog that descended on day 3. Rather too many things were closed for refurbs including the Museum of modern art, the Scheepvaart museum (shipbuilding not sheep farming), and most of the Rijksmuseum, though the best bits were on view. Perhaps that's the hazard of going out of season.

The ladies of the night in their red windows were very interesting - though I didn't let Mr Smith loiter. I was glad I saw them as well as finding a windmill and eating a pancake - the three essential things to do in Amsterdam, though not all at the same time.

Dutch bunny

Tomorrow morning we fly to Amsterdam. I am trying to pack but not very successfully. Do I need a travel plug? mmm probably. However, when I looked in the drawer where I normally keep things like travel plugs there wasn't anything that evenly resembled a plug in there. Do I need bunny ears for Amsterdam? Oh I give up. I'll take an empty suitcase and buy everything at the airport; well, at least a travel plug.

It is Mr Smith's birthday tomorrow and he says he'd really like to hire bicycles and have a little cycle ride round Amsterdam. Oh fuck, I can't ride a bicycle. He thinks a tandem might be a good idea. Why doesn't he just divorce me now? Maybe I could learn ... in my bunny ears.

Sweat bras and tears

Since I am being so super keeny in the keep fit department, I thought I should kit myself out with some proper togs. I went to Sweaty Betty's in Kingston. Actually I was a bit sweaty as I walked all the way there - no mean feat, let me tell you.

The nice assistant told me the first thing I needed was a sports bra. I don't know if she gave me one three sizes too small on purpose or maybe she misheard or misjudged my size. I got stuck in it. A sports bra for those of you who have never met one isn't just like a bra, oh no sir. It's bra-ish but more like a vest married to a bra. It has all sorts of extra straps and bits at the back that don't actually undo. You slip it over your head then struggle a bit, then roll it down then do it up at the back then realise you can't breath and call out from behind the curtain in a rather constricted small voice "Do you have a slightly bigger size?" I then got it stuck over my tits below my neck but round my arms and I couldn't move. I thought I would have to be cut out of it. I wriggled and squidged and turned upside down until eventually I wrenched the damned thing off. No, it's OK I don't want a sports bra any more.

Next it was sweat pants. Not much improvement as the assistant kept giving me stupidly small sizes. Do I look like a size 12 to you? I am a bloody 16 who dreams of being a 12 all day long non-stop - hence the new fitness regime. I nearly hit the girl though I did have to admire her optimism. "Why can't I just have the L then, if by some miracle it's too big, I'll opt for the M?" She came round to my way of thinking in the end and £250 later I feel ready to take on the most strenuous physical jerks in a desperate bid to fit into my new clothes (over my normal bra).

Paperless table

I was going to clean our coffee table but it is so covered in publications you can't see the dust so there's not much point. I keep the very big Times Atlas of the World close to hand (somewhat out of date what with Russia and the Balkans changing things around a bit) in case Mr Smith should decide to take me on holiday somewhere more adventurous than East Wittering. It's also useful for cheating at the crossword puzzle. I also like to have a few arty magazines strewn about to cover up Hello and OK and anything golfy. Then there a few gardening mags to make me think about venturing outside. There are also a load of stupid catalogues for things we don't want, one of which I have just noticed from Boden entitled "Life's full of little surprises" the main one of which being I am too fat to fit into any of their clothes. My friend, Mad Carina, buys endless magazines on decluttering which then clutter up her flat and my parents have Country Life so they can see whose houses are worth burgling.

Today I went to Aqua Zumba which is much the same sort of thing as aqua aerobics with more exotic moves and fatter ladies; think belly dancing whales. I liked it more than Monday's class and will definitely go again even though it was at the gruesome hour of 9am. OOh I am such a little keep fittist these days.

Wednesday is the new Tuesday; football night is tonight not last night. I am going to start my new painting. Well you don't expect me to watch Mr Smith and the Apprentice watching football do you?

Brava woman

I bathed and pruned the dog. He looks sad without all his straggly fluffy bits but he might bring less attachments into the house. He smells nice - a temporary arrangement I fear.

It's football night on Tuesdays when Mr Smith and the Apprentice do their Alpha male thing and hurl abuse at the television. I do other things. I might rectify my trousers and watch a soppy dvd on my own elsewhere.

My friends keep calling to ask if Granny is dead yet - some actually still do so in a caring tone. For all of you who want to know: No she is not dead so I haven't inherited her millions, her furniture and paintings, her mink coat, her diamonds or her great big house ..... yet. Mr Smith is so bursting with anticipation it's rude.

Aquaflabics

I went to aqua aerobics - I was a bit late but soon got the hang of it. To be honest, I think I'd rather do a few good lengths of the pool but maybe it reaches the parts that other swims don't. There were heaps of ladies, most quite fat, some enormous and I felt quite at home. It had the feel of a Beryl Cook painting and I feel rather inspired to paint "The Aqua Aerobics Class" with lots of silly coloured woggles sticking up in the water.

I didn't lose any weight this past week; I hold that chocolate roulade responsible. So this week the dog and I are both going to be very exercisey and we are only going to eat perfectly formed designer meals. This is actually about portion sizes as I have to admit I am being a bit greedy these days although I don't eat as many bonios as the dog.