Flying chocolates

In an out of character moment Mr Smith bought me my absolutely favourite Belgian chocolates. I was so chuffed and felt a great chocolate urge coming on.

Yesterday I made plans, lavish and difficult plans, to go to Suffolk at the end of May to join my parents, my brother and his family at my grandmother's house for the bank holiday weekend. I carefully checked the dates with Mr Smith and made all the arrangements. We will be staying in a hotel as the house will be full. Not now we won't; Mr Smith has declared he's playing golf in Kent and can't possibly come. I was so so so angry. I was Mrs Angry of Angryville. I threw his bloody chocolates at him and was about to cut his trousers up into little bits followed by him. I was very shouty. I sent him off to take the Apprentice to Croydon - I couldn't drive as I was too angry. I would have had road rage and crashed. I think he was quite pleased to have a reprieve from my tirade.

We made it up later; he agreed to go Suffolk the following day which means he can still play golf and I still get to see my family and we still stay in a hotel. I cooked us a nice dinner after which we tentatively opened the chocolates. They looked a little traumatised, some requiring first aid (the strawberry cream and truffles were in need of major surgery) due to their air crash. We ate them anyway and my temper improved. Sometimes Mr Smith can be too golfy for his own good.

Who wears the trousers?

The Apprentice wanted a tiny weeny birthday cake for his boss. I am so deliriously happy that this young man employs our young man that it was a pleasure to make him a little cake. However, I didn't start on the task til after dinner and it was jolly late by the time I had finished icing our kitchen. It is so sticky. Mr Smith is tutting.

I collected Tarquin's Quilt from the quilters and have started edging it. It looks quite smart with a wiggly blue bit all the way round the edge due to my inability to sew straight. The house is now covered in little bits of thread. Mr Smith is TUTTING.

I haven't sewn up Mr Smith's trouser hems. This is because every time I do a pair he produces another pair or two. I now have an enormous pile of trousers to alter. Is the man shrinking?
He was more than tutting over my failure to perform trousering tasks in time for his golfing last weekend. Gosh, he needs to be careful unless he wants shorts!

Blissful ignorance

The Lovely Claudia came to play yesterday and we planned our Summer holiday - 2 days in Manchester - sad gits that we are. I then took her to Roehampton Club in a show-offy sort of way. We looked at the construction work and shied away from the gym, ending up in the bar. I then had a rather hiccuppy swim all alone in the outdoor pool - glorious.

Arty Antonia can't do tea in Bognor today as her angels are getting her down. I admire her discipline.

Internet Dating Jane is having a birthday party in May - I so wish I could give her a nice man as a present. If you know any, send them round.... gift wrapped.

Mr Smith and the Apprentice are horrified by my lack of knowledge of current affairs. So am I. It appears that only doing the crossword in the newspaper doesn't constitute reading it. Oh! There was a volcanic eruption in Iceland which I did know about, a Polish aircrash that I didn't and apparently, according to Mr Smith, there is a General Election in May.

Looking sketchy

I oiled. The sunlounger is now looking brown and lovely. Mr Smith pointed out the bits I'd missed - gosh, where would I be without my quality controller?

I cooked prawns in a little garlic and chilli with cauli cheese - I excelled myself. It really was jolly good. Tonight will be something with peppers as I bought a billion peppers in Costco then found we already had lots. We also have a surfeit of brocolli as mine has grown so well, despite pigeon attacks, and really needs eating. Brocolli and pepper stew coming up.

Some beautiful sketch books arrived. I was expecting a box of 5 small square books but actually it's 25. Who do they think I am, Banksy short of a wall? I will donate them to arty friends and hope they're don't all go - "Oh you got the 25 instead of 5 books as well."

The slide lecture at the patchwork class was probably quite enjoyable; I fell asleep through the whole thing.

Oiling my way to success

Today's second task is to oil the sunlounger with the teak oil Mr Smith purchased for the purpose. It looks like rain so I might postpone this or do it indoors but I am supposed to be clearing up the playroom for arty things not lounger oiling. Today's first task was the ironing which I have to declare is enormous fun and very quick. I have more creases in everything than before I started but at least they're ironed. I really need a folding machine ... Mr Smith will have to suffice.

It's school today - patchwork class. We are having a slide lecture today and I am really looking forward to it. I'm sure it will be more enjoyable than last week and there's always the novelty of it being in the dark.

My third Herculean labour is to put together a cold frame which is the most impossibly difficult thing I have attempted for a long time. None of the bits seem to join up - I am very confused. It is also rather large so I don't know where to put it; maybe the strawberry bed would be a good starting point. Then we can enjoy about ten beautifully framed rather small strawberries in June.

Lounging around

The beautiful teak sun lounger arrived. It is raining.

Arrivals

Things keep arriving. One enormous package after another thuds onto my doorstep. Oooooh how I love internet shopping. I only got one "We waited til you were out" which I have to collect from bloody Nine Elms which is marginally further away than Egypt. It's some canvases to inspire me to paint. I must paint. I have all these dogs and owners up my sleeve but my sleeves just get longer and longer and no dogs get anywhere near the easel. Also my teeny weeny painting area is a bit of a mess; time to tidy, I feel. I also have a lovely Caribbean house on the go but I didn't go to the Caribbean this year so I've sort of defamiliarised myself with it. I need to not care so much and just get it done any old how. Palm trees can be blue.... in fantasy paintings like mine.... nobody cares.

This morning I am waiting for the arrival of the new sun lounger - a posh teak one with a green squidgey bit. The sun is out in anticipation. Mr Smith and I will fight over who is to lie on it whilst the Apprentice gets a tan. Anyway, I feel guilty if I lie prone in the garden as I can hear the weeds growing and know I should be ordering Mr Smith to pull them out.

Shopaholics anonymous

If I could live anywhere in the world it would be in Costco. For those of you not familiar with this hypermarket of orgasmic consumerism, may I suggest you dash there at once with a large wodge of cash and a friend with a membership card. Luckily I know the Lovely Claudia who is a Costco first class member which means she is greeted with coffee and cakes on arrival and no riff raff; the second class members come later. I bought everything with gay abandon, mostly in bulk. I am now trying to cram 12 fairy liquids under the sink and 50 bars of soap into the bathroom cabinet which won't fit because the 24 toothpaste tubes are there. The freezer is groaning it is so full of delicious things as is the fridge - whole cheeses, sides of salmon, pork, lamb, prawns and cold meats all vie for space. We did have a little trouble getting it all into Claudia's car. It wouldn't have been such a squeeze if I hadn't stupidly bought a cucumber frame - well it looked like something I just couldn't live without. I didn't get a gazebo or an arbour - I wonder if she could take me there next week with a bigger car?

Great big piles of steaming laundry

My Canadian sister-in-law once showed me a clever way of standing when you have your photograph taken that makes you look thinner. I always forget and look like a big fat blob. Anyway, I have adopted this pose with the ironing machine behind the door and it has diminished greatly. I have then plonked a laundry basket on top and, gosh, you'd hardly know it was there. It's no bigger than Mr Smith's horrid golf clubs. Well, it is of course but it's standing nicely so you'd think at first glance it's not so very large after all.

I dared to try it out and I have to say it's jolly good. The only problem is you have to be quite good at folding and I'm rubbish. If you start with your sheet all squiffy with loads of creases you will end up much the same but with more definite creases. I am working on it. I practised with pillowcases and caught the tie around my trousers in the roller; the machine tried to eat me and roller me completely flat. Not a great start. However, I did get through the sheets and duvet cover in a trice and now I want some more. It's fun.

Hot off the press

My new ironing machine, the hot mangle press, has arrived. It is not large; it is enormous. In fact it is so big I can't imagine where I am going to put it. It is also very heavy and took two burly men to haul it from van to hall. I can't get it out of its box. It may have to sit there forever. Oh Mr Smith will be so cross with me. Perhaps he will help me shift it up the stairs and into its new home - I doubt it ... "You spent your inheritance on an entirely unnecessary ironing machine, you sort it out." Mmmmm. I will put a tablecloth over the box and pretend it isn't there. But it's so so so big. Admittedly I did get the extra big machine as it was a special deal and the same exhorbitant price as the smaller one. I have just reinspected it...... This could be a very expensive mistake.

On the other hand if I do get it up and running we will have crispy sheets in a few seconds, rather than a fortnight, and we can have clean sheets every Monday, and you can bring yours round too to have a go.

I remember once learning a rude rhyme about a mangle ... I've forgotten how it went but I know it rhymed with dangle. I'll be careful.

Not dashing any more

Oh no. My friend the Lovely Claudia is absolutely right, it is almost impossible to find this blog if you haven't already. My new red babydell refused to acknowledge its existence until I googled its arse off. However, I still love the babydell. I bought it a proper mini sleeping bag which I pop it into at night. Mr Smith is jealous.

Today I ordered an ironing machine. It is so stupidly expensive you could have the sheets laundered for several years at the same cost. It is designed for a small hotel or B&B. Well, I definitely run one of those so I think I need it. Like Miss Lane, it will be "my one weakness". It's just the lovely thought of not struggling with the iron over the great big acres of cotton that appeals to me. You simply fold and feed through the hot rollers. I will have to keep it secret from Mr Smith which will be a bit tricky as it is rather large. Any complaints and I will feed him through it.

Bursting with techno excitement

I've got a new toy. It is very small and very red and very perfect. Introducing my new Dell (with a squiffy E) inspiron mini. It's red. I know I already said that but red is my favourite colour and small is my favourite size. I work so hard at trying to be small - with little or no success. I deserve my new baby computer for three reasons 1. I walked all the way to the shop to get it and all the way back - 9 miles in total, 2. I have been putting up with the stroppiest laptop imagineable for the past few years and 3. I have to spend all my money quick, quick, quick before Mr Smith confiscates it all. If he had a baby mini laptop his would be green.

Down with skool

Normal service has been resumed. Now that Mr Smith is over his jet lag I no longer have to drag myself out of bed at the first glimpse of dawn and walk the dog or make my own early morning cuppa. The staff now do it. Mr Smith and the Apprentice are towing the line nicely once more and I am writing to you from my bed whence I am drinking sips of Earl Grey with a smelly dog at my feet - this is the life.

Yesterday's patchwork class was woefully disappointing with the teacher, MC, in a bait and the fellow students somewhat hostile. Yvonne the Racist had wanted to bring her friend but sadly the class was full - I had taken the last space which everyone knew- maybe I could sell it to her at a vast profit and make her sit next to black people ... and be nice to them. I opted for red fabrics that I thought would be bold and rather exciting but it actually resembled open heart surgery. Maybe next week's session will be jollier.

Back to school

Ooooh goody it's term time. This means our student has departed and returned to his druggy university and I start my patchwork course. I will spend the morning sorting out fabrics, after I've houseworked.

I got the most enormous piece of beef from Internet Dating Jane's parents farm in Suffolk and yesterday we had a wondrous Sunday lunch. This was to celebrate the return of the golfer and the loss of the student. I have a nasty suspicion that I stroked our beef when it was alive last time I visited Suffolk - a fine Hereford cow with a loving expression. I tried not to think about it as I shoved in large mouthfuls accompanied by Yorkshire pudding and my home grown brocolli spears wrestled from pigeons.

Once again I failed to win the lottery. Never mind, soon I will get Granny's lovely money and I will buy a tiny weeny new laptop and then wonder where it's all gone.

Honey he's home

Mr Smith, intrepid globe trotter, has returned from America via Ireland, Scotland, Carlisle then London. He was travelling with very well experienced fellow travellers with Blackberries (communication devices not squashed fruit) who plotted routes and found trains, planes and automobiles to transport them home; he looked after the luggage.

One good thing about Mr Smith hanging around airports meant that he went shopping and bought me lovely pressies. He also came back laden with golf souvenirs - including a fold up chair. I can't believe this man solemnly dragged a chair up the east side of America, across New York, from one airport to another, then across Ireland from Dublin to Belfast then up to Scotland, across to the borders and finally across London. The Apprentice is sitting on it in the garden.

Chair or no chair, I think my husband is the last man to cross the Atlantic for quite some time. Mind you, he did have to pay but luckily not a ridiculous amount. The taxis around ireland were the costliest and most extravagent bit as I am sure there was a very good train from Dublin to Belfast. I like it when Mr Smith is extravagant, it helps me plead my case.

Mr Smith aloft

A top o' the morning to you - Mr Smith is in Oirland He flew from New York to Dublin last night and should be there now, if his aeroplane hasn't fallen out of the sky in a haze of volcanic dust. Then he'll swim. Meanwhile I have to get some semblance of order into this mad mess we call home. I am of course really looking forward to Mr Smith's return and hearing all his golfing stories and doing his laundry and cooking him meals. First I have to clean up this hovel. I was just getting used to it looking comfortably lived in.

Last night I collected Granny's painting, now my painting. Today I will hang it on the wall and admire it lovingly. It's not really worth an enormous amount which I am quite happy about as Mr Smith was going to flog it and live off the proceeds. Well he can't. I'm thinking of holding an "Admire my 17th century Dutch painting" party - dress appropriately.

Act of God

I bet Mr Smith doesn't get any compo from his travel insurance company with the volcanic eruption being a natural disaster. He will be in a bad mood for weeks. Meanwhile it's lovely and quiet with no aeroplanes or Mr Smith flying overhead.

Straw Poll

I must stop talking to my parents on the phone when pissed; I agreed to traipse all the way to their flat this evening when I could have seen the Lovely Claudia who is so so so kindly bringing my strawberry plants straw - what an angel. I'll have to dash to Sainsbury's in the summer and buy a huge punnet of strawberries which I will present to her pretending I grew them.

Did you see the election debate, or did you turn over after a bit to watch Have I got News, like us? I'm really confused now - I suppose I'll vote for Ian Hislopp.

Not eating carbs really really works. After 3 days I've ditched loads of weight. However, I did have a nasty moment in a John Lewis fitting room yesterday with full surround mirrors. I found I now have boobs at the back as well at the front - they're new. Maybe I can swim them away. I'm afraid it might have to be cross channel swimming as I'm not sure my usual paltry laps will make much inroads into these bags of flab. I bought a dress that is far too small for some unknown reason - I keep doing this. It's an incentive. I have a whole wardrobe of incentives neatly hidden from Mr Smith.

Dear Alqaeda

Dear Al, I love Mr Smith very much but I was wondering, if you aren't too busy, if you could possibly hijack Mr Smith's plane and take him to a nice all inclusive 5 star hotel with golf for a bit more holiday, as I haven't quite finished cleaning the house. Lots of love Mrs Smith.

P.S. Oh it's OK actually as an Icelandic volcano got there first and Mr Smith can't come home just yet or his aeroplane might get choked by the volcano dust and fall out of the sky.

Eat, drink and be merrily fat

Internet Dating Jane went on a date with a banker but he wasn't quite the thing. Her next is a gynecologist from Chesshire. Not very local. I am a bit suspicious as to why he has to play so far away from home. Oh well, maybe he's lovely and perfect and distance is a mere trifling matter. I think subjects such as "what did you do at work today?" might be a bit tricky. Fumbling about with ladies' parts isn't terribly attractive; however it could come in handy like dating a plumber or electrician.

I am losing weight - it's all the walking I'm doing. I have been a bit rubbish on the food front of late what with Easter and the gargantuan feasting day of my grandmother's funeral. When I hopped on the scales at the weekend I was horrified. I only took my eye off for a minute - gosh how quickly I can accumulate pounds. Anyway, I am delighted to be able to report a sudden downward trend so I will not frighten Mr Smith on his return tomorrow.

My super skinny friend, the lovely Claudia, is doing some modelling next week - jeans. She needs to be even thinner than she already is and as a result is suffering the typical dieting syndrome of thinking about nothing but food all day long and eating twice the amount she would normally. Now she knows how it is for the rest of us.

Home sweet home

I am so so so excited by my Big Walk that I can boringly think of nothing else and have started walking everywhere non-stop which has resulted in me becoming rather stiff and now hobbling everywhere. Time to calm down and follow a proper 8 week training scheme... on my other blog, http://www.mrssmithsbigwalk.blogspot.com/.

The next big excitement is the return of Mr Smith from the Colonies. He comes back to the bosom of his family on Friday when the Apprentice will be away and the Student in a mood. Well, the dog will be pleased to see him. I have cleaned the kitchen in anticipation of his return and nobody can cook any meals in it for the next two days.

A lovely thing happened today. When the painting I was supposed to inherit but it all looked a bit dubious, was taken off the wall in Granny's house there was a note attached "For my granddaughter, Annabel". I assume this means I am getting the painting not just the note.

Listing of sorts

Last year I decided living by lists was out. It is boring and sad and often deflatory to the soul as the lists can be non-exhaustive. Unless you put ridiculously simple tasks on your list such as get up, get dressed, read paper, you are unlikely to get through all twelve labours. Before banishing lists I got stuck somewhere between the Augean Stables and collecting the dry cleaning - Hercules never had to deal with Yusef, our bonkers dry cleaner. Shopping lists don't always save you from forgetting the fairy liquid or orange juice as you either get fatigued half way round, get distracted by bogoffs or leave the list in the car. Last week I espied Mad Carina's list which was tiring in the reading. I took a pen to it and crossed out all tasks that were done, half done, a bit done or to be done in her next. The only item I was left with was "sorting". What the heck is sorting? I think I will put it on my list. It can be the only item. I will now sort our washing up, sort the plates from the dishwasher, sort the laundry, sort the student and finish off with an evening of sock pairing. Then I can tick off sorting as now sorted.

An inspector calls

The diary of my walking is so arse numbingly boring to anyone without a paraticularly interest in that sort of thing, I have relegated it to a blog of its own. I'll try to keep it light hearted but, let's face it, walking will never be as fun as berating Mr Smith. So for those of you who wish to know about my achievements in putting one foot in front of the other I suggest you log on to mrssmithsbigwalk.blogspot.com.

I thought by sending Mr Smith off to America for golfies would lighten up the telly viewing a bit with wall to wall Corrie and Ant & Dec. How wrong I was. The Student and the Apprentice watch non-stop golf in the hope of spotting Mr Smith in the crowd and cheering on Tiger. I went to plan my big walk.

I discovered something great yesterday. If you ring a hotel and book a single room they think you might be a hotel inspector (especially if you give your name as Ruth Watson). I assured one hotel owner that, although I am not, he should treat me no differently to how he would a hotel inspector. It's quite nice with no inspector here for a few days though I have to admit things are getting very messy.

The Long Walk

I have started planning my Trans Pennine walk which will start in June. The Trans Pennine Trail runs coast to coast in a sort of Liverpool -Hull arrangement. It is designed to be covered from West to East but I am going East to West. This makes my start everyone else's finish, if you get my drift. I will have to read the map backwards - no problem actually as I have never been able to read a map of any sort whatever way round.

The maximum distance I can currently walk in a day is 2 miles. I need to work on this a bit. There is one stretch of 20 miles where, according to the guidebook, population is sparse. (This makes me think they're all married to their first cousins and have six fingers and there'll be no pubs.) I think I'll become an expert at East Yorkshire bus services.

And now I start my training. The dog doesn't want to come, idle hound. I'll have to send him to kennels whilst I'm hoofing across the country as Mr Smith will be golfing in France. Just as well or I would have sent him to kennels too.

Family matters

Honestly, you should have seen us headless chickens trying to organise ourselves for our trip to Suffolk. We had to take a duvet and a pudding - we forgot both. We went back for the pudding, a strawberry mousse that melted on the way, and went to Tesco in Diss for a duvet, and some ice to wrap around the mousse.

I got up super early to bath my smelly dog and defluff my coat. It was then a glorious day so coats weren't required. I also took my funeral dress, and fat pants so I could squeeze into it, but I got a bit pissed at lunch and just never made it into my black pudding of a dress; nobody noticed; the nice loose black skirt and cardigan I was wearing passed muster.

The strawberry sludge and my dog were both great hits. The dog had a lovely time chasing rabbits, eating all the bits of sandwich he could manage at tea and licking all the plates in the dishwasher. At least he smelt nice.

Mr Smith missed a great party. We have been watching the crowd at the golf on the telly and have spotted him, about a thousand Mr Smiths actually as they all look the same.

The end of an era - RIP Granny

Yesterday the boys, the dog and I set off to Suffolk for the grand event of Granny's funeral which was sad in parts, happy in others. A beautiful service was followed by a lovely party, ending with a drunken family dinner reminiscing over her more politically incorrect moments in life. She would have enjoyed it. I would have enjoyed it more if she had been there but then we all realised it was a lot easier without her having a hissing fit over some minor triviality. I almost started on her behalf as I was about to launch into a tirade about a fish kettle full of ice in the hall - it was for the champagne - and I could just imagine her screaming "I don't see why anyone would want bloody ice anyway and certainly not from a fish kettle." I controlled myself. I had a go about the awful smelling drains instead. I am definitely turning into her.

I came away with a book on handwriting and one on ballet, a disintegrating patchwork quilt, 5 chipped willow pattern plates, a motheaten mink coat and a hangover. Quite a haul really.

A breather

Mr Smith has gone to America.

God Bless America.

Pink & Sparkly

The lovely Claudia brought her niece round for a bit of r&r - she relaxed whilst we recreationed. We made cupcakes. Freya is a lovely 10 year old who is great fun with a nice bubbly outlook on life - she'll soon be slamming doors, snogging boys and doing drugs but right now thinks I'm absolutely splendid. We made bunny cupcakes, rose cupcakes, arty cupcakes, zany cupcakes, busy cupcakes, doggy cupcakes, delicious cupcakes and the "I dare you to put that in your mouth" cupcakes. There was a bit when Claudia and I wandered down the garden for a breather; when we returned the icing had turned a ghastly shade of puce. I'm sure I left her stirring something pale and pretty. Oh well, by the time it was covered with a thousand smarties, dots, flowers, butterflies and 2 different shades of glitter it didn't really matter. I am beginning to hate cake sparkle as it sparkles everything in a 5 mile radius including the dog; he looks like a smelly Christmas fairy.

Everything in my house is very pink and very sticky and awfully twinkly.... with Mr Smith coming over the horizon.

The You Ess of A

Mr Smith is going on golf tour tomorrow. He is going to watch Tiger Woods at the Masters in Augusta, Georgia followed by some golf of his own. It doesn't mean a lot to me either but I know Tiger is the one we all thought was a splendid chap until he snogged someone other than his beautiful swedish wife, crashed his car then told lies or said nothing at all. Anyway, Mr Smith has been packing for the past three weeks - he really wants to impress Tiger - and I have had to point out there are simply not enough hours in the nine days he's away to wear all those clothes.

I see the Masters is a televised tournament. We'll recognise Mr Smith as the man in the crowd (in a nice crisp shirt) holding up a sign "Not missing you at all."

Motorway Madness

Why Mr Smith insists on driving at the speed of light, scattering everything in his way to the four winds, is beyond me. I like to take a more leisurely approach to the road. I do not berate people who have the temerity to adhere to the speed limit, nor do I drive one inch from someone who has the effrontery to be in front of my car for more than ten seconds. With Mr Smith at the helm I try to fall asleep in preference to white knuckling the M1; I nod off at Hammersmith and try not to return to consciousness before we hit Welcome to South Yorkshire. If I so much as whimper he screeches on the brakes and threatens to chuck me out onto the hard shoulder like an unwanted pet. Maybe someone nice with gentler driving skills might pick me up.

We drove back no less terrifyingly fast. I now have bulging eyes and a flatter face.

Eggs and Dales

Mr & Mrs Smith have just spent a very pleasant Easter in Yorkshire with Mrs Smith senior. I got a Cadbury's chocolate Easter egg with a Cadbury's cream egg mug but no actual cream eggs which, I don't know about you, but I consider a bit of a swizz. Mr Smith kept moaning about his lack of eggs so I sent him and the dog out in the garden on an Easter egg hunt. They were quite a long time. Well, he's not the sort of chap you'd encumber with an Easter egg; it's another festival he considers a waste of money. However, he did manage to produce a Green & Black's organic chocolate egg for me. Goody goody gumdrops.

I went for a wonderful long long walk along the Trans Pennine Trail. It was a microscopic portion of the Trans Pennine Trail but took me a good two hours what with hills and valleys, dells and dingles - well it was rather picturesque. I now want to walk more of it and am determined to cover coast to coast (Hull to Liverpool) before I die - maybe next month - though I will only tackle the East half this year then the West another time.

Everyone was happy with their bunny egg cosies. And I am so happy I never need to knit another one though Mother in Law did squeeze a last one out of me on Easter Day as I sat knitting with her reading me the pattern. Mr Smith pearled his way of to golf.

How do you like your eggs in the morning?

A cadbury's cream egg and a muller fruit corner - my perfect breakfast.

Oooh eck, I've got to cram myself into my rather small funeral dress next week. I'll wear my Trinny & Suzanna pants to squeeze myself into shape and not go to the loo all day as they are far too tricky to get on and off in a hurry.