A Little surprise

I was surprised to get a text from Mr Him  warning advising me that there was a little something at home for me.

Warily I entered the house after a hard day in the office.  Mr Him was in the kitchen with a large grin on his face. I became waryer.

'I've made you supper,  it's in the fridge,' he said.

Now, you recollect my lunch on Saturday, dear reader. The lunch that involved slurping the icecream off the whisk. It appears it wasn't so discrete after all.

My supper, cake mix served on a whisk.

Mr Him had baked for his office and mine. These six were for us at home.
Ginger and cherry, using plain flour I feel obliged to explain.

The office gannets enjoyed.  On an efficiency front the office gannets have also been conveniently wormed for I had added wormer to the hens food.  Conveniently for me no egg withdrawal necessary.

Non Existent Coffee Icecream

Dear Reader, I had culinary intents for last weekend, to the  fear of Mr Him. Still I was not going to be swayed just because Mr Him suffers indigestion. My intentions involved the sun being out, my kitchen being lit by golden rays of that special sunshine in adverts, the climatic ambiance being warm and me being relaxed.  With the warmth and relaxation I would take on the air of Nigella herself. I would combine and stir ingredients, ingredients conveniently measured and held in readiness in little glass bowls, and the outcome would be a gastronomic wonder that the family would drool over.  Mr Him also had intentions.  His were that I would not cook. To this end he cancelled plans to go out for the day to ensure the culinary hurricane Anna did not strike. 
Indigestion is not his only complaint when I cook.  Mr Him's largest and most vocal complaint, and that's saying something when indigestion is its competition, is the splattering of gastronomic ingredients around the kitchen walls and counters. However this time I was to merely pour ingredients into my Kitchenaid and have it to do the work. 
I knew that Mr Him could not loiter in the kitchen all day.  He had torso showing and scythe hunting to do after all at some point.  I waited until he sloped off to the garden to play with  his new Heucheras.   I quickly set about pouring very calorific bovine products into the mixing bowl (500ml double cream and a can of condensed milk sweetened),  I added Tia Maria, I then added more Tia Maria, then for the coffee. Into the mixer 3 tablespoons of espresso powder and finally the Tia Maria. 

My kitchenaid was set to mix, fast and a mocha cream emerged before my eyes.   Did I forget the Tia Maria?

All I needed to do was add Tia Maria, spoon into containers and hide them in the freezer. 

Then get rid of the evidence. It was lunch time.  Ideal. 

My secret stash of homemade coffee Tia Maria icecream is ready for summer. Of course I can't share it with Mr Him as it doesn't exist.  What's more  I could honestly say I didn't cook.  The oven and stove were not utilised once. I am guilt free.

PS Mr Him doesn't touch coffee.  He will not be deprived. 

Scythes and Torsos

The sun is out, and so is Mr him's body parts, sadly.  It's become clear that it's been a huge mistake to let him watch Poldark.  The weekends now see him  jettisoning his shirt across the lawn,  mopping his brow and lurking half naked in the garden amongst his plug fuscias. 

The good news is that his newly aquired taste for the outdoor life and bared torso has him mowing (whilst muttering something about a scythe),  clearing out the shed (looking for a scythe),  requesting we visit the garden centre (to buy a scythe) and digging (for a buried  17th century scythe.)  Still the garden is looking lovely after his efforts. 

Silence Ensued

Talking of infobites, dear reader,  a few weeks ago I nibbled at a slice of an interview given by the the actress who played Sam in thingy,  you know the show that was about 4 women and had Mr Big. Oh and he's in Good Wife now. 

Excuse my 50 Shades of Grey brain. 

The actress who played Sam told us about a tv show she persuaded a Canadian network to run.  It sounded fun so I set it to record as now available in the UK.

The following day I discussed my dabble with colleagues.

Me 'I recorded something off Sky Arts yesterday. '  

Colleagues look in surprise at this display of culture and high style taste.  'What was it? '

Me, 'sensitive skin. '

'What's that about?' they ask expecting a literary gem to fall from my wizened mouth.

'The menopause. '

Conversation stopped.

I filled the silence quickly 'it's a comedy. '

Male colleague my age , 'it usually starts that way. '

An infomercial blog...for a change.

A learned weekend has been had.  As I completed household tasks I found myself information grazing. Not on purpose, dear reader.  I didn't set out to infogorge or put on mindweight.  Sometimes though  the mind can't help but snatch a bite.  I set out my knowledge crudités on a platter for you to help yourselves too.

Firstly I information grazed at the launderette.  Although we have a washing machine  I take large items to the an industrial washer.  This time I  picked up a magazine to browse and my mind grazed on the TV pages.  I nibbled at the review of  a New Zealand supernatural thriller on BBC3 called 'Tatua.' It is now set on record.

My second knowledge morsel was a bite of Saturday Kitchen as I cleaned the lounge.  I saw Nigella making coffee icecream.  In the UK it is pretty well impossible to get coffee icecream.  I know not why.  It is quite delicious and readily available in Europe.  Nigella used 4 ingredients, her kitchenaid and her freezer, and there is no churning necessary.  This is a recipe for me.  Google Nigella and coffee icecream. You will surely find this recipe.

Lastly I picked up a slice of another TV show recommendation.  A US blogger mentioned When calls the Heart and how she is hooked on it.  What was the chance of this unadvertised show being available in the UK?  Miraculously it is! Channel 5 USA is broadcasting series one and its available on 5 on Demand too.  I watched episode 1.  If you were an Anne of Green Gables  or Medicine Woman fan this is for you.  Its for me!


Dear Reader, last weekend I had an adventure with a pair of scissors.  The scissors were wielded in my kitchen by Audrey and they did wielding that surprised even me. Audrey arrives in our kitchen every six weeks.  She comes to the rescue of my tresses and the joy of Mr Him.  He likes to make her a coffee, regale her with tales and flaunt his wardrobe horrors delights.  I last entered a salon 10 years ago.  I had at that time booked myself highlights (£40) and cut (£40.) After the cut and colour I was charged £120 and questioned the price.  The receptionist said, 'but you had a dressing.'  I had a what! She went on to explain that I had had my hair dried.  That was it!  Hair salons no more.

So last Saturday Audrey arrived in her battle wagon conveying axes, secateurs, industrial oil based paints and a strong constitution to take on her 6 weekly challenge that is Anna. In the back of her wagon and with much praying she mixed the magical concoction that covered my grey. Grey! What grey?  Did I say that? 

With my grey covered and blended into highlights my mouth said the unthinkable. My mouth opened and uttered, 'I want to go shorter please.'  My hands joined the rebellion and pointed to my jawline.  'I'd like a bob.' 

 'ooooooh,' said Audrey, 'that's different.'  She was overwhelmed with excitement for my hair.

The deed was done. 

The young on line shopping genius said 'hmm, short.'  The sixteen year old said 'makes you look younger.'  (Win, correct answer.)  Mr Him is still in shock. What do I think of my Bob? I look like Dougal.  

If that analogy doesn't do it for you then picture a small triangular traffic warning sign on a stick.  

I caused Fifty Shades of Apoplectic

The title of my last blog caused a few discussions as you can imagine.

Title draft 1

Mr Him Flops

Mr Him choked and said 'you can't call it that. '

I saw his point.

Title draft 2

Mr Him Flops in the Bedroom

Mr Him was speechless and went a deep shade of apoplectic

Title draft 3

Mr Him Flops all over the bedroom

Mr Him breathed slightly more easily.   We had a winner.  He changed his t shirt.

Mr Him Flops all over the bedroom

Last week Mr Him had plans, inadquate plans but plans none the less.  Once I found out his plans I completed them for him, I made them well rounded and ensured that there were no gaps, no weakness!  I have a knack for rearranging his plans, so he tells me regularly which reassures me that its appreciated.  I have found from experience that his plans lack a certain je ne sais quoi, lets call it refinement. 

The need  for me to put the finishing touches to his plan  this time was that he declared to me that he had booked himself a weeks annual leave to veg' at home, without me.  Just 'flop' were his words.  Now at this time of year dear reader, we, he, we decorate, at least one room. Its like the San Francisco bridge, never done. He knows this.  He, we have decorated a room or two around Easter time for the last 3 years.  So realising that he had made an error in his plan I simply told him that we would just need to tweek a word's meaning rather than redraw the complete plan.  So to his benefit the word flop became synonymous with  paint our bedroom. A simple modification that made his plan a more rounded one, don't you agree!   I must admit it was admirable how well he adapted to this more wholesome meaning of flop so it was clearly his intention all along but he didn't quite know how to put it into words.  Thank goodness he has me. 

For the four work days last week he flopped on the ceiling, he flopped on the skirting boards, he flopped on the walls and  flopped on  the windowsill. There was  not a surface in our room that he did not flop on.  He can honestly go to work tomorrow saying that  well and truly flopped during his vacation.

To keep him company I booked  a decorator to flop with him.  The decorator was to flop on the walls of our sixteen year olds old bedroom.  She’s moving to a bigger room and I am using her old room as a guest room and base for the young on line shopping genius. The decorator flopped on the walls in Ditzy flowers in pink. 

The sixteen year old has now decided she needs to flop.  She will flop in her new room.  She has chosen a  feature wall in paper and the remaining walls in cream paint.  I think she will be flopping for weeks, but nothing new there. 

I have to say the Mr Him has been so taken with flopping that he went on to power hose the patio on Saturday which put a smile on its face.

The finished result. 

What did Mr Him wear to flop.

Yes, shorts, this is his form of payback.

An Undressing at the Pub

I'm a clumsy person. For instance here's my lunch today,  on the wall, and this is at work!

And this  super duper stylish lady on the train is not me.  Doesn't she look fabulous!  I estimated her age to be in the region of mid  sixties. 

So you can imagine I'm not the best put together person clothing wise, generally. I say generally as I do occasionally have moments when I get it, when I am in the moment; in the zone, when I am at one with my trousers. In those moments I blog it,  I instagram it,  I Facebook it,  I tweet it, I photobomb it. These things don't come to me as naturally as they do for my fashion sensation, my  Mr Him, my walking ice cream parlour. 

On Sunday, when a mini summer arrived with a hot flush I hit one of those in the zone moments.  I became a rural Pimms guzzling fashionista.  Those surprised were myself, my dogs and myself (again.)  The village populace didn't notice enough to be surprised.

How did it happen?  Well the clothing adventure started frumpily casually enough.  We decided to enjoy the unseasonal summer and I decided to go without a coat.  Being April I wasn't too rash and wore a jumper and scarf plus vest, just in case. 

We strolled through woods  to our local pub where a Pimms had been calling me from across the valley.  In fact it was its idea that we went on the excursion.  Sitting in the pub garden, waiting for Mr Him and the Pimms,  I felt the  70 degree sunshine beating down on me.  It was hot, hot enough for the Raybans to emerge from their hibernation and perch on nearby heads and umbrellas to go 

 It came to me all of a sudden, I should take off my jumper.  I did and  found that all and sundry started showing, bra straps being the least of it.  The dogs start howling.

I didn't stop there dear reader.  Neither did I squirm, pause, stop, ponder, hesitate.  Without looking anyone in the eye, ne'er a glance, I tied both ends of my scarf and with a flourish shrugged my arms into the make do sleeves.  I had made a Kimono.  I was covered, I was elegant.  The dogs stopped howling.  

Mr Him arrived with my Pimms and some pretzels from South Carolina.

What did Mr Him wear?  An anorak.

Unexpected Item in the Bagging Area

Dear Reader, I  have been preoccupied and not updated you on my adventures.  Today I am updating you on the adventures of my mother, and you will see why I've been preoccupied.   You see my mother has ventured to our home for the weekend.  She arrived at Lewes station which is no where near me, I might add.  I therefore drove across country and over cattle grids to collect her.  On arrival at the station I found that she was not waiting outside.  I concluded that she must be on the other side, the side that I couldn’t drive to due to roadworks.  I had two choices, persuade ticket officials that I should pass through the station with a collie dog and no ticket to collect said lurking mother or send out an APB across the station for a ‘Mrs Mutton Years Senior..your daughter is waiting for you.’  I decided on the former being less troublesome with fewer lingering after affects.

Having collected mother I drove her back across heath and cattle grids, minding the ponies that were wandering across our path.  Now soon after arriving home and settling my Mother in to a chair in the lounge with her kindle Ocado arrived with our shopping.  Ocado like to have previous bags returned to recycle and being a conscientious  citizen I wandered to the hall clutching a bouquet of grey plastic to give the driver saying ‘……old grey bags back.’  Mr Him immediately reprimanded me for talking about my mother like that.  Luckily she has a sense of humour.

After a light lunch and a bit of scruffing up of mother we took her to the stables to watch 16 year old granddaughter ride.  The scruffing up was necessary as she was smartly dressed for smart activities and not manure and horse activities.  This involved stripping her of her smart jewellery, smart cardigan, comfortable shoes and smart comfortable white coat and replacing them with flowery wellies and Mr Him’s Reebok sweatshirt which advertised that she was now a member of the ‘Athletics Dept’.  Honorary, I imagine, I hoped, fervently.

After the stables I took her to Sainsburys to buy Easter eggs and gifts.  It was here that she adventured with a self service check out for the first time.  This went well until she found herself as an ‘unexpected item in the bagging area.’ 

To finish off the day Mr Him and I took her out for a meal.  Dear Reader, we did not go to our favoured Indian restaurant.  I did not have the strength.  We went to Prezzo, an Italian chain and we had light pasta and mini desserts, for which we paid more than for the standard larger sizes of pasta.  Mr Him wore a subtle shade of baby pink, which Mr Him insists is ‘offwhite.’ A novelty for him. 

Making of Rhubarb Gin

How I made Rhubarb Gin and Mr Him does a BBQ See he's still being sensible. Maybe I should pour the gin down him! No. That would be a...