Tag Archives: food

Sausage Roulette

I love a good game of sausage roulette in the morning. I mean. Who doesn’t love a game of sausage roulette?


Wash your mind out right now!

Sausage roulette involving actual sausages from the butcher. Honestly, what are you? Twelve?

Never heard of it? It’s a game we hoteliers love to play on a daily basis. How many guests have we got in? How many are going to want sausages? How many shall I actually cook?

It can be a risky game. I’ve held my nerve on many occasions and won, doing a little victory lap around the kitchen with a roasting tin devoid of sausages held aloft. I’ve lost my nerve on many occasions and wished I’d held tight. I’ve never outright lost and needed a sausage and not had one but I’ve had sausages leftover on many occasions. Douggie the doggie never complains and neither do the staff.

This weekend I was going to win. No doubt about it. Three vegetarians, one vegan, four meat eaters. Strangely, I have discovered that the fewer guests we have the more likely they are to want a full English breakfast so I put in four sausages.

The vegetarian/vegan group came down to breakfast first. I stood in the kitchen awaiting their order, hand on the freezer door ready to pull out a pack of Linda McCartney’s.

“One scrambled egg on toast. One hash browns, tomato and beans. One hash browns mushrooms and beans and one full English.”

“Veggie full English?”
“No. Full English, bacon, sausage, the works.”

“What? No. They can’t. They’re vegetarian.”
“Not today they’re not.”

Bugger. I set to making their breakfasts and then contemplated my hand in the game of sausage roulette. Four people due for breakfast. Only three sausages. Hold my nerve or cave?

I held my nerve. The next couple came down for breakfast. “Two full English, Please.”

I was starting to panic. Two guests, one sausage.

Then I remembered that I’d caught sight of the remaining couple when they checked in. Fair to say they enjoyed their food. I caved. In went another sausage.

The last couple came down. The washer upper, Lashes and I stood and waited with bated breath for the order to come in.

Boofuls came in with the order.

“You lose.”

Food glorious food!

Ah yes, food glorious food, cold jelly and custard.. and so on.

I’m a big fan of food, big being the operative word, a testament in fact to my love of food.

Many times I’ve wished I had Booful’s attitude to food. To him it’s little more than fuel to keep him alive. A few exceptions include fillet steak, cheese, bread and chocolate. When we go out for meal together I don’t even bother to ask what he’s going to eat as I already know – fillet steak, chips and a blue cheese sauce.

In the 31 years we’ve been married I have realised that the food no go list is extensive. It includes, but is not limited to: fruit, vegetables, rice, pasta, any kind of grain, yoghurts, anything spiced or flavourful, anything that requires chewing. I could go on.

When we first got married for the first three weeks I cooked us a lovely Sunday roast. On the fourth week he said, “do we have to have a meal, can I not just have a sandwich? And so it began. When I ask him what he wants to eat he generally replies with, “Ooh, I dunno. Egg on, beans on, cheese on.”

Over the next few years all attempts to get him to eat good food have fallen on stony ground. One small success is that he now eats his steak medium rare rather than cremated. At one memorable dinner party I cried in the bedroom when he left the table to make himself beans on toast after turning his nose up at salmon in champagne sauce. Not one of our best dinner parties.

Since I refused to join him in his eating habits I have got into the habit of making two meals. Generally something on toast for him and a real meal for me. It’s annoying but since it takes about two minutes to make beans, egg or cheese on toast it’s not the biggest pain.

Being included to fat I would shun ready meals, bottled sauces, packet foods or in fact anything pre prepared, preferring instead to know exactly what’s going into my food. Such was my food nazi-ism, I would mock anyone who bought pre cut vegetables. “How lazy can you get”, I’d proclaim, “it takes two minutes to prepare vegetables.”

My, how times have changed.

Now I’m feeling bit sheepish at my holier than thou attitude to food preparation. These days, it’s packets, preprepared vegetables, anything in fact that makes life easier. Fling it in a slow cooker, and Bob’s yer uncle. Winner winner, chicken dinner!

So what brought about this amazing volte-face?


Time and a change of lifestyle.

Being lucky enough to have always been self employed and have a relatively large amount of free time it was easy to shop for and cook healthy, nutritious and delicious food.

Since becoming the proud owner of a bed and breakfast emporium and latterly having rest and relaxation forced onto me after my big op, I’ve realised the only way I’m going to get a decent meal is by letting someone else take the strain. Hello ready prepared vegetables. Hello bottled sauces. It’s either that or join Boofuls with the egg on, beans on, cheese on diet.

Yesterday’s offering was a beef and lentil stew which took me about two seconds to prepare. Throw in a packet of veg, a stock pot, a packet of cubed beef and a handful of lentils and let the slow cooker work it’s magic.

I’ve discovered that it’s really ok to make life easier for yourself. If time, lifestyle and inclination permits then go for it. If not, that’s ok too. No pressure, no guilt it’s all good.

Pimpernel Ham

Boofuls went shopping one day last week while I cracked on with the decorating. Wow! Doesn’t that just make us a modern family with the roles reversed?

Well. Kind of.

He’s not a natural shopper, my Boofuls, but he does try. It’s fair to say that having climbed down off my ladder for the second time to answer a query about the shopping I was not best pleased.  I’m pretty sure I managed to disguise my feelings quite well. In the same way that Mount Everest disguises itself as a mole hill.

Terrified to ring me for a third time he bought enough fruit to keep a pack of baboons happy for a month as a nod towards my healthy eating shopping  and then the rest was man shopping.

When I say man shopping what I mean is that he doesn’t think  about shopping in terms of meals but more in terms of snacks. Tiger bread, ham, cheese, wine, pork pies and chocolate. All great stuff for a snack but hardly food creating works of culinary genius. Cleaning materials don’t even enter his consciousness but never mind, who needs a clean house anyway?

As part of his mammoth shopping session he bought a pack of  nice ham. Douggie the doggie is quite partial to nice ham so I’ve taken to wrapping his tablets in it to make the dosing procedure so much easier than when he chews the capsule and ends up with a mouth full of vile tasting powder which then makes him drool and vom all over my lounge carpet. Wrap it in ham and it’s down without touching the sides. Easy.

Every time I went into the fridge for this ham I couldn’t find it. I’d look on the top shelf where it was supposed to be but nope, no sign of it.  I’d search round the whole fridge I’d find it under something else. I’d put it back in it’s proper place only to find it missing again next time I wanted it. It seemed to have a new hiding place every time.

“What kind of ham is that exactly, Boofuls?”

“I don’t know, why?”

“I think it must be pimpernel ham because I seek it here, I seek it there I seek that ham just everywhere. It’s got more hiding places than the Scarlet Pimpernel!”


The anniversary meal

I know the anniversary meal was almost a week ago now. Life just decided to speed up for  a few days and I couldn’t get to finish the story. Just pretend that it’s still last week when you read it.


Boofuls excelled himself this year in the anniversary department. Picking up on my comment that I’d like to try out a restaurant in one of the very nice wedding venues that we’ve worked in this year, he went ahead and booked it without any prompting or hinting from me from me. That was a nice surprise on it’s own. It’s not the same is it when you’ve dropped so many hints about a ‘surprise’ you’d like  that you’re almost smacking them round the head with them?

Anyway, back to the plot: The hotel in question is  an old manor house which dates back to 1189 in a very pretty little town.  It’s  a fair old drive away but I reckoned it would be worth it. Half way though the day an email dropped into my inbox telling me that he’d booked us in there for dinner. Ooh exciting!  ‘Er, expensive’, said the negative little voice at the back of my mind. ‘I’m worth it’ retorted my inner Goddess.

Booked in for 8pm, we had plenty time after work to get all spruced up, I put on my gorgeous, new, kingfisher blue, platform killer heels, they’re not called killer heels for nothing, they really do kill my feet but they look amazing. With those, a bit of bling and a splash of perfume, I was ready to be wined and dined. More than ready to be dined – I was so hungry I’d have chased a scabby donkey.

Settling down with a nice cold G &  T, the  concierge,  looked at us strangely as he passed, as if he knew us but didn’t know where from. Of course, every other time he’s seen us we’ve been dressed for work in neutral colours, lesbian shoes and with huge cameras round our necks. Out of context he struggled for a minute.  “You don’t recognise us with our clothes on, do you?”  Once he’d recognised us we got a lovely warm welcome.

We drank our drinks in the beautiful lounge with the 12 foot wide and eight foot high stone fireplace with a lovely log fire blazing in the grate. We chatted, we waited for the menu to arrive. We drank our drinks, we chatted, we waited for the menu to arrive and still we drank our drinks and chatted and waited for the menu to arrive.  Getting a bit long winded this, izzinit?

We were starting to get a bit edgy when a waiter came up, apologised profusely for the delay and offered us bread and olives to keep us amused till they were ready for us. That took half an hour to arrive. I was staring longingly at the table leg which was looking tastier by the moment.  Eventually the bread and olives arrived, we placed our dinner order and with spirits revived we resumed chatting.

Some time later we were shown to our table, on the way there I thought it was odd that of all the occupied tables in the restaurant, no one appeared to be eating, they were all just sitting. So we joined in with the sitting.  I sat myself down on my seat. The table was almost up to my chin! “Would you like a cushion, Madam?” enquired the waiter with a slight smirk. Bloody hell, it’s a long time since I’ve needed a booster seat!  “I’ll manage, thank you.”

A full hour and a half after we arrived, our starters arrived.  At that point I was so wishing Id ordered something more substantial than scallops, delicious as they were, they were gone in seconds, I practically inhaled them such was my hunger. I pause long enough to notice they were tepid but too hungry to be prepared to wait any longer. Boofuls had leek and potato soup, which strangely enough was a radioactive green. I’ve never seen leeks that colour. Tasty though.

Starters were cleared away and we resumed the waiting. The elderly couple at the next table started a conversation with us and we had a lovely time chatting with them  until our respective main courses eventually arrived. The elderly gentleman sent his straight back to the kitchen.

Boofuls got started on his steak, popped some in his mouth and then looked at me horrified, as if he wanted to spit it out there and then but didn’t want to be uncouth. “Airs  umink on iss ake.”

“Excuse me? Would you like to try that again.”

With difficulty he swallowed what was in his mouth and tried again. “There’s something on this steak. I asked for a plain steak.”

Hi did in fact ask for a plain steak. Boofuls likes his food bland. More bland than a bland thing, in fact.  Spices, seasoning or any kind of taste enhancers put him right off.

I tasted the steak. God! It was dee-lish-us!  It did however have something on it. Obviously a blend of spices had been sprinkled onto it before cooking. I couldn’t identify what they were but they were goooood!

“Waiter! What’s on this steak?”

Nothing, Sir. I told the chef you wanted it plain.”

Waiter. What’s on this steak?”

“Um. We call it angel dust. He did only put a bit on, Sir. I told him you like your food plain.”

Boofuls didn’t want another long wait for a plain steak so he persevered with his dinner  but left three quarters of it.  My dinner of roast pork with crackling mash was delicious – but tepid. Sigh.

We’d reached a point where instead of being irritated we were starting to find it all rather  funny. After last years anniversary fiasco this was nothing!

The conversation between us and the next table  and indeed with the waiter once everyone had finished eating,  flowed and we had a lovely time.

As we got up to leave and asked for the bill, the waiter declined our payment. “We didn’t do a good job tonight so we aren’t charging you. We’d rather you came back to see us again.”  Well that was a nice surprise!

We did insist that we pay for the wine, after all, we’d had no trouble with that.

So. We left happy. The hotel was happy. The elderly couple was happy. All was well with the world.

All in all, not a bad anniversary this year.

Eggy Mc Nasty

Hey!! The sun’s shining and it’s hot, hot, hot so I thought I’d celebrate with a new and summery look for the blog. Fab, innit?

Not so keen on the font though so I’ll have to work our how to change it.

So. Back to our jolly hols:

Having got on the ship, found our cupboar…I mean cabin and did the emergency drill.

Ha. Emergency drill. It always amazes me how people just don’t listen. While they were being told and shown what to do in the case of an emergency loads of people fiddled with or put on their life jackets, despite being told not to, or chatted amongst themselves, gazed around the room and generally ignored what was going on.  The there was the other side of that coin – those who stared intently at the crew, hanging on to every word and paying very close attention as obviously disaster was inevitable and why did they even consider coming on a ship anyway. Stupid idea.

I like to think I was somewhere in the middle.

Boofuls and me thought we’d treat ourselves to some nice food in the Marco Pierre White restaurant on the ship. We dashed up to book hoping that we’d be able to get a table. I was a bit surprised to see that it was on an upper level in the atrium, basically a corridor that had been roped off and a few tables and chairs shoved in it.. Hhhm, not what I was expecting but never mind.

We approached the desk.

The very sniffy waiter looked us up and down. “We are very busy,” in a voice that would have frozen water. I’m glad we were sailing in warm seas or an iceberg would have been imminent.

“Oh well, we’ll come another night.”

“Well, I suppose I could sit you over there.”

We were duly shown to our table in the half empty ‘busy’ restaurant.

Having sat down we took in our surroundings. “Is it me or is it freezing in here?”

It was perishing! Me, Boofuls and the other 6 diners sat rubbing our arms (our own arms, we didn’t rub each others, that would have been downright weird) to generate a bit of warmth. Crikey, enough with the air conditioning already!

We perused the menu.  being a Marco Pierre White restaurant we were expecting big things. I was a bit surprised when I saw egg mayonnaise and watercress salad on the menu. Egg mayonnaise? Boring, much. Hhhmm or maybe not. If it’s been given the Marco treatment I bet it will taste like manna from heaven. Boofuls agreed with me. “Let’s have that then.” So that was the starter.

In due course, along came Eggy McNasty.

What arrived was a plate with two boiled eggs on it.

A whole egg rolled around the pile of undressed iceberg lettuce and watercress on the plate, it’s coating of mayonnaise making it look like a pale and  flabby seven stone weakling.

The other egg had been cut in half and had a bit of mayonnaise piped on the cut halves, creating the look  of two very surprised eyeballs staring up at us from the plate.

The whole egg continued to roll around the plate, trying to cover it’s nakedness until eventually it landed in a dusting of paprika.  The effect of that was that the egg then started to look amazingly like one of the many Scottish contingent on board, pasty faced, pale skinned and topped with a shock of red hair. A situation which changed for the Scots as the days wore on and they became more and more boiled lobsteresque in their appearance.  Not so for our eggy hero though. He remained pale and wan to the end when he was most likely snached up by an unfussy seagull as he was ditched overboard with all the other uneaten food.

However, I digress.

The egg with his new found Caledonian looks and confidence looked up at the watercress and in a voice not unlike one Taggart would have  if he was an egg, growled quietly  and threateningly:

“Aye. My name’s Eggy McNasty, so it is,  and I can see you sittin’ up there naked on your iceberg tower. Don’t you look down at me. I know where you live”

The watercress looked down fearfully, it seemed to be trembling with fear but that may have been the vibration of the ship.

The two eggy eyeballs seemed to get even wider as they waited to see what would happen next.

Boofuls and me stared at each other in surprise.

“What’s all this about, then?  Nice food?  There’s nothing nice about this food.  Take it away, waiter!

Silly Sunday snacks

“So. Is it be soup and a sandwich or scrambled egg with smoked salmon or sausages? ooh, and a made some scones.”

“Right, run that by me again so it’s soup, sausages, salmon, sandwiches, scones and scrambled eggs for Sunday brunch? Was that a plan to pick foods that all started with ‘S’ to keep in with the Sunday theme?”

Perhaps tomorrow we could have melon, melton mowbray pie, mash and  mange tout followed by meringue?

On Tuesday we could have……….

Being Sunday and a day of rest after a long day at yesterday’s wedding in York, the plan was a bit of r & r.  Brunch followed by a 5 minute trip up the road to see our local scarecrow festival. Nothing like on the scale of things in Higham, their scarecrow festival is fabulous, but it’s a small beginning which hopefully will lead to bigger things and the farmer who instigated it has to be admired for attempting to diversify and bring visitors to the area.

The weather started off bright, still and warm. I know that because I mentally logged it as I opened a bleary eye before dropping back off to sleep thinking, ‘perfect weather for a scarecrow festival’. That was abut 6.30. By 10.30 it was lashing down with horizontal rain (can horizontal rain lash down?).

Len, Lashes and Munki duly arrived, brunch was quickly polished off while we kept an eye on the weather hoping it would brighten up. Of course it just put on a show and rained all the harder for having us watch it.

Munki being a bit tetchy, all of us being a bit tired and having no desire to walk round in the rain decided that the best plan was not to go. For about 5 minutes the mood was a bit flat until I had the bright idea of having a Sunday karaoke party!!

“Karaoke?  On a Sunday? At this time of day? Party? Is it a bit early for drinking?”

” Nah. Let’s do it!”

So we did. We had a whale of a time.

I decided it was the ideal opportunity to try out my new raspberry beer. It’s delicious! I was drinking it as a wine,  i.e. slowly and from a wine glass so as to not get stupidly bladdered, as that’s never attractive. At one point Boofuls went to refill my glass for me and as I sat sipping it I was thinking (Yes indeedy, I do sometimes think) to myself how very rich and smooth this beer was, almost like port. In between songs and sips this glass too eventually disappeared so I asked Boofuls to “fill me up with that gorgeous beer again.”

” Beer? that was wine.”

“No. It’s that raspberry beer, it just looks like wine.”

“No. ( patiently as if talking to a child, albeit it a slightly merry child) That was wine. I poured it from the same bottle as Len and Lashes are having.”

“Ooh, bugger, I thought it tasted awfully nice and smooth for beer.” HAHAHAAAAA. It’s a poor do when you don’t even know what you’re drinking.

Boofuls had poured the wine into my beer glass so it mixed with the dregs and gave it a nice little frothy head, enough to confuse me, anyway. So there you have it, raspberry beer and red wine is really, really nice. Almost port like.

The rest of the afternoon flew by, before we know it it was 6pm and I was cooking another meal for us all. And all thewhile the rain continued to rain, in fact it’s still at it.

Hhhmmm, what shall we do today, then?

I just don’t get it

Ok, I’ll admit it. I’ve really enjoyed watching Britain’s Got Talent.

Yes, yes, I know, it’s trashy tv and I should be ashamed of myself and tune in immediately to the arts channel but you know what? You can’t beat a bit of ‘easy on the brain’ tv when your just plain knackered.

Of course I have every right to be knackered since in the last week Boofuls and me have been to Wales (twice for me), Glasgow, Manchester, Oxford for Boofuls today, then York next Saturday and that’s without mentioning all the downloading, backing up , processing and everyday business stuff we’ve been getting on with on between times. Oh yes, and don’t forget the doggie portrait session I did yesterday.

Never mind, we’re well into mad June and it won’t be long now till it’s over and we’re off on our jollies.

So. Back to the plot: Britain’s got Talent. Did you see the young lad  with the blonde hair, the dancer? Wonderful dancer, graceful, light and a joy to watch. Except.

I just don’t ‘get’ contemporary dance. There’s music, there’s dancing but there’s no link between the two that I can distinguish. Does that make me a total pleb?

This young lad was dollying round the stage, leaping and twirling while a very nice piece of music played but could I make it fit? Could I hell.

Twirl, twirl, twirl, jump, pirouette, flail arms round a bit and drop to the floor at the end. As for the music, it went: lilt, lilt, lilt.

Try as I might I couldn’t make it fit. My brow furrowed with concentration as I attempted to understand the interpretation and understand it all but nope, I failed miserably.

Give me a nice bit of ballroom, latin or ballet any day, I can make sense of that.


The Glasgow trip was interesting. I’m not totally sure it justified the 400 mile round trip or the money it cost us for the seminar and hotel but it was ……..ok….ish.

Talking of the hotel – I don’t usually  give out onions and roses to the same thing at the same time but I’m going to  make an exception this time.

I’d really been looking forward to dinner in the hotel we were at as the restaurant had rave reviews.

It was with a great sense of excitement and occasion that we sat down at our table.

Boofuls ordered a bottle of wine and I’d ordered my customary g & t since as we all know me and wine aren’t the best of friends due to my allergy to it.

We began to peruse the menu.

The menu was lovely, pricey but lovely. I baulked at paying £23 for a 5 oz fillet steak  but I justified it by telling myself it was good restaurant and it would be worth it.

For my starter I went for the haggis fritters, well, you know, when in Rome and all that. Boofuls went for garlic mushrooms.

Both starters went immediately back to the kitchen as they arrived at room temperature. Disappointing. Sigh.

Little did I know that was only the beginning.

We ordered our steaks, as normal, rare for me and medium for Boofuls. That was the plan anyway. When they arrived mine was  ‘medium to well done’ and Boofuls’ was a chunk of wood, black on the outside, solid and dry in the middle. We really could  have done with some steak knives as well but none were forthcoming.

“Excuse me, I don’t want to be a nuisance but…”

My steak went back to the kitchen, Boofuls decided to persevere with his, a decision he later regretted.

My second steak duly arrived, I prodded it with my finger. ‘Hhhmm it’s obviously not overcooked but…’

Sure enough, it was still mooing, a good vet could have revived it. It was the bluest of blue steaks. Not only that but it had not one, not two but three huge veins of gristle criss crossing it.

I pushed it to one side, bored with it all at this point.

Me? Bored with food? Unheard of!

The manager came across to us, “Is everything ok?


“Let me get you something else.”

No, thanks. I’ll eat the potatoes ( dauphinoise, very buttery and nice) and order a pudding.”

“Well the dessert and your wine is on us.”

So, along came the dessert menu. Of course I stopped reading as soon as I saw licorice ice cream. Yum, yum, yum. I love licorice. It came with a vanilla creme brulee which I thought was a funny combination but hey ho.

Pudding arrived, followed a minute or so later by the manager who by this time was almost wringing his hands with desperation, hoping to find happy customers.

“Is dessert ok?”

“Well……..yes, but….. is that licorice ice cream? It looks and tastes like vanilla to me.”

The manager’s eyes nearly popped right out of his head when he saw the little white blobs of vanilla ice cream on my plate. I’m sure I saw them quake with fear and try to hide behind the creme brulee pot at the look he gave them.

“I’ll kill him,” He audibly muttered under his breath.

He snatched up the dish of ice cream and marched off with it towards the kitchen, looking a bit manic, like Basil Fawlty trying to keep his cool and failing.  I don’t know what he said to the chef when he got to the kitchen but I’m glad I wasn’t in his shoes because that was one irate manager.

By this time it had all become a big joke for me and Boofuls, helped along by the fact that I’d decided to help myself to his  wine and the combination of that and not much to eat was playing a big part in helping me to see the funny side of it all. The rest of the evening past by in a merry, blurry haze. A merry, blurry haze I greatly regretted the next morning, I can tell you. When will I ever learn to leave the wine WELL ALONE?!

Unusually for an onions and roses I’m not going to name and shame the restaurant.

It’ll have to be an anonymous  because I don’t think it would be fair to name them.

Although the food was dire the manager was brilliant and handled everything superbly. The bill for the entire meal was cancelled, including the wine, so me and Boofuls left very happy if a bit hungry and quite squiffy.

So there were are.

Onions and roses for the same place on the same day. Nasty big stinky onions to the inept chef but a huge lovely bunch of fragrant roses for the manager – and all the other staff at the hotel because everything else was spot on.

Nosy dog

Mrs Woofy came to the studio for her photoshoot this afternoon. It was really a tst for my new lighting set which I’ve concluded isn’t really up to the job when there’s a moving target and getting a pooch to sit still for more than a nano second is hard work.

It didn’t help matters because  Mrs Woofy is terrified of Boofuls who I roped in to help. She just kept skittering past him and would play ball at all. Oh well, I did  manage to get these photos:

mrs Woofy being nosy

Jumping dog

It reminded me of this Youtube clip I saw yesterday which made me laugh my socks off.

Poached eggs on toast

This one’s a repost of one from last year. 

Having done a hard morning’s slaving over a hot computer, I kept  being disturbed by the the rumbling noises coming from my  tum.

The hens have been on egg laying overtime and we have about 3 dozen eggs all waiting to be used up or distributed among family and friends. “Mmmmmm, poached egg on toast, yummy. That’ll do for my lunch.”  The eggs were poached to perfection, I little dash of salt and black pepper and off I trotted to go and enjoy them.

As I went to sit down, somehow, the plate tipped and one slice of toast and egg slid off. “NOOOOOOOO!”

In a stupid attempt to try and catch it I actually ended up batting it volleyball style  right across the room and it landed,  on my honey coloured living room carpet. The egg exploded, the perfectly cooked yolk covering a distance of about 3 feet, the white in a million little bits, glistening in the spring sunshine and mocking me. “Ha! Not so keen to eat me now, are you?’


I went to fetch cleaning materials, a wet cloth, a dry cloth, kitchen roll and carpet stain remover. Just tell me will you:  why I didn’t think to put my plate with the remaining egg and slice of toast down first?  While I was trying to juggle all the items I was carrying my fingers accidently tightened on the trigger of the carpet cleaner bottle and squirted 1001 stain buster all over my remaining egg!!!

The banana I ended up having for lunch was delicious.

Tuesday night dinner

Out shopping with Munki the other day I was distracted by the huge display of fruit and veg on display when suddenly I heard a crunch, swiftly followed by another one.

“What the…..” my attention was swiftly turned back to the child in my care who I discovered was happily munching on a red pepper she’d lifted off a shelf. “Oh my Gawd. I haven’t paid for that.  I hope they sell them by the unit and not by weight, you little monkey, Munki.”

“It’s nice Nanny. Do you want some?” She slobbered as she took yet another whacking great chunk out of and then waved her stolen goods vaguely in the direction of my nose.

“No thank you. Let’s get this stuff paid for, shall we?”

Shopping duly paid for we set off home and everything was put away.

I forgot all about the red pepper incident until  I came to use it.

Holey Red Pepper

We decided not to bother with it in the end.  It was the thought of all that slobber, even though I’d given it a good wash before putting it away. For the same meal I decided to make some bread. It turned out to be a loaf with character:

Sunken bread

And to think I used to work in a bakery. The shame (mind you, it was 30 years ago).  It tasted ok though so it soon got polished off.

Some friends we haven’t seen for ages came for dinner last night.  These are our genteel friends.  He’s a magistrate and I’m not saying he takes it Very Seriously or anything but I think he’s planning to get couple of columns with stone balls on top to put outside his house. She’s a banker and  an ingenue through and through. So feminine, delicate and ever so  ‘just so’.

I don’t know why they bother with us, we’re anything but genteel. I think they must come to see how the hillbillies live.  It was lovely to see them  and catch up – and get  some intelligent conversation for a change.  I can’t keep it up for long though, the real me soon breaks through and it all goes downhill.

We didn’t get off to the best start when I opened a bottle of rose wine and it was like vinegar. My friend sipped it politely and would have continued to had I not declared it vile and binned it. The look of relief on her face was clearly evident. Bless her, she’s so polite.

The food was ok, nothing amazing.  Mr Sainsbury provided a 3 bean soup which I modified to make it look homemade. I served it with  herb bread that didn’t collapse in a heap when I took it out of the bread maker.  That was followed by chicken in a  cream and leek sauce and then  home made apple pie and custard (obligatory for Boofuls), ice cream or cream.

Three courses on a Tuesday?! They were honoured!

Right, it’s time to go and get on with the day. I’ve got loads to do and not a lot to share with you today so I’d better get moving. TTFN.

May the 4th be with you.

Hahaaaaa!!! I’ve been waiting all year to say that!