Monday, 25 February 2013


Yes, it's back with a vengance...

"The most chilling yet...."  Crafts and Sewing Magazine

"But I still don't get it...."  Fishkeeping Monthy

"Pure Hitchcock!"   Bunty Comic

"Rip off from Fatal Attaction, more like!"  Whizzer and Chips

Oh yes, episode six is up.  Be afraid.  Be very afraid!  The Amanda Ann family are in real danger this time!

Tuesday, 19 February 2013


My baby  boy has gone to Italy this week, ski-ing with the school.  

Sunday night we got some terrible text from him, saying that he's upset and homesick, and won't be able to sleep that night (despite 30 hours on a coach).

The next night we get a text saying he hates skiing, and he wants to come home, and he's so tired.  

I want to jump in that car and rescue the little tyke.  30 hours over some bloody Alps or other isn't much - is it?  And where does one park?  

If only it could be like old-fashioned times, when the only communication you got from abroad was a postcard that arrived two weeks after you did.  And phones being so expensive, and hard to get through a harassed operator, were rarely used.  
 Silence overseas is probably better really.

This bloody text business!  And Don't get me started on that stupid Skype thing!  Thank God Son wasn't doing that caper!     

I remember going to Germany with the school, on one of those overnight couchettes.  What a bloody nightmare!  Cried most of the time - and didn't sleep.  Then when I got to this town in a beautiful valley, I cried from homesickness.  It probably doesn't hurt a 14 year old to have an awful time.  A traumatic adventure on the Continent.  Bit of a learning curve for them really.  And something to talk about on your blog!  

Next Saturday seems very far away.  Perhaps he will like skiing by then.  

Tuesday, 12 February 2013


Pancake day is never how you think it's going to be.  You're too full of misty memories of coming home from school in the dark, and walking into your childhood kitchen where your mum's frying these things in six tons of butter.  And you eat them on a cracked plate, with blissful amounts of sugar, and one squeeze of lemon (too healthy).  Then you ask for more, and more ....

Mine never taste the same.  Yet I'm sure I follow the same pattern as my mum.  Light up a fag while the butter gets hot, chuck some of that egg-filled batter in, swear at the cat, moan when Son wants another one, then another fag after the washing up.  I'm sure that's the correct recipe. 

A mini-version of myself, Son demands about six of them just like I did.  But I'm damned if they taste the same!  I've even used the same burnt pan!

Frying these days seems very different to the frying my mum did.  I can't bring myself to use Lard, I have to say, but butter I'm all for!  Otherwise it's a little drop of namby pamby Olive Oil!  Something you would have got beaten up for round my way!  Bloody right an' all!

Whenever I used to ask my mum for chips, she used to say, between puffs:  "I'm not standing there, cooking chips!"  So whenever homemade chips are mentioned in this more sanitised household, I always imagine someone standing by the cooker!  Spooky!!  Especially as they're put in the oven now!

Quite fancy a pancake now.  Sod it!