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!
Tuesday, 12 February 2013
Tuesday, 29 January 2013
Hair Today and all that...
Had my hair done. That's about as exciting as it's been today.
But what I did notice, as I was trying to read my book, as the concoction on my head weaved it's magic, was how loud the hairdresser talked. In fact, she belted out everything she said! Great projection, my drama teacher would have said.
And that young man, whose salon it seemed to be, bellowed absolutely everything. And God help the poor bastard who phoned and got him - I tell you!
I suppose it's the hazard of the job. Trying to be heard over constant hairdryers, and overhead music, and curlers and whatnot. Not that I've seen anyone in curlers in a salon for a long time.
I thought the hairdressers was a magical place when I was a kid. I'd go along with my mum while she got her shampoo and set, and pretend to read me Bunty comic. Now, you have to trust me, they did not remotely talk loud then. They all spoke in whispers - adult talk - words I was itching to overhear. Words not for little ears. Especially about Mrs Green at number 8! A strong and favourite subject around our way. But the buggers were discreet then and whispered over my mum's beehive.
Of course, once you were under one of those dryers out of Dr Who that came right over your head, conversation ceased anyway, it dominating you and everything. I still love those dryers with a chair, always swore I'd get one. They were kind of glamorous - with a pull out ashtray in the arm.
Once, when someone was doing a perm and it smelt of rotten eggs, as it did then, I assumed someone had farted, and gave this young girl a dirty look!
Swimming instructors and PE teachers also have extraordinarily loud voices - for obvious reasons - but I can give these a wide berth!
I wonder if there's a whispering hairdresser in the phone book!
But what I did notice, as I was trying to read my book, as the concoction on my head weaved it's magic, was how loud the hairdresser talked. In fact, she belted out everything she said! Great projection, my drama teacher would have said.
And that young man, whose salon it seemed to be, bellowed absolutely everything. And God help the poor bastard who phoned and got him - I tell you!
I suppose it's the hazard of the job. Trying to be heard over constant hairdryers, and overhead music, and curlers and whatnot. Not that I've seen anyone in curlers in a salon for a long time.
I thought the hairdressers was a magical place when I was a kid. I'd go along with my mum while she got her shampoo and set, and pretend to read me Bunty comic. Now, you have to trust me, they did not remotely talk loud then. They all spoke in whispers - adult talk - words I was itching to overhear. Words not for little ears. Especially about Mrs Green at number 8! A strong and favourite subject around our way. But the buggers were discreet then and whispered over my mum's beehive.
Of course, once you were under one of those dryers out of Dr Who that came right over your head, conversation ceased anyway, it dominating you and everything. I still love those dryers with a chair, always swore I'd get one. They were kind of glamorous - with a pull out ashtray in the arm.
Once, when someone was doing a perm and it smelt of rotten eggs, as it did then, I assumed someone had farted, and gave this young girl a dirty look!
Swimming instructors and PE teachers also have extraordinarily loud voices - for obvious reasons - but I can give these a wide berth!
I wonder if there's a whispering hairdresser in the phone book!
Thursday, 11 October 2012
Treasures!
Just a quick hello.
Been "offroad" for quite a while. Being doing:
photography
Standup comedy
sketch writing
The latter being very difficult. I just clam up, I mean it's all been done.
Want to a sketch about smoking (what a surprise) but I can't think of bugger all
A smoking area where you stand on one leg, perhaps? That smacks of the Two Ronnies
but there you go.
Son 14 on Saturday - can't believe it! It's Thomas the Tank I miss the most. Pleased to say
he's kept all his Spiderman toys and is enjoying a revival thanks to the new film.
The little bugger wants £200 towards a new computer. Well, he's had that! Did you ask
for that on your 14th birthday, I'm buggered if I did. I got a mono record player, and a record
token. Bought Rod Stewart's Never A Dull Moment, and a single by David Cassidy. And I might
have got a pair of tights from my auntie. Can't remember. Have to phone up the woman and ask her!
Which brings me to my other activity - ebay. Gotta get on there now and sell the clothes off my back to raise money for the little tyke. Spoilt little bugger
Been "offroad" for quite a while. Being doing:
photography
Standup comedy
sketch writing
The latter being very difficult. I just clam up, I mean it's all been done.
Want to a sketch about smoking (what a surprise) but I can't think of bugger all
A smoking area where you stand on one leg, perhaps? That smacks of the Two Ronnies
but there you go.
Son 14 on Saturday - can't believe it! It's Thomas the Tank I miss the most. Pleased to say
he's kept all his Spiderman toys and is enjoying a revival thanks to the new film.
The little bugger wants £200 towards a new computer. Well, he's had that! Did you ask
for that on your 14th birthday, I'm buggered if I did. I got a mono record player, and a record
token. Bought Rod Stewart's Never A Dull Moment, and a single by David Cassidy. And I might
have got a pair of tights from my auntie. Can't remember. Have to phone up the woman and ask her!
Which brings me to my other activity - ebay. Gotta get on there now and sell the clothes off my back to raise money for the little tyke. Spoilt little bugger
Monday, 24 September 2012
Rave Reviews!
Latest reviews for the new Life with Amanda Ann blog by Jenny (fag-ash) Smith:
"Unbelievable!" - Posh Bloke, The Times
"Nothing happens in it!" - Trendy Lefty, The Guardian
"What a load of old shit!" - Dodgy Dealer, Exchange & Mart
"Look forward to their next sparkling appearance on e-bay!" - Polly Filla, The Mail on Sunday
"Absolutely static performances!" - Pissed old Hack, The Sun
"Bloody bore! Slept all the way through it!"
- Another posh bloke, Financial Times
This has obviously caused a great stir in the literary world. Things can only get better! Don't miss part five.....
"Unbelievable!" - Posh Bloke, The Times
"Nothing happens in it!" - Trendy Lefty, The Guardian
"What a load of old shit!" - Dodgy Dealer, Exchange & Mart
"Look forward to their next sparkling appearance on e-bay!" - Polly Filla, The Mail on Sunday
"Absolutely static performances!" - Pissed old Hack, The Sun
"Bloody bore! Slept all the way through it!"
- Another posh bloke, Financial Times
This has obviously caused a great stir in the literary world. Things can only get better! Don't miss part five.....
Thursday, 13 September 2012
I have a new blog
Forgive me for being away so long, o my brothers.
I lost my way (again)
Being doing a lot of photography these days, and have started a new blog.
Please have a look. It's like in installments and everything.
It's louismarxtoys.blogspot.co.uk or Life with the Amanda Ann Family.
Something like that.
Happy Reading Treasures
I lost my way (again)
Being doing a lot of photography these days, and have started a new blog.
Please have a look. It's like in installments and everything.
It's louismarxtoys.blogspot.co.uk or Life with the Amanda Ann Family.
Something like that.
Happy Reading Treasures
Sunday, 4 March 2012
Wait a While
Whatever is that awful thing on the TV? Like this advert thing, and this tall willowy girl talks into her little television screen, and asks it if it will rain today? And this Thing talks back to her.
I mean, wouldn't that machine say: Look out of the window like everyone else, or buy a newspaper with the forecast, you lazy mare!
The silly cow don't even have to buy one. She could wait hours outside Richmond station, like me, for a free Evening Standard! Never did Me any harm!
And like this bloke is waiting at a football or rugby game, asking his own gadget "has my brother left yet?"
If I was that thing, I would say : look love, your brother's never going to amount to anything, is he? So there's no point in him leaving the house really.
Or at the very least, it should say : You've got a mobile phone haven't you, you silly sod, phone him yourself. Lazy git!
It's extraordinary this instant type thing. When I actually liked a pop record recently in the Hit Parade, Husband and kids put these little screens in my face with the same said song!
What's wrong with listening to 14 hours of Simon Bates, waiting for this song to come up?
Or getting one of these new-fangled cassettes, inserting it into the machine, and sitting down to the Top Twenty? Admittedly you had to trawl through some real dogs before you get the song you want, but I still don't think this instant thing is all that really.
Ten past one? Sod this! Time for my lunch !
I mean, wouldn't that machine say: Look out of the window like everyone else, or buy a newspaper with the forecast, you lazy mare!
The silly cow don't even have to buy one. She could wait hours outside Richmond station, like me, for a free Evening Standard! Never did Me any harm!
And like this bloke is waiting at a football or rugby game, asking his own gadget "has my brother left yet?"
If I was that thing, I would say : look love, your brother's never going to amount to anything, is he? So there's no point in him leaving the house really.
Or at the very least, it should say : You've got a mobile phone haven't you, you silly sod, phone him yourself. Lazy git!
It's extraordinary this instant type thing. When I actually liked a pop record recently in the Hit Parade, Husband and kids put these little screens in my face with the same said song!
What's wrong with listening to 14 hours of Simon Bates, waiting for this song to come up?
Or getting one of these new-fangled cassettes, inserting it into the machine, and sitting down to the Top Twenty? Admittedly you had to trawl through some real dogs before you get the song you want, but I still don't think this instant thing is all that really.
Ten past one? Sod this! Time for my lunch !
Thursday, 1 March 2012
And Another Thing!
(Part Two)
And even if that blonde bugger had given me one thought on my 17th birthday, it was still the shittiest birthday I ever had! That, and my forty-first!
After sitting through a double session of English Literature, I went home expecting at least a cake or something. Well, that happened, didn't it! My Brother and his family, as usual, were sitting around talking about some crap or other, while I sat there completely ignored.
My mum, sent my little neice over to say Happy Birthday, but not one word from anyone else. Despite my brother leaving home about two years ago, it was always all about him.
And presents? Don't make me laugh! My mum and dad gave me ten pounds - an awful lot in those days - and my gran sent me some April Violets bath cubes, and a Friendship Book. A bit like the People's Friend, only loads of poems and shit!
Didn't even get a decent dinner that day!
And as I said before, I ended up going to bed in tears, having seen the blonde offender that night.
And don't get me started on my forty-first....!
Why do you always remember the crappiest birthdays. Never the happy and wonderful ones? It's like when the most miserable of Christmases stand out, making the golden ones pale.
Anyway, while we're on the subject, all my childhood birthdays were shit. Except when I was ten, and I bought myself a Beezer Annual with my birthday money (my special day being so very near Christmas and that).
Otherwise, every year, my brother would buy me this revolting pink gloop that you were, allegedlly supposed to make stuff with . A kind of looser playdough. All it did was get in my fingernails, and make my hands stink for days.
And my Gran, every year, sent me a toy post office or sweet shop, which once I ate the tiny sweets inside and was sick, instantly lost it's appeal.
The only highlight was getting egg and chips and birthday cake off my mum. After coming home alone from school in the dark. Birthday parties were rare then. And you had to have friends in the first place.
But when you shed these grim childhood years, you expect something a bit better really.
Phew! Quite grateful that my next birthday is 9 months away!
And even if that blonde bugger had given me one thought on my 17th birthday, it was still the shittiest birthday I ever had! That, and my forty-first!
After sitting through a double session of English Literature, I went home expecting at least a cake or something. Well, that happened, didn't it! My Brother and his family, as usual, were sitting around talking about some crap or other, while I sat there completely ignored.
My mum, sent my little neice over to say Happy Birthday, but not one word from anyone else. Despite my brother leaving home about two years ago, it was always all about him.
And presents? Don't make me laugh! My mum and dad gave me ten pounds - an awful lot in those days - and my gran sent me some April Violets bath cubes, and a Friendship Book. A bit like the People's Friend, only loads of poems and shit!
Didn't even get a decent dinner that day!
And as I said before, I ended up going to bed in tears, having seen the blonde offender that night.
And don't get me started on my forty-first....!
Why do you always remember the crappiest birthdays. Never the happy and wonderful ones? It's like when the most miserable of Christmases stand out, making the golden ones pale.
Anyway, while we're on the subject, all my childhood birthdays were shit. Except when I was ten, and I bought myself a Beezer Annual with my birthday money (my special day being so very near Christmas and that).
Otherwise, every year, my brother would buy me this revolting pink gloop that you were, allegedlly supposed to make stuff with . A kind of looser playdough. All it did was get in my fingernails, and make my hands stink for days.
And my Gran, every year, sent me a toy post office or sweet shop, which once I ate the tiny sweets inside and was sick, instantly lost it's appeal.
The only highlight was getting egg and chips and birthday cake off my mum. After coming home alone from school in the dark. Birthday parties were rare then. And you had to have friends in the first place.
But when you shed these grim childhood years, you expect something a bit better really.
Phew! Quite grateful that my next birthday is 9 months away!
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