Get well soon, Boris

PM Boris Johnson is in Intensive Care in St Thomas’ Hospital. I was so sad to hear that – we desperately need him at the current time to be our figurehead in the fight. I sincerely hope he recovers, not just for the country but for the sake of his pregnant partner and his family who love him. They must be so frightened and suffering too.

What I can’t get my head round is the online abuse - people who are rejoicing in his suffering and wishing him dead. What the hell is wrong with them – do they have no shred of common decency or humanity? It says a hell of a lot about them and none of it’s good. They're a disgrace.

Get well soon, Boris – just keep thinking how much you want to meet your new baby.

Come on Prime Minister, you can do this.

If you're going through hell, keep going.

- Winston Churchill

The lonesome banana

The tale of the lonesome banana.

Look at that – one sad, solitary banana in our huge fruit bowl on Saturday morning. It’s never been known. In a week we get through more fruit and veg than you could shake a stick at – I usually buy fruit and veg twice a week, sometimes three times, so buying once a week if I’m lucky, has not been easy... but a delivery arrived (phew!) and normal fruity service was resumed. Still no bread flour, chickpeas or rice to be had, but most other stuff was available. Not bad.

New washing machine arrived at the same time as the shopping. The washing fairy (moi) is very happy.

“Same shit, different day”. A philosophy for our times, I think you’ll agree. A phrase from our lovely workman/builder who helped us get our electrics up and running on Thursday by phone – it’s one of his regulars and suits all occasions! He’s a gentleman and a scholar as you can tell. He should be fitting new radiators upstairs for us in a few weeks, but that’s clearly not going to happen…. much like our holiday in May. Bugger.

I don’t like people; with the exception of a few family members, I find people are best avoided. I’d rather eat my own leg than have to attend any kind of social occasion – but I really miss going out somewhere nice for lunch with Mr Simply. Will our favourite restaurants even be in business after all this? And what will the rest of the High St look like in a few months’ time? They're dropping like flies.

Spent much of yesterday cooking. Curry, compote and chutney. All jolly nice, but not to be eaten together!

Boris is in hospital with COVID-19 symptoms - I wish him well. Don't get me started on the idiots on Twitter who are hoping for him to die. What the hell is wrong with these people?!?

Watched the Queen’s speech last night. That woman is a living legend – the embodiment of the word “duty” – we’re bloody lucky to still have her; her speech was inspiring, sincere, reassuring and very moving. I was holding it together until she said “We will be with our friends again; we will be with our families again; we will meet again.” 

That was it – lost it. Completely awash.

It's all going terribly well...

An eventful day, yesterday.

The washing machine died and took out the electricity of the whole ground floor. Great. Long phone call with our lovely friendly workman who's done loads of work for us in the past. He managed to diagnose the problem and talk us through sorting it out. He’s a star – worth his weight in bread pudden.

Electrics back up and running, I ordered a new washing machine online and set about extracting a full dripping load from a useless appliance which we then heaved outside. I am down to my very last nerve and the final shred at the end of my tether. Best to keep out of my way. *aaaand…. breathe*

   

Had a lovely game of Connect 4 with our two grandchildren on Skype – bit surreal, but they seemed to enjoy a break from home-schooling for a little while. Amazing how children adapt so well to change.

Lockdown. Apparently, we have to obey the rules even if the rules are bloody stupid and ill thought out. Is a virus really worth all this? It’s not as though people are dropping down dead in the streets. We lose many more than this from flu in an average winter – without wrecking the economy,  damaging children's education and bringing the country to a standstill. The Gov’t is overreacting – they’re panicked and paralysed by fear… the media is no bloody help, either, constantly manipulating the news and ramping up the hysteria.

Tomorrow’s Waitrose delivery is the last one booked with no more on the horizon for the foreseeable. Just spent a happy (?) half-hour amending my order to get as much as possible delivered before I’m cast adrift and forced to rely on the wonderful farm shop. Waitrose may well see the back of me after this – I’d rather spend my money with a company which actually provides a service. Their delivery drivers are great – their IT, customer service and distribution systems are clearly crap.

Had a dance in the kitchen with Mr Simply last night…well, when I say dance, I mean he swayed a bit in time to the music. He won’t be on Strictly any time soon. He has many excellent qualities and talents. But not dancing.

Cauli/broc cheese for dinner – bloody lovely. Proper comfort food.

Marmite... and walking

Turned on Radio 2 yesterday morning and Saint Kenneth of Bruce was playing bloody Ed Sheeran… Christ Almighty, aren't we suffering enough without having to put up with Sheeran warbling his one song repertoire.

Things then took a definite turn for the better when the postman brought this. A parcel from our lovely son, bless him… Marmite! Quite possibly the best present he’s ever bought me!! We then had a delivery to the porch of onions and bananas from our neighbours. 

Happy days!

I keep seeing random young people individually walking dogs; it’s not a large village but I’ve never seen them before in my life. I can only assume their frazzled parents have thrown them out of the house with “Take the bloody dog for a walk, you’re getting on my nerves!” ringing in their ears. They have never walked the dog before and, in six months’ time when this is all over, they will never do so again.

On the subject of walking, we wanted to combine our daily walk with posting a letter, so we walked into the village – what a bloody pantomime; crossing the road every time someone approached and avoiding walking down certain roads because the pavement is very narrow and the front doors to the cottages open straight onto said pavement. Jesus wept. There was no traffic so we ended up walking down the middle of the road. Oh, for God’s sake… is this social distancing malarkey really necessary?

I’ve lived quite a long while and I thought I’d seen most things.

They’re going to have to start putting Citalopram in the water supply if this goes on much longer.

My life is shrinking.

Lotties, Lynne and Lentils

Did you remember to change your clocks? Well, it’s an hour less in lockdown, I suppose. It’s now officially British Summer Time, which accounts for the sleet showers being flung against the window this morning by a howling north-east gale. Very summery.

We live opposite the village allotments – lucky us. I love ‘lotties’, they’re so peaceful and calming, a little oasis. We've been taking our allowable “once-a-day” walk there - we admire or insult other people’s fruit and veg crops. “Wow, look at the size of their red onions!” or “Our rhubarb looks a lot better than that!” All the plots look very tidy and well-tended – a nice way of getting some air and exercise. Only a few people were working over there on Friday; they raised their hands, waving in a resigned, socially-distanced type of way.

Jeff Lynne. What can I say? He’s the man I need at a time like this. Well, not so much Jeff himself, although I love him, it’s more his music (other musical acts are available). Mr Simply said he needed a blast of normality last night – he put Jeff on and blew the dust out of the soundbar and speakers.

Apologies to anyone within earshot… unfortunately for them, I know all the words….

I’ve made some curried red lentil and vegetable soup, using some fairly disreputable looking veg lurking in the fridge – the sort I used to throw in the compost bin. Not now. Three bendy carrots, five limp sticks of celery, an onion, a tin of tomatoes, half a mug of red lentils and a good spoonful of curry paste with some Marigold stock made a huge pot of soup which will provide four day’s lunches. Jamie Oliver..? Who’s he?

Intrepid as ever, we ventured out in the car to a local farm shop. They had milk!! And eggs, fruit, veg, pasta, lentils and chickpeas. The excitement!! I ordered by phone and they left a box outside the shop for us to collect. All done without coming into contact with a single soul… but I do miss having a wander round Waitrose.

Look at the cauli I got – size of a football.

Wait there, my beauty, I have plans for you...

Hair... and the NHS

God, my hair needs cutting.

I had an appointment booked but my lovely hairdresser is now closed for the duration so I’ll shortly have to take the scissors to the barnet and hope for the best. Thankfully, I’ve never resorted to hair dye – badly-cut shaggy dog is not a good look and if your roots need doing as well…. just be thankful you can't go out. You'd only frighten people.

I s'pose I could wear a hat but, sadly, the only one I have is a battered floral number that’s seen better days – difficult to say which is worse, really… the hair or the hat.

And now, a little word about the NHS. Like most people, I’ve seen the good and the bad sides of it and I’ve called it every name under the sun at times. Now, as I said, I haven’t been well recently and under lockdown I’ve had no easy way to get my meds. Step forward Mrs Doc – she’s a GP who lives next door; every day, after doing a full day at the surgery, she’s delivering prescription meds to people in the village. That is dedication – Madam, I salute you.

She left my little parcel of meds on the front porch at about 7pm, rang the bell and stepped back five paces – I could have bloody kissed her!

So, in deep gratitude, Mr Simply and I stood on our porch at 8pm, along with many others across the country and, with tears streaming down my face, we “Clapped for our NHS”… not the sort of thing I’d normally do but these are not normal times. If things were normal, I’d not be sitting here posting drivel online (which is actually only a modern way of talking to yourself) just to keep myself sane, would I?

Picked some rhubarb this morning and made compote to have with porridge; while I was out there, I gave the plum and apple trees a pep talk – I’m hoping for great things from them later in the year, so they'd better buck up.

By the time I’m picking plums, this bloody virus had better be over.

I'm back...

Hi. It’s me.

I mothballed this blog five years ago…. times changed, I got older and I’d fallen out of love with cooking. I left it up as my own personal recipe book, it still gets a few daily views – I had no thought in my head of ever resurrecting it – I’d moved on…. then COVID-19 whipped the rug from under us just as I went down with an unrelated illness.

So here we are in lockdown – day 1 seemed OKish, bit odd but not bad, but it’s day 2 and I’m climbing the bloody curtains! Health issues and age have tipped me and Mr Simply into the “older, vulnerable” category, apparently. Me…old and vulnerable? Whaddya mean… who the bloody hell d’you think you’re talking to??!

Nothing seems normal and all the structures and patterns in our lives have shifted.

I don’t do Facebook, I’ve tried forums and messageboards (but they’re full of the type of people I’d cross the road to avoid!) and, although it’s OK for a short rant at politicians or the BBC, 240 characters on Twitter doesn’t allow for lengthy discourse. So, I thought I’d use this as a space to ramble, vent and quite possibly have a bloody good moan when I want one.

You can read it if you like – it won’t be profound, I’m not that type of person, and I may take it down when the current crisis is over but, for now, it’s an outlet and it gives me something to do. I might even mention food occasionally if the mood takes me.

We sat in the garden and had a cup of tea yesterday; given that I wasn’t going out, I realised I looked like someone else had got me dressed in the dark. It didn’t help that I was accessorised by pom-pom slippers and a floral sunhat. Stylish or what? The sun was out, not particularly warm but it made a change from being in the house and wondering whether I should have bought more milk.

Is this what prison feels like?