A Masterclass In Stuffing

Finally the Christmas Cards have been written and will be posted today. My local cards are half done and will be delivered today too and I am slightly annoyed at myself for leaving it so late. We are hoping to go down to Broadstairs over part of the Christmas period and so I am in the process of organising care for the animals when we are away.
I think it's an easier job organising the London Olympics!
Winnie has landed on her feet.
She is off to a cheerful household in Prestatyn to a lady who takes in dogs into her own home.
George is going to my sister's house and the Welsh terriers are coming with us.
Albert will be fine with a neighbour popping in...so that leaves the birds on the field and I am hoping to pay one of the village elders a good wage to keep them safe.

The first job of the morning was to deliver Auntie Glad's Christmas card and gift. With her failing eyesight , I thought a bowl of hyacinth bulbs more apt as they are so fragrant when they are in bloom.
But the quick visit turned out to be an interesting masterclass in cookery as she was right in the middle of making her Christmas stuffing from scratch.

" Always use stale bread"

" are you getting all this?"

I was sat down at the kitchen table with a mug of tea ( male visitors are always offered a mug,
whereas all female visitors will receive a cup and saucer ) and was taken through the whole process from start to finish. Gladys completed the demonstration with all the professionalism of Mary Berry.
So much so, that I wished I had videod the whole thing......it would have made her a star on YouTube!

Apparantly the whole stuffing thing has to be kept simple...." non of this fancy rubbish"
Stale breadcrumbs, dried sage ( rubbed through your fingers) finely chopped onion, lots of salt and pepper, water and a large blob of marge!)
I promised I'd make my own this year
" your husband to be will love it" Gladys quipped her eyes twinkling!

Fascinating Aida

 I've posted this before

 But I think it's apt on the run up to the 25th

We are going to see them in Sheffield in March

What larks

A Strange Little Friendship

The good thing about being a " househusband" is that you are on hand to watch the kids interact and show their personality traits. Just like humans, animals will develop particular friendships with each other and will often seek each other out for a play, a greeting and a moment of affection.

Over the past few months, I have noticed that Albert and  Winnie  have developed such a relationship. Whereas the other dogs cannot quite understand that a face to face rub is "cat speak" for hello, Winnie latched on to its meaning immediately and now will stand impassively as Albert gleefully rubs her chops time and time again, his tail tickling the Bulldog's chin like a hairy windscreen wiper.

On the bed, the two will sleep quietly together, and after Albert has been away for the day, ripping the guts out of some unsuspecting rabbit, it is Winnie who will lumber over to him when he returns to carefully stare into his face to make sure it is him   (This is a trait of Bulldogs by the way) She then will slowly examine him all over taking several long sniffs of cat arsehole as she does so.

Strangely this odd little ritual doesn't faze Albert whatsoever, in fact he seems to relish the attention.

Attention the terriers refuse to dish out.

I think it is Winnie's lack of irritability that has cemented their odd little friendship, that and the fact that it was Albert that did all of the running. Whatever the reason, their antics never fail to amuse me. 

Goosebumps

There was a burial in the Churchyard this morning. I keep meaning to remind the vicar to email me when one is due, so I can make sure Irene and Sylvia are in the lower field. They panic so when the gravedigger trundles across the top field in his little digger.
It was dusk when I thought I would climb up over the Church wall to take a look at the latest grave. I wasn't being ghoulish.....I just hadn't seen anyone in the village to ask who, in fact, had been buried, and so after climbing the gate then hopping into the graveyard from the top of the wall ( farting loudly with the effort of it all ) I passed two brave little hens who were running home late for their roost and went to look at the large group of floral tributes on a grave in the new graveyard .
As it turned out , I didn't recognise the name of the lady who had died so I turned to walk down the Church past for home as it had suddenly become just a little too dark to pick my way across the graveyard back to the field.
As I made my way, I caught a glimpse of the " swish " of someone's coat through the grand wrought iron gates under the lych gate canopy and thinking that it was someone that was picking up one  of the school kids from the village school sheltering from the cold weather , I marched through the gate prepared to say hello to whoever was there.
Only there wasn't anyone there. No parent. No one in a billowing coat. Not even a car parked in full view of the school.
There just wasn't  anyone there.
The whole thing gave me goosbumps

The lychgate decorated for a village wedding

Has anyone else had a similar experience?

A Potty Mouth

When I bumped into the affable despot Jason on Friday , he rather cryptically mentioned that he'd never really liked John Lennon.
The superstar's music making wasn't an issue at all in all this, but Jason thought that he must have been a most disagreeable person in real life!
I don't really dislike many people, however,there is one old fart in the village that I cannot abide, and he, to be fair, wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire..but you get that in villages where two strong personalities clash. If you have a strong opinion in a village...there is no where to hide.
Having said all this, I may come across like a cross between Julie Andrews, Mary Berry and Mother Theresa on the blog, but I can assure all of you that I can be a right old c*+t when crossed by any unpleasant character who just happens to say the wrong word.
It is an ability that gets more pronounced the older I get.

I was once very loudly told off by a rancid woman in Tescos for parking the Berlingo in a covered mother and baby bay. The woman didn't allow me to explain that I was parked there so that my babies, the dogs, wouldn't get overheated on a remarkably hot day, and so very VERY loudly I told her to " fuck off and take her pug ugly baby with her!"
It was a cheap shot...but a funny one, as everyone could see that her baby was indeed pug ugly.
Like I said......I don't always act like Felicity Kendal.

I am blessed with a quick wit.
It is a gift inherited from my mother, who possessed a very sharp mouth, and it is a gift which has been honed by the increasing confidence of Middle age .

I am glad that there are some bonuses for getting older......

I will leave you with one of my favourite insults

"That slut! When she dies they’ll have to bury her in a Y-shaped coffin!" Bette Davis, on Barbara Stanwyck

Christmas Traditions Cont.

Well we just have indulged ourselves in our usual pre Christmas tradition

Of 

" The setting up of the Christmas Tree Row!"

Ho ho ho....hey ho!

In Front Of The Fire......

The last post was a bit depressing

So the best medicine for that 

Is a sleepy bulldog on your shoulder in the glow of a real fire

A Mince Pie In The Vestry

The Church's East Window , illuminated by a cold winter sky

I'm working later this evening , so am off for a siesta in a moment.
It's midday, which is, I know, an odd time for a  sleep, but I will need to be up around dusk which is around 4 pm to lock the animals away.
Chris has taken himself off to Manchester Christmas shopping with an old friend, leaving me to sort out the slow cooker and mulled wine for the Church carol service tonight.
In between hailstone showers I took the stuff over to the vestry. After turning on the central heating, I was just leaving when I literally bumped into a couple of amblers in their sixties who were standing rather uncertainly on the Church path.
" Is the Church open? " the man asked hopefully
" I'm only putting on the central heating" I told them in way of explaination
" oh what a shame, The Churches in Gwaenysgor and Llanasa have been open when we have visited" the wife said.
Of course , I let them in to look around the little church,and switched on the lights to cheer the place up somewhat. As they pottered around I made sure that the slow cooker was polished and clean and as I waited I dusted the back bookcase, and vestry cupboards even though they didn't need dusting .
After around five minutes or so , I took a look back in the Church. The wife was standing quietly by the font at the back of the Church as her husband sat stock still in the very front pew with his head bowed.
" Everything ok?" I whispered, in way of galvanising them to think about leaving
and the  wife turned to me and said with rather a sad half smile " No not really"

It wasn't for me to say anything else.....I just nodded and went to sit in the vestry to eat one of Chris' bought Marks and Spencer mince pies next to the vacume cleaner.

The couple left shortly after, leaving a kind of melancholy feeling about the place.