The Kitchen Window

One of our kitchen windows used to be cottage back door. You still get the sense of this when you look at it, for the " level" of the top of the window doesn't feel quite right.
It is a window in which I cook and bake. I am baking apple pies today.
I went scrumping this morning and took a bucket load of apples from the last couple of orchard trees in the small field behind the cottage.
The little field used to belong to our cottage but was kept by the owners years back in order to be sold off for building. Decades later, the land remains empty and has been left to overgrow.......which is a shame....we always wanted to buy it in order to replace the old cottage garden and vegetable beds.
Hey ho!
The kitchen window looks out on the lane and the churchyard . In the spring, when the trees are lighter in leaf, you can watch people visiting for Sunday service  and most days there is always figures to be seen clutching bunches of flowers on their their way to the graveyard beyond.
In the afternoons  a white fantail hen often stands on top of the wall in between the gravestones waiting for tidbits to be thrown from the back door across the gap .
Today I'll put some pastry aside for her.
Hens go gaga over raw pastry.
Daily egg customers will get my attention by knocking lightly on the kitchen window and on a couple of occasions children have excited themselves silly by playing " knock and run"  on an evening.
A chorus of barks usually see any half hearted visitors off.
Scotty dog barks can be incredibly ferocious
Without an aga, the window has assumed the role of centre of the kitchen.


When we eventually get he kitchen upgraded , I want my Belfast sink under this window.
Washing up the dishes during The Archers  needs a nice view.... Even though the backdrop is of huge slate tombstones.

Apart from apple pies......there is little else to report.
I am putting off searching for the dead mouse which I am sure is under our bed. I heard Albert and
William throttling it last night after chris retired
Luckily he was fast asleep...dreaming his 2mg of diazepam sleep

Arsehole

 Wednesday night is Bake off night.
It's when I spend a happy hour, tut tutting at the state of a sponge Finger and texting back and forth with best friend Nuala about the state of someone's baked Alaska.
Tonight was just a little different

For every time the slightly big headed know all Luis came on the screen, showing off his magnificent sauce sponge puddings, Chris would pipe up from his comfortable position on the couch with a rather surprising and uncharacteristic shout of

" ARSEHOLE!"

It was only then I realized he had taken one diazepam ( he's flying to canada this weekend and wanted to see if the prescribed medication he may use on the flight would affect him in any way)

Thank goodness " The Great British Bake Off" isn't shown on British Airways' in flight entertainment !

Mostyn Hall

Just three miles north East of Trelawnyd lies the historic country house Mostyn hall. The 15th Century house is a private seat of the latest Lord Mostyn who is 29 years old and the 13th richest man in a Britain under the age of 30.

The house has been opened to the public for a few weeks this year for the very first time, so, after a glowing report from my sister who had a guided tour of the Hall last week.I drove up to have a look for myself.

It was a fascinating hour out of my day. With only 8 of us on the tour, we had time to look at Charles The first's death warrant signed by Oliver Cromwell ( Oliver P)', learn all about the flamboyant Savage Mostyn who was responsible for the design of the modern sailor uniform!

and notice the cans of coke almost hidden away on the drinks trolley in the library.

As usual with these ancient family homes of Britain, the interest was not only in the grand public rooms which were a real delight, it was the quick glimpses of the 1970 avocado bathrooms which gave the whole visit a grounding in the normal

A painting of Mostyn hall's delightful library

Easily Pleased

Snap

Chris always accuses me of being bulldog biased.
I don't think that is true, but I do have to concede that looking after a " rehomed bulldog bitch" does have  specific pleasures that are unique to the breed.
The terriers were loved and spoilt right from the start.
Winnie was a veteran of two litters in a busy breeding household when she arrived
The terriers were trained in car travel, lead walking and social etiquette when they were barely out of their puppy hoods .
Winnie, although sociable, had non of these milestones.
She had to learn all of these puppy skills aged five.

And so I always find her ability to find pleasure in the smallest of day to day activities incredibly moving.
I was thinking only this when were were out for a walk in torrential rain yesterday afternoon.
The terriers were walking dutifully by my side...Heads down, eyes tight against the wind
In their centre was Winnie with her head up, piggy eyes bright with a big stupid grin on her chops.

A simple walk in the pouring rain and she looked liked the cat who had got the cream.

Wet Family

The Ice Bucket Challenge in support of MNDA (Motor Neurone Disease Association) has reached North Wales in force. My family has subjected themselves to a soaking and have raised a tidy sum for the MND Association. I guess this is the power of social media and charity work.......
well done to them....
Shame on those that enjoy the limelight and the soak without the financial sting!
They are just drama queens!
from left to right
Aunt Judy, Sister Janet, Brother in law Tim, Great Nephew Louis, Nephew Peter and wife Tracie,big sister Ann, Brother in law Ned , cousin Karen and second cousin Jack
My Brother Andrew's wife Jayne is filming.
Andrew died of MND two and a half years ago

Lesson learned

Right....all those red blooded men and women out there please take note

Make sure you don't say something " playful" &  " fruity" to your partner

When you are perusing the cakes in marks & Spencer's bakery

A young man behind us who  was reaching forward for a French stick got more than he bargained for

this afternoon!

Kill.....kill......kill them all!

I absolutely hate working two nights in a row over a weekend.
I never get enough sleep through Sunday
This is Because:-

The Church bell will invariably ring before eleven or three, depending on the service

The dogs down the lane will become apoplectic with hysteria when Pippa and her badly behaved mongrel bitch pass by

And the phone will go at least once during the day!

Add to this mix the huffing and puffing from Chris when he completes the most routine of daytime chores in my absence and we have a recipe for serial killing!
With me being the serial killer!

Happy Days!

Music to cry to

After all that seriousness...I think a bit of nostalgia is in order

Dan Hill

Music to cry to when you were a teen

What was yours?