Saddened

Just spent an hour in the kitchen making pancakes and listening to Eddie Mair on PM — and hearing the very sad news that Linda Smith died earlier today, at the premature ages of 48, of ovarian cancer.

I think Linda was on the panel the day we went to see Just A Minute being recorded in the Theatre Royal, Nottingham, in 2000.  Google backs me up by finding this transcription of the programme.

I’ve certainly always found her funny, and I go back regularly to my recordings of her show “A Brief History of Timewasting.”

Lampshades

Table lampLampLampLampEnergie PumpeLampshadeLampshade

We have finally got around to getting lampshades from a variety of sources.  At last, every bare bulb in the house is covered and we have a variety of interesting light sources in our lounge/diner. It’s been exhausting trawling around various budget shade shops in the city this afternoon, but we’re finally more or less happy with everything we have.

Except the table lamp in the lounge.  We’re close; we have the shade we want, but we’re still searching for a really suitable lamp base.  So we’ll let it sit on a bedside lamp for now and maybe go antiquing in the Spring for a character base to sit the shade on in the fulness of time.

“I made that from scratch!”

It has been irking me beyond measure ever since I saw an episode of Desperate Housewives when Bree van de Kamp was baby-sitting Lynette’s kids, and she somehow expected more respect for the fact that she had made cookies “from scratch.”

This is quite some admission. We should be shunning Wisteria Lane’s very own domestic goddess for the tacit admission that she sometimes uses shake-and-bake rather than dishing out the kudos for making cookies from scratch.

I mean cookies! Nothing too tricky about cookies!

I have just been making bananananana bread from scratch, and the whole house is alive with the smell.

My ill-gotten eBay profits have been squandered this month on a knock-down breadmaker which should be delivered shortly. Making bread by hand is not terribly difficult, but it is rather messy. Hopefully the breadmaker, complete with with timer and last minute fruit-adding-in-device will be clean and efficient. And an added incentive for timeous awakening.

"I made that from scratch!"

It has been irking me beyond measure ever since I saw an episode of Desperate Housewives when Bree van de Kamp was baby-sitting Lynette’s kids, and she somehow expected more respect for the fact that she had made cookies “from scratch.”

This is quite some admission. We should be shunning Wisteria Lane’s very own domestic goddess for the tacit admission that she sometimes uses shake-and-bake rather than dishing out the kudos for making cookies from scratch.

I mean cookies! Nothing too tricky about cookies!

I have just been making bananananana bread from scratch, and the whole house is alive with the smell.

My ill-gotten eBay profits have been squandered this month on a knock-down breadmaker which should be delivered shortly. Making bread by hand is not terribly difficult, but it is rather messy. Hopefully the breadmaker, complete with with timer and last minute fruit-adding-in-device will be clean and efficient. And an added incentive for timeous awakening.

My day

Well, it started late.  The drains guys have now made the drains useable, but they didn’t come back today to fill in the hole and make good the drive.  At least we have plumbing again.

I was getting ready to leave for work when I remembered it’s my Dad’s birthday on Monday and to be sure of getting his present to him in time, I needed to get it in the post today.  So, I popped into our local district shopping centre to get a card and some wrapping paper.  Whilst I was there I remembered I still had a bunch of shirts waiting for me at the cleaners, so I picked them up, came back to the house, printed a stamp, wrapped the book, signed the card, and put it with my bags ready to take with me to work.

By this time I was starving, so I thought I’d drive to McD‘s for a spot of lunch before hitting the M1 and heading up to the office.  Whilst I was doing that I remembered that I was supposed to pick up a couple of boxes of envelopes before going in to the office, so when my coffee had cooled I turned round to drive back through town to the office supplies shop.

But my poor car never made it.  After sitting in traffic for a few minutes, there started to be some really peculiar noises, and finally halfway up the hill to St Andrew’s church, it completely conked out and wouldn’t restart.  To make matters worse, my hazard light button stuck halfway in meaning I couldn’t put my hazards on and I couldn’t indicate either.  So I was stuck in a totally dead car and couldn’t even warn the growing stream of traffic behind me.

No choice but to leap out and start pushing the car up the hill, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the frame of the door and both feet slipping on the tarmac because I’m wearing leather-soled shoes.

I’m very grateful to the guy who crossed the road to help me push, and the boys who joined in once we got round the corner.  They got me to a safe flat spot I could stop and have a look-see what had happened.

No coolant in the engine *at all* and a nasty burning smell from the engine. I only topped the coolant up on the way to Scotland last month – and that was the only time I’d ever topped coolant up at all.

So I wandered down the hill, posted Dad’s birthday present, and bought a bottle of Evian to dilute the coolant I had in the boot.  Poured a litre of coolant into the system, and it just bubbled away and belched steam at me.  Not good, I thought, so I phoned my garage, checked there was someone there and got them to recommend a tow-truck to me.  I really need to join a recovery outfit.  What would I have done if this had happened to me in the fast lane of M1, which is where I could easily have been?

Car’s with the garage now.  They weren’t making encouraging noises when it was dropped off.  “Let us see what’s wrong, and whether it’s economical to repair.”  Uh-oh.  I never made it into the office, but I’ve done a bit of work from home instead.
I seem to be getting in a habit of writing long self-involved posts at the moment.  Tell me, dear reader, am I getting a bit Darbyshire?