Custard

How to make trifle by KAZ's mum.

Take a pack of those trifle sponges that taste and feel like expanded polystyrene, slice in middle and make sandwiches with lashings of raspberry jam.

Place in bottom of large valuable bowl that just appeared one day from nowhere and add nearly half a bottle of Harvey's Bristol Cream bought from the woman at no12 for £1 - no questions asked.

Add very very deep layer of custard - must be Birds.

Add very very deep layer of whipped double cream.

Do not under any circumstances add jelly or fruit.

Never sprinkle hundreds and thousands or chocolate buttons on top.

***************************

It was orgasmic - and it started a lifelong passion for custard which was reactivated in hospital last week.

I even loved school dinner custard which was watery and beige and poured in copious volumes from grey metal jugs onto Rainbow Sponge, Manchester Tart and Spotted Dick.


For the more sophisticated there is Crème Caramel or 'flan' as they call it in Europe.

My present favourite is Crema Catalana

Perfect to round off a feast of Paella and Calamares.

So - what's your comfort food of choice?

KAZ

They Finally Got Me

Remember I said that I would top myself rather than go into hospital.

Well they said it would only be one night and it wasn't MRI. So rational thought persuaded me to accept the bed.

They phoned on Monday night and I turned up promptly on Tuesday at 9am to be taken to bed 20. It wasn't on the long ward - it was in a double room where I was tucked into the corner with a nice view of the wheelie bins.

I've had much worse hotel rooms.

My room mate woke up and asked for the TV to be switched on. I sat through about 3 hours of Molly telling Tyrone that he couldn't cut the mustard.

Emma then fell asleep hugging the remote while the rest of ITV2's morning fare and its excruciating adverts blared forth.

I finished all 320 pages of this before tea time.

In the evening Emma left and Yvonne arrived. Later she told me about seeing Muddy Waters at The Twisted Wheel in her Mary Quant style dress. We negotiated on telly.

With the remote control bed and toast and marmalade(Duerrs) for breakfast I managed to survive.

Kev came to visit in the afternoons. To avoid two hours of moaning about hospital parking and premiership referees I told him to bring the crossword. So we didn't have one :)

But one night???
They lied.

My blood was too thin to do the 'procedure' so I had to wait for it to get thicker. By Friday I was so thick I could hardly find the initiative to clean my teeth.

My release came on Saturday evening after 5 days of idling in captivity.

By this time I was 100% institutionalised.

No need for hugs just yet - I'll tell you if I need any when I know more.
KAZ

Lateral Thinking

Remiss is not a strong enough word.

I am negligent and neglectful in my responsibilities as a dutiful blogger.

After telling you there had been changes to my living arrangements, I forgot to report back.

Well fear not - cohabitation is still not on the agenda.

But the previous arrangement has gone forever.

I've moved upwards and forwards.

My damp, sunless, ground floor quarters have been swapped for a sunny upstairs matchbox.

If I had a cat it would remain unswung.

View in summer....

and in winter... yes it's noisy.

Unlike the downstairs flat this one has a cooker - and look what I found inside.


Kev's front door is 3 strides away. I'm at the front and he's at the back.

The shared wireless router and telephone don't work any more (thin ceilings/thick walls?)

We still prefer to speak on the phone or Skype and get together on the same schedule as before.

But it's better. It doesn't have that upstairs superior - downstairs inferior vibe.

I'm elevated and equal.

It's a vast improvement.
KAZ

Passwords

After an insane phone conversation with Debbie who obviously came from Barry Island and insisted that my insurance premium would go up by £40 because I now kept the 'onda in a secure locked garage, I needed to get some sense from their website.

So I had to register.

After all the usual details they asked me for a password. This used to be simple. I always used a six letter, made up word that was a total secret.

A few years ago that ceased to be enough - it had to be more than 6 letters
Then they wanted letters and numbers.
The AA needed letters and numbers including some CAPITAL letters.

There's no chance of remembering all these new passwords so you have to write them down which defeats the purpose. But there's always the 'have you forgotten your password' link. You sometimes have to answer a security question which is usually your mother's maiden name.

This always makes me chuckle.

As you know I am an now an urban urbane sophisticate - but I lived in a small village until I was 18. Everyone knew everyone else and most people (e.g. my mum) had been born, raised, educated and married there. So every woman was still called by their maiden name until the day she died.

It was the married name that was impossible to remember.

I recall coming home from Annie 'ardman's local toffee shop and asking 'Mum is Annie 'ardman related to Ron Snape? They're always in there together'. Yes they've been married for 30 years she replied followed by one of her regular elocution lessons.

I couldn't wait to leave my suffocating village, but I think this was an excellent custom.
Keep your own name and only use the married one for formal or legal stuff.
KAZ

Tiny Tits.

It's bloody cold isn't it?

Do you ever wonder how any of the tiny tits survive? Do they ever feel envious of the larger members of the species?

This one is all tail. Without its tail - the long tailed tit would be Britain's smallest bird.


Our smallest bird (it weighs the same as a 20p piece) is one of my favourites. The beautiful goldcrest.

I remember reading that in cold weather the tiny birds all huddle together for warmth - roosting in groups can save up to 70% of their energy .

What an excellent idea. Grown men often do it in the middle of summer.

Now some of you don't get a heating allowance and thermals aren't always enough.

[click to enlarge]

So let's all get on Twitter (teehee) and arrange a mass huddle. We'll all meet up in East Angular because 97%of bloggers already live there.

What a wonderful way to reduce our carbon footprint.

KAZ

Swedish Angst.

I bet you thought that all Swedes were slim, blonde and beautiful - like Ulrika was before she met Sven.

So did I.

But then I became addicted to Wallander - Swedish style.

(Not the Kenneth Branagh version - I can't stand a clever dick. )

There are no blondes, there is some chubbiness in evidence and they have British teeth. Everyone says skål a lot as they share a drink on their Ektorp sofas.

It's probably much like Taggart but the Swedish settings and subtitles give it the feel of Bergman at his best. The gloom and angst will give you reasons to be cheerful however depressed you may be feeling.

(BTW do all front doors open outwards in Sweden? Doorstepping can be very dangerous unless you stand well back.)

However the enigmatic, troubled Stefan is beautiful.

Unfortunately, he decided to top himself at the end of the series. Unbelievably, Linda (the female cop) did the same thing in real life shortly after the series ended.

What is it with these Scandinavians eh?

But Stefan reminded me of someone and this was driving me nuts. Finally I had it - it was Terry Jones.


OK - I know he isn't beautiful but there's a certain je ne sais quoi. Perhaps it's the wonky grin or the piercing black eyes.

When looking for a Terry Jones pic I found this website. What a brilliant idea.

Hope this post has cheered you up a bit if it's your first day back.
KAZ