What's For Tea?

From Facebook Archives

23 October 2022 at 16.02

Fester just rang to say he won't be home until after seven this evening.

I said to Thunderthighs "What shall we make for tea?"

He said "I'm going up to the Hungry Shack."

I go downstairs, check the fridge, and say to Ferretfingers "Sausage, beans and mashed potatoes for tea?"

He looks horrified and says "I had a sandwich."

"So you don't want any tea."

"No."

Which means he doesn't want me to make him any tea.

You can bet he'll get something when Thunderthighs goes up to the Hungry Shack though.

A lesser woman would feel hurt.

(Thunderthighs brought him a small box of chicken nuggets and chips.)

Yesterday however I posted this on Facebook...

22 October 2025 at 19.28 

Fester overdid things 'concentrating and reading small print' at the Mining Institute today so has taken to bed with the family cold. 

Thunderthighs made his own tea and was happy to let Ferretfingers get on with doing his own. 

I made it into the kitchen as he was spreading a quarter inch of spread onto two slices of bread prior to making a ham and Nutella sandwich (he's moved on from chocolate mousse which I'm not sure is better or worse). 

I scrape off the spread and tell him I'm making his tea. 

He leaves the kitchen looking grumpy. 

I wonder what I can do in 15 minutes. 

Look in the fridge and find leftover mashed potatoes, take them out and turn the frying pan on full to heat up. Meanwhile whisk up an egg, milk and a little butter and put that in the microwave for a minute. Squish the mash into a flat lump and put in the very hot fat, lid on. Slice a slice of sliced ham into thin ribbons, get the egg-mix out of the microwave, add ribbons, stir briskly and put back in for half a minute. Turn the mash to brown the other side. Cut the two slices of bread into triangles and arrange around the side of a plate. Dump the hot mash in the middle. Stir the eggs again to scramble them and put on top of the mash.

He ate the lot.

Small win, put a few flags out.

🙋 

We're away for a week, so don't look for another posting until next month.

But do feel free to go back and read or reread old posts, there are 1592 to chose from.

 

Pension Day

From Facebook Archives

22 October 2022 at 09.57

The boys are booked in for their Covid booster at 11am, so we'll have all been done and flu-jabbed.

Afterwards Thunderthighs is going into town to pay in his £25 Premium Bond winnings.

I had a £150 win this month, so that's some of the Scarborough Coven covered.

And they'll have paid in my first state pension by now.

Riches beyond the dreams of avarice!

 

Remember Aberfan

 

I prefer to keep this blog light hearted, but there are some dates that can and should never be forgotten.

Fifty nine years ago 116 children and 28 adults died in the colliery tip disaster at Aberfan.

I was ten years old and attending Cwmifor County Primary; a rural two room Victorian Board School, looking very like, although smaller than, the one in Aberfan.

Miss had the Small Class, infants aged 2 to 6 and Master the Big Class of primary pupils aged 7 to 11.

From Facebook Archives

21 October 2014 at 17:21

Cwmifor School had a teacher's house attached where Master used to go for lunch and, presumably, listen to the news.  I remember him coming into the big class after lunchbreak looking so so sombre and serious none of us spoke a word all afternoon.   

I think he tried to tell us what had happened but I don't think he could find words that we would understand.

Paganess  I remember watching the news and how sad and shocked it made me feel. 

I've never forgotten those pictures or the people who died x x x

Kingsmen Cameraman  I had only a vague idea of what happened at Aberfan, but your post inspired me to look it up on Wikipedia.  I don't know which of two facts is more shocking: that the disaster was entirely preventable had the NCB heeded local council concerns about putting mine waste on top of known springs on the hill above the village; or that the NCB misappropriated money from the public disaster relief fund to cover the cost of removing the remaining tips.  Even by the standards of the 1960s that was shocking arrogance from the NCB on both counts.

Bentonbag  My Dad couldn't understand what the disaster relief fund was for.  

I remember him asking rhetorically "What are they going to do with the money? Say to a kid 'You've lost your brother, here's a teddy'?"  But people felt they wanted to help in some way and giving money was the only way to express that feeling.  It's amazing some of the NCB people weren't lynched.

Selfdiscipline Or Distraction?

On Friday evening I asked Fester if he wanted me to turn the radio alarm off this weekend.

“Oh yes!  You forgot when you were away.”

“Not deliberately… anyway it was off when I got home.”

“Yes.  But only after I’d been got up at half seven…I could do without it that time of the morning … I turned the bastard thing around three times trying to find the right knob to press … eventually found a switch that said ‘off’ and that did it.”

It being the weekend, and the alarm being off, I was up two hours later than normal both yesterday and today.

There was nothing in the Facebook Archives yesterday and nothing startling for today.

Yesterday was mostly spent scrolling, which is a thief of time, and catching up on ironing.

This morning I sat down on my office chair, started looking through Memories and thought “No.  You’ll be here for hours if you start and this weather won’t last.”

So I loaded the washer.   

Had a bath and washed my hair.   

Sprayed Domestos foam and Cif all around the bath, and wash-hand-basin.  

As I had it in my hands I sprayed the loo too, filled up the jug that holds the toilet-brush and noticed that the bottle of watered down Domestos was empty.

Got dressed, after cutting my toenails on Fester’s side of the bed where the light is better.

Went back to the bathroom and used the shower to rinse off the bath, and scrubby-rinsed the basin. 

Took the Domestos bottle downstairs for refilling.

Decided the weather was too good not to do some pruning.

Got a pair of sturdy gardening gloves and the large pruning shears out of the garage, cut away one of the main stems of the rambling rose in the fence and dragged it out onto the drive to deal with later.  Pulled down and wound in a lot of skywards heading sprays.

Got a spade out of the garage and pushed the upper levels of the compost heap, all woody prunings, back towards the fence to make more space at the front.

Cut up the rose sprays, saved the larger woody bits to dry for kindling and put the rest on the compost heap.

Went onto the pavement with the secateurs, cut and pulled out as many brambles as I could reach in the front garden, put them on the compost heap too, and did the same in the back.

Pulled up the senesced Rosebay-willow-herb stems from the drive and threw them on the compost heap.

By this time the washer was finished so I put it on for a second spin and had a cup of coffee.  Pegging it out on the line I smiled at a sudden memory of Dad expressing faux outrage at Auntie Raddy Maesgwyn hanging her washing out “on a Sunday morning - and her chapel too!”

I decided that the various secateurs, pruners and loppers should be WD40d before putting away, probably for the winter.  Then I looked at the spades and garden forks, got an old pair of tights as an oily rag and cleaned and WE40d them as well.  I don’t think they’ve been oiled in all the time I’ve known them so they were due a treat.

I turned my attentions to the penthouse and hall toilets: topped up the toilet brush holders which emptied the Domestos bottles ready to bring them into the kitchen; toilet gelled or sprayed the bowls, and sprayed the undersides of the seats.  Back in the kitchen one thick bottle of Domestos was turned into three watered bottles for topping up toilet brush holders; it helps to keep the smell at bay if they’re covered in bleach.

By this time the boys were all back from their various sojourns so I washed my hands and had brunch.

Next I watered the orchids and other houseplants.

I looked at the dishes on the draining-board and surroundings and decided it was time indulge myself a little.

So here I am blogging, later than usual but feeling quite self-satisfied about it.

I’ve not been looking out of the window and have just heard a shout

“Ben!  I’ve just brought the washing in.  It’s damp, but not as wet as if I’d left it out”

Give that man a choc-drop; he’s learning.

Microwave Sheet Coldcall

From Facebook Archives

17 October 2010 at 15:04

We have bought a new microwave oven.

Hagrid  Chicken "Ding" for tea then?

17 October 2022 at 08:34

Discovered during yesterday's ironing session that the reason I couldn't get one white cotton fitted sheet on Ferretfingers' bed is because it's 2'6" not 3ft . 

As the boys' mattresses are 3ft wide and over a foot deep I have no use for it.  

Anyone out there with a small single bed who wants it?

17 October 2024 at 15.24

Phone rings.  

Pick up.  

Satellite delay.  

Oriental female voice "Am I talking to Ms Bentonbag?"  

"Who are you?"   

"I am Sarah Parker and I'm calling from UK Drainage Services about the insurance on the drainage in your property."  

"UK Draining what?"  

"Am I correct in believing you are the homeowner?"  

"You can believe what you like pet."  

 And there she was ...gone.

Signs Of Autumn

About this time of year Granma would move the settee from in front of the corner cupboard to in front of the fire, and the armchair from in front of the fire to in front of the corner cupboard.  This meant more people could sit cosy by the fire.  The light summer curtains would come down to be replaced by thick lined winter ones.

I’ve noticed that in the past week or so I’ve been doing similar settling in for winter activities.

The seed pots and garden tubs no longer in use have been emptied and put away.  The compost put in the leaky old water butt that acts as a bin; with a lid on to keep out the rain

On Monday I took down the living blind of tomato and very dead cucumber plants.  There were still a few tomatoes on the vine but they’d got really straggly.  Thunderthighs was good enough to reach up for the topmost tomatoes and hoover up the leaves afterwards.

I ran the mower over all the vines and ex-tub plants, gave the lawn its final tidy-up mow and mulched the borders with the clippings.

Wormarium#2 was established a few weeks ago as things don’t rot down as quickly in the cold and #1 gets too full.  All the thick bits of stem that resisted the mower are now in wormarium#2.

New parsely has been planted in a terracotta pot of refreshed fertilised compost on the pottisserie so we have a supply for the winter.

On Tuesday I wore my Damart Thermolactyl short sleeved vest under my shirt, rather than the thin strapped cotton one I’ve worn all Summer.

The summery things on the chairdrobe are finding their way into the laundry basket to be washed, ironed and put away clean for next year. 

I’m in my Cotton Traders long nighties, and bed-socks are near at hand.