I was going to experiment this afternoon with laminating some pressed flowers on card...it dawned on me that if they're sent through the mail and then the recipient rips the envelope open, the flowers' will probably fall off in a crumpled heap 'cos you only need tiny dabs of glue to hold them on...but I couldn't find the laminating sheets...
So I fiddled about instead and made a few book marks 'cos it's sensible to laminate them...except I still couldn't find the laminating sheets...
Never mind...I'll take a photo of the picture I made of pressed flowers to show you...my cameras battery was flat. No point in using the new camera 'cos the photo will be a million mega-bytes until Reuben fixes it...hopefully.
I loathe ironing and do as little as it is humanly possible...until we have a power cut, then I think I'll pass the time by ironing a basket load of seriously dried and probably wrinkled beyond all hope pillowcases and such like...
Leave the washing festering away in the laundry basket day after day of glorious sunshine and stuff it all in the machine on the very morning heavy rain is forecast...
Promise Himself a syrup pudding and find the shelves of the kitchen cupboard groaning under the weight of flour and sugar...plenty of butter and eggs in the 'fridge and not a single tin of Golden syrup to be had. So I stand there and wail and think I'll do a jam pudding instead and Himself says that isn't the same really...not the same as syrup...you shouldn't put oodles on your porridge then, and forget to buy more, I say. He looks crestfallen and I feel mean and horrible and say I'll make one tomorrow but when tomorrow comes I can't breathe and forget the recipe and can't convert grams into ounces and just want to lie down for a bit...
Then I suddenly thought...while searching for the laminate sheets...I suddenly remembered that Mum used to feed her cats on lights...lungs in other words. I suppose the butcher thought lights sounded better...anyway...Mum used to come home with a plastic carrier bag full to bursting with these lights that were a pale pinkish colour...not like our lungs...she had a huge saucepan she cooked them in the back kitchen on an old cooker...they squeaked you know, when they were cooking and stank to high heaven.
The saucepan had a well fitting lid but it'd suddenly pop up and fall on the floor with a rattle when the water came to a boil...when the lights were cooked they were a disgusting greyish colour...like our lungs I expect...then Mum would cut them up into little pieces and put it all out in different dishes for the cats...open the back door and the main kitchen door and call them...cats would appear from every direction...leaping over the garden wall...racing down the stairs... thudding down the wooden back stairs...falling off radiators. The Old Man, who lived on the hall radiator, had his lights minced up because he didn't have many teeth left...he ate his dinner very sedately out of his little dish.
The people I'll always call Mum and Dad were my first husbands parents...just in case you find my Mother with her tins of Whiskas difficult to equate with the lovely people who lived in a ramshackle house with dozens of cats fed on lights...
Heaven knows why I suddenly remembered that...lack of oxygen perhaps.