I am sick to death of the lightly iced sideways rain which attacks me violently every time I leave the house. Having blow dried my hair again and put my best fluffed up ski hat on, I have just emerged from the chicken run. In there as I scooped up half roosting birds, I was able to practice my traversing the ski slopes, albeit on a brown slimy slope mainly consisting of chicken shite and over pecked mud. I ended up sliding across the run and became spreadeagled and stuck to the fence with smarting cheeks and caked wellingtons. Also my floor length cable cardigan due to over flapping in the wind got caught up in the chicken wire, I had to do some serious unraveling at dusk in a high wind.
Getting my feet into over sized men's wellies currently is also a frightful game, I have two swollen feet and two hands to match having had my second infection since Christmas. It gave me a chance to test out of hours GP care, as I preferred to keep my double kidney fuss at home, my children were also ill, so hospital was not an option for me, and I am sure it brings on my allergy as soon as I get in there. My lovely man was away bringing in the funds and phoning me to tell me about all the dreadful things he had done. Including cycling through what appeared to be some sort of localized cyclone in order to post one of his best friend's denim jacket to the South of France, he had left it here and my husband had started wearing it, a dreadful sign of something rapidly becoming his.
. Two men in their late fifties still immensely attached and proud of jackets purchased nearly forty years ago. I had to hear the whole shaggy dog story about the parcel and it's near demise on his folding bicycle, and it's successful dispatch from a central London post office just before closing etc. The next day the parcel appeared here, and not in France, as he had not taken off our home address from the recycled packet used!
Once inside fresh from my wind blown adventure in the chicken run, on inspection in the mirror, in front of a fire previously lit. Brought to life with a torrent of ghastly and unladylike like foul muttering. I inspected my hair which had been in neat bunches under the hat. It has now dried as two hardened lumps, I can't cope with removing the hat. I felt the urge to look nice today, as I could hardly get over the thrill of having been offered a cup of coffee at a friend's house, and also lift to the post office to get off a delayed Christmas present to Eastern Europe, endless infections have kept me inside for weeks. Mission accomplished but who really wants to go anywhere in this weather, although we are off to Poland to ski mountains again, I am not sure I am quite ready yet, but a week is a while off, and my LDN helps me recover more quickly these days.
My only other news is that I am missing Dithers, various cancelled London trips have been ruined by infections or other people dependent on me, she has of course kept me up to date with various dithery things going on. Two lady friends of hers turned up to stay the night on route for their own holiday which turned out to be another ski trip, so her postage sized lady studio flat was full of skis, boots, luggage, poles and piles of thick clothing which got muddled with her own things.
Also ever since I told her not to offer me lemon possett or anything else syllabub like etc, she seems to have gone into fevered production of these even having them for breakfast. I then remembered what had triggered my disgust. As of course in the early days of having babies they do that endless possetting ie being sick all the time.... lemon possett... urgh FAINT etc. She has now said that she is coming over here to make me one, my daughter is thrilled having out grown possetting at age nearly seventeen, she is ready to consume on of these.
After disgusting me with this tale she then proceeded to inform me of her other culinary delights or experiments, dates marinated in coffee and cardamom, which caused guests in her flat to adopt funny facial expressions at dinner, served with blood orange jellies. The left over marinade had honey added to it and was then applied as a marinade to turkey breasts. Dithers is definitely on one, it is only a matter of time before she is employed in some sort of advisory role to Heston Blumenthal. Her last phase of this involved sea bass with sea urchins and also chicken legs with grapes. It is the idea of how it would look that so upsets me.. I become far more squeamish and prone to lemon possett outbursts if I am off colour.
However she has now progressed to fresh tuna steaks baked in the oven with ginger, garlic and coriander so it is safe for me to visit again, as long I get to sample the over promised home made fudge meringues As soon as I started sounding interested in her dinners again, she then said that the left over pudding of dates with coffee and cardomom was being used as a marinade for the fish and meat she had in the fridge. Dithers is an adventurous chef, and I am very lucky that I am allowed to be so rude.
Tomorrow I must start digging out ski gear for eveyrbody beyond my neon thermals and selection of teenage hats. Also print out my 'dear chef I am gluten free' in Polish. The last time I was there I was given a mountain of mash potato which turned out to be neat lard, so my suitcase already contains nuts and raisins, that will no doubt trigger the security section at the airport.
Lots more fuss with bells on really soon, as I am ripe for a curative adventure... off we go...eleven of us with my man hoping to keep charge of me!