Sunday, 7 October 2012

Cleaning frenzy in Daemonia

Long Suffering Husband and I decided a couple of weeks back to swap the bedroom and study around but have found it hard to actually get around to doing it. Each day we vowed to do it "tomorrow" and each tomorrow came with yet more interesting things to do instead. Yesterday morning, however, I woke up terrifyingly early thanks to one of the Furry Terrorists demanding to be let out for his morning "number one" so decided to get started.

It took me three hours to clear the study of all junk and clean the walls and floors. Another hour, or so, to fit the furniture in and connect up the telly and after LSH took over and sorted out what used to be the bedroom, and is now the study. It looks really nice.

Only one problem...

The bedroom now needs new curtains. I have the material, but need to get on with the project of making them. Only the bedroom is so lovely I don't feel like moving out of bed to set up the sewing machine.

I wonder if I could teach LSH to sew? He's managed to perfect cooking, cleaning and washing. Just baking to go on the housekeeping front. Turning him into a dressmaker would complete the transformation perfectly!

Saturday, 15 September 2012

Caught red handed

Awake at the crack of dawn – quite literally – this beautiful Saturday morning I am already planning today’s great adventures. Since I fell asleep before 10 pm last night I was up at 5 am and, as I have promised the Long Suffering Husband to do the cooking today, I am starting to prepare one of the few dishes I actually have mastered – a classic Russian Borscht.

The plan is to prepare all the veggies and the bacon and stock in the fabulous old Invicta pot I got from Mother, pop it all in the oven and let it slow cook whilst we go up the woods in search of some delightful mushrooms. It all sounds like the perfect weekend treat for a perfect suburban family. What could possibly go wrong? Perhaps tomorrow we'll put a roast in the oven before walking to the village church for Sunday service as well! Anyway, today a trip up the woods together with friends are in the cards.

I'm actually quite the mushroom picker! Usually I stick to Boletes, as there are no poisonous ones in this neck of the woods (pun intended). Destroying Angel I am also very proficient in finding, but those we are saving for an extra special treat.

In the afternoon I will harvest the Elderberry bush and make some lovely jam.

There is only one draw back with today's plans – the grating of beetroot for the soup stains your hands something silly! Makes you look like you've been through a blood bath for days. I have yet to come up with a solution for this. I tried making LSH grate the beetroot, but the sight of his stained hands are just as sickening as seeing my own. Grating wearing Marigolds isn't really an option since I definitely prefer not to get little pieces of latex in my soup, and the food processor broke a long time ago.

The perils of a Suburban Wife are many!

Tuesday, 11 September 2012

A daemon named Demeter

It's been a few days since I wrote last. During the weekend I was busy being Harvest Goddess in the woods, picking mushrooms, and then I've been in bed with a bit of a cold.

The Long Suffering Husband has been at his most heroic, running and fetching hankies, and extra blankies and pillows for me. In our family there is no such thing as ”man flu”. It is usually I who feel so terribly sorry for myself when I get ill that he'll pick up all the slack and take care of everything. He's very nurturing, LSH.

So, since Sunday I have been in bed, squealing like a birdling, demanding hot drinks and cuddles. I'm worse than the cats when I'm ill! LSH has done what he always does when I'm poorly, he's looked after me with the dedication of a Florence Nightingale.

The only thing that will solace me when I have a cold is blackcurrant tea and crumpets. Can't get crumpets here, so toast will have to do.

Autumn is my favourite time of year – the time when the urge to become a Domestic Goddess is at it's strongest. I emerge myself in mushroom picking, jam making and baking. The fact that we don't eat cakes or jam is neither here, nor there. It isn't the eating, it's the making and baking which empowers me.

Given half a chance I'd move out in the country and have my own herb garden. I'd have to win the lottery first, cause I'd need a gardener – I absolutely detest gardening! It's worse than ironing, and that is not to say little.

Friday, 7 September 2012

The age of Insanity

It's happened, what I have dreaded for some time now. He's finally snapped! My beloved Long Suffering Husband woke up this morning with the oddest look on his face.

Having always been of a more philosophical than practical nature, The Long Suffering Husband often bring me little food for thought. This morning he brought me one that lead me to believe he's gone from being possessed to down right insane.
- How do smurfs reproduce? He asked me.

What the fuck? Where did that one come from? Apparently he had the Smurf Song in his head and that had lead him to ponder the reproductive means of the blue little fellas living in the woods...

Now, being the dutiful wife I am – no smirking! Even I, who am half deaf, heard that! - I immediately got on to Google to try to find out. It seems to be a commonly debated question amongst net loonies.

They, unlike Donald Duck and the likes, actually wear trousers so clearly they have something to cover up down there. Providing the garment isn't just a fashion statement, that is.

Smurfette wears a dress and high heels – gender stereotyping if I ever saw it! What woman in her right mind would bother when she's in the very enviable position of being the only female in a whole bloody village full of men? It's like deciding you're on a strictly vegan diet at the same moment you arrive at the all-meat-you-can-eat-for-a-fiver buffet!

Thursday, 6 September 2012

May the force of Persil be with you!

Who would have thought?

I am not a neat freak, not by far, but even I was starting to get frustrated by the state of the kitchen. Reasonably tidy it was, the floor was reasonably clean but the wall and ceiling by the cooker was in a shocking state. I could see any left over cash we would have for the next year going into redecorating the kitchen. To top that our cabinet doors are painted with a white, matte finish. Anything that spills down – and when does it not in a kitchen – stains the blasted doors.

As many of you know I am no stranger to cleaning equipment and practically every detergent that has hit the market since I was born. Every time something new is on the TV commercials I buy it, try it and discard it. So far I have tried pretty much everything bar blow torch on the cabinet doors, loads of elbow grease and still been disappointed. It may have looked cleaner, but not pristine.

Then, the other day, when I was sticking to my usual afternoon TV routine the cleaning ladies came on and scrubbed something in someone's house with ordinary laundry detergent dissolved in water. Can't hurt to try, I thought, boiled some water and donned the gloves.

One swipe over the cabinet door and the dirt just came off, I kid you not! No scrubbing, no rubbing, no effort at all! I was gob smacked. Had to shout for The Long Suffering Husband and tell him to watch. I was so chuffed I wouldn't even let him have a go, I did all of them myself.

Well, worked on the doors, I thought. Wouldn't do the ceiling and the wall behind the cooker though, of that I was convinced. But I decided to have a go. To my even greater surprise even that worked!

Now I refuse to leave the kitchen, I guard it like an Rottweiler would a juicy bone. There will be no more cooking to sully my pristine kitchen. At least not until the old stomach start growling at The Long Suffering Husband to don the pinny and get me some grub.

Sunday, 26 August 2012

Tough as Nails

An alien has replaced the Long Suffering Husband since some time back. Having worked very hard to train the man to be more house proud I now wonder how I can train him to be a tiny bit less fastidious. He's running around the place picking up anything left lying around and placing it in the most puzzling places. 

Like the today when I had planned on spending the day on the couch, eating pralines and painting my nails. Minus the pralines, that is, since I don't actually eat sweets very often, but you get the picture. 

The couch is no where near as comfortable as it used to be since the Long Suffering Husband took over and banished the cushions and throws. The only thing left on there is the Christmas red towel the cat demands to have there (she protests and gives you the eye if it isn't). He claims cushions are frills and he can't see the point of them – much like Steve, from Coupling if anyone remembers that.

I settled for no cushions and went to fetch my nail varnish. To my horror my better half seems to have tidied the bathroom cabinet together with all the other cupboards. My top coat I could find, some of my nail varnish as well but the base coat (as well as my favourite colours) were no where to be found. Nearly at the end of my tether I asked husband and his answer was that he'd thrown the other bottles since they'd gone dry. Thrown out my nail varnish?! If he's going to take this interest in my make up he may as well take over as manicurist as well!

Now that's a thought! The Long Suffering Husband might look really sweet painting my nails. I'm never going to get him to take care of my feet though as he absolutely detests feet.

At the end of the day he really either needs to Nancy up a bit more or Butch back up. It is true as they say ”Be careful what you wish for. You may get it”...

Friday, 24 August 2012

What came first, the chicken or the egg?

As many will testify I am an excellent cook – if the food is either served in the dark or to the blind. My mother lovingly calls my cooking ”party food for the blind”. Sometimes it looks better, sometimes it's worse but usually it tastes all right. Michele Roux Jr – that famous chef from Masterchef Professionals – wouldn't be impressed.

Being an avid follower of various cooking shows on telly I decided to finally start cooking according to recipes, back to basic so to speak. Given that I had, in fact, already mastered the art of making tea I went straight to the next step – boiling an egg. Hard boiled eggs no problem. Sure the yoke was nearly green, but hard boiled they were. Soft boiled I failed to manage so I went to the Queen of Cooking, Saint Delia Smith.

Saint Delia is on a mission to teach the world to cook. She has written several excellent cook books but my personal favourite is Delia's Complete How To Cook. It actually starts with teaching you how to boil an egg. 

One morning I decided to treat the Long Suffering Husband to breakfast. Can't remember the date, but it may have been his birthday. We were going to have tea, toast and his favourite – soft boiled eggs.

I selected Delia's Complete How To Cook from the book shelves, a good choice I thought. There were detailed instructions on how to go about this, from what the book said, fairly menial task. I woke my better half up, telling him he was in for a treat and to get up and make himself comfortable on the sofa. I then dressed in my best apron and set about preparing his birthday feast.

Tea making went fine, as the water for the eggs started boiling I set the timer and plonked the toast in the toaster. The breakfast tray looked beautiful. Husband was going to be so happy, and I was proud to play the Domestic Goddess once more. This would be the start of a wonderful, romantic day for us where he was going to be spoiled.

You should have seen the look on my dear Long Suffering Husband's face when I entered the sitting room with the tray. He looked chuffed! However, as soon as he cracked his long wanted for egg open the look on his face quickly turned from chuffed to disgust. 

The Goddess was returned to Daemon with the speed of lightning...

Loose egg white oozed out over the egg cup, revealing a perfectly cooked hard boiled yoke floating around in it. According to all physical laws this ought to be impossible, but the Domestic Daemon had indeed managed it.