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(aka Bike) Part 952 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad
All Rights Reserved. |
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The cooker was first, pinging away in the kitchen, in crossing the floor to get to it I saw an old banger turn into the driveway followed by Simon’s Jaguar. Oh shit–I’d forgotten to tell him.
“Trish,” I called and she came trotting into the kitchen, “Run down and tell Daddy that the person in the old car is a guest for lunch, I can’t stop, I’m making Delia’s sauce.”
“Okay, Mummy,” she trotted out of the back door and raced down the drive, I had a glance and saw Simon scoop her up and swing her round. Then she spoke with him. He looked at the other car–I couldn’t see if he was surprised as he had his back to me. However, he spoke to the driver then turned back to his car, grabbed his case and his laptop and gave the laptop to Trish to carry, he also gave her flowers to carry. Then he pulled out a large box from the boot of the car–which I suspect was full of Easter Eggs.
Maureen was wearing a skirt and a jacket and certainly looked better than the last time I’d seen her. She took Simon’s case for him and carried it more easily than I would. She also had flowers in her hand. I went back to my sauce when I saw they were chatting quite comfortably as they walked up the drive together.
Henry’s Mercedes flashed into the drive and pulled in beside the Jaguar, I poured the Riesling into the tray of chicken juices, and added the grapes and other stuffing ingredients. It had to reduce to half its volume. I checked the veg and drained them, they were all ready. Then I chopped up the chicken with the catering equivalent of tin-snips.
It was good sized one–oh well, it’d have to do. Keeping it all warm was possibly going to be a nuisance–especially when Simon came into the kitchen and wanted to kiss me. I let him have one kiss, then had to get back to the dinner–the cream went into the sauce and I stirred it around then I dished up the meat for everyone and poured some of the sauce over it–it smelt really good.
“Who’s your–um–friend?” Simon asked as he pinched a piece of chicken. He squawked when I smacked his fingers with my wooden spoon.
“Maureen–I meant to warn you.”
“It woulda been nice–but she seems harmless, she said something about you offering her a job.”
“Yeah, she’s an ex-dockyard welder, so I thought she could do some odd jobs about the place.”
“If you say so–um–this chicken is really good.”
“Thank Delia.”
“I thought you’d cooked it.”
“I did but I’d never have thought of making a grape and tarragon stuffing.”
“Uh–yes, quite. Wanna hand with these?”
“Yes please.”
“Why are you dishing up one lot of vegetables?”
“It’s for Julie who decided she didn’t want to meet Maureen.”
“Why–well okay, she looks a bit–you know, but she seems okay.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Dad and Monica seem to get on alright with her.”
“Of course, Henry could charm the milk out of your tea. If you can take the veg in, I’ll start bringing in the chicken.”
When I called everyone to the table–sending the boys to wash their hands, the girls had already gone to do theirs–Maureen seemed to be quite popular with the rest of my family. So, one of my worries disappeared.
Simon opened some of the wine which Henry had brought and was pouring it in all the adult’s glasses. Maureen declined, so I offered fruit juice which she accepted. Tom said grace, which sometimes surprises me–but it was Good Friday.
The meal went down really well, with Monica asking me for the recipe for the chicken. “It’s one of Delia’s,” said Simon loudly, thereby undermining my moment of culinary triumph.
“It was lovely ma’am,” said Maureen passing me her dirty plate. Dessert was baked apple stuffed with sultanas, cinnamon and brown sugar and served with ice cream–it wasn’t too onerous and the kids seemed to like it and I didn’t notice any of the adults leave much either.
Stella offered to make the coffee whilst I collected the dirty dessert dishes. Simon went round with a top up of wine. The rain lashed down in a series of heavy showers, but then it was April after all.
It was Robert Browning who wrote: ’O, to be in England now that April’s there.’ I don’t know if he ever lived near Portsmouth, but I think I’d rather be somewhere warmer and drier. He was after he pushed off to Pisa, but was very homesick–I’ve never been away long enough to feel that.
O, to be in England
Now that April’s there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England–now!
And after April, when May follows,
And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossom’d pear-tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops–at the bent spray’s edge–
That’s the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children’s dower
–Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
Robert Browning
Thinking of Browning for a moment reminded me of some implausible serial I read on the internet about some transgendered character whose father was doing a biography on Browning. Couldn’t remember anything other than she races round the place zapping people with the help of some Egyptian goddess or other oh, and trying to save the US president.
“She’s not that bad,” Stella hissed as she poured coffees.
I was still thinking about this character rushing about incinerating people–“I dunno, I thought it was implausible.”
“Eh? I’m talking about your friend, Maureen.”
“Oh sorry, I was thinking about Robert Browning.”
“Robert Browning–might I ask why?”
“O, to be in England.”
“Now the monsoon’s here, washing all the bunnies out and drowning all the deer.” She laughed at her parody.
“Yes, very funny, except it’s there not here.”
“What is?”
“O, to be in England now that April’s there.” I corrected her.
“Oh, okay you pedant. Um–alright, O, to be in Portsmouth ‘cos it’s Easter there, it’s pissing down an’ I feel cold, ‘cos I forgot my underwear.”
“Stella, do you realise you could be the next Elizabeth Barrett-Browning.”
“But she’s dead.”
“Exactly my point.”
“I take it you’re averse to verse in these adverse conditions.”
I groaned but declined to try and out pun her. We carried the coffees in and Henry and Maureen were in deep discussions.
“So if we got a surveyor to go round with you, you could decide what work was needed and arrange to do it for us?”
“Yes, sir, I’d be delighted to do that for you.”
“You realise we have about four hundred branches?”
“Oh–I’m sorry, sir, I thought it was a local branch you meant.”
“Maureen, do you know who you’re talking with?” I asked.
“Um, not really, ma’am,” she blushed, “other than someone who runs a bigger company than I thought.”
“Probably, Henry is my father-in-law, and he’s chairman of High St Banks.”
“Damn, now she’ll think I’m one of those overpaid buggers, who caused the financial crash.”
“You said it, Dad,” chirped Simon who had Mima on his knee and was reading a book with her.
“Thank you son, maybe I’ll offer Maureen your old job.”
“Which one is that, then?” queried Simon.
“The one I sacked you from two seconds ago.”
Stella sniggered while Simon laughed–“The only reason I’m doing it is because you can’t get anyone to do it for you.” He poked his tongue at his father to emphasise the point.
“Cathy?” Henry said looking at me.
“Don’t look at me, Henry, I know nothing about running a commodities brokerage.”
“Neither does my son,” sighed Henry. “Do you, Maureen?”
“I’m afraid not, sir–welding is my bag.”
“Okay, welding it is–if you give me a contact number, I’ll have one of my surveyors contact you about inspecting all the Hampshire branches–I’m sure we can save something on our insurance for that.”
“Thank you, sir, I won’t let you down.” I could see that Maureen was close to tears.
“When is this going to be?” I asked, “I hope it doesn’t interfere with my maintenance programme here?”
“Oh no, we’re talking at least a month to get my surveyor off his arse.”
“Good,” I asserted, “when you’ve drunk your coffee, Maureen, I’ll show you the outbuildings.”
“Certainly, ma’am an’ thank you for a crackin’ lunch, best I’ve ‘ad in years.” Maureen rose from the table and handed me a bunch of daffodils.
“Why thank you, Maureen, they’re lovely.”
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Comments
Maureen
Talk about a lucky break - first she meets Cathy who invites her for dinner and the possibility of some unspecified work, next she's having a whale of a time with Henry, who sounds as though he's lined up some work for her himself.
Now perhaps after hearing all the jovialness downstairs, Julie will come out of her funk and meet Maureen (or someone will hop upstairs and persuade her to come down).
As the right side of the brain controls the left side of the body, then only left-handers are in their right mind!
I wish that my Muggle friends could read this story.
On second thought, I wonder if I could encourage them to do it. They are quite lovely you know.
Gwen
Sounds to me that all the
Sounds to me that all the people at lunch had a wonderful time with each other and the only one losing out was Julie. Maybe Cathy, Simon, Stella and Tom or even Henry can convince her that she needs to become sociable and come and meet Maureen. She just might find out that she and Maureen have more in common than she thinks. A lovely story Angharad and an especially lovely chapter for Easter. Thank you and a very Happy Easter to you and yours, including Bonzi. Jan
April Showers
Well, that went better than I was expecting. It will be interesting to see what Julie's response is to her dinner!
Angharad, I really enjoyed the poetic repartee between Cathy and Stella, sitting here chuckling away as I read it. You might have missed an opportunity at the end though:
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Poesy Slapstick
Bike Archive
Bike Resources
Been there - done that.
Parodils?
I wandered lonely in a crowd
That moved towards the checkout tills
When all at once, I had a thought
I hadn’t taken all my pills—
Pills for this and pills for these
Some for headaches and some for knees.
And oft when on the loo I sit
It’s vacant—like my pensive mood
Tries to read graffiti left,
The messages though often rude
My heart with laughter, it just kills,
And dances till the cistern fills.
Angharad
(with apologies to Wordsworth).
Angharad
LOL
With apologies to the Wordsworths—William and Mary?
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Pedantic Scrutineer
Bike Archive
Bike Resources
And so the circle is complete...
Excellent Angharad, as usual. Still loving your tales - Jay
That which does not kill me only serves to delay the inevitable. My blog => http://jaynemorose.wordpress.com/ <= note new address
That which does not kill me only serves to delay the inevitable. My blog => http://jaynemorose.wordpress.com/ <= note new address
Wuthering Dormice-952
Or is it another chapter of SNAFU by some internet author? How many here know that Anghared does SNAFU at another site/
May Your Light Forever Shine
May Your Light Forever Shine
SNAFU
pab200 hold's hand up at the back of the room...
:-)
I luv the puns!
... but:
O' to be in Portsmouth cos all the Sailors' here, Shantying 'round the dockside pier and swilling all the beer!
Now, on a different 'note' :), I think this will do Maureen no end of good as I suspect she has no doubt in need of some acceptance and to find to be needed is all she could have hoped for in this fortuitous meeting of strangers.
Thank you Bonzi!
(Oh and that person petting you, err what's her name? :))
Kim
I'm glad....
things worked out so well - so far. Now, if Maureen's as good a welder as she sounds... Perhaps welding a few lips together... NAH...
Sorry Julie couldn't manage to join in. Hope she'll feel more confident in the future.
Thanks,
Annette.
Robert Browning?
I never heard of him. Maybe it's because I'm a philistine or one of those uncultured colonials or something.
Anyhow, if he was from the middle ages, he may well have enjoyed a warmer England. Temperatures dropped during the mini ice age, and they still haven't gotten up to the nice balmy weather that our ancestors enjoyed in the middle ages.
We're headed in that direction, though. We may very well get there in a century or two. Meanwhile, the new South Pole Station has been built on stilts because the ice keeps getting thicker and thicker. The old station is well below surface level.
http://www.globalwarmingart.com/wiki/Wikipedia:Amundsen-Scot...
http://www.sethwhite.org/images/pole2004/around%20the%20stat...
http://expertvoices.nsdl.org/polar/files/2008/02/new_station...
http://math.ucr.edu/home/baez/twf_html/south_pole_station.jpg
To Correct a Couple of Misconceptions
Robert Browning, one of the most famous of British Poets, was born in 1812 and died in 1889, so he came a great many years after the Middle Ages! The climate was actually a bit cooler than now, when he was alive.
The old South Pole Station is sinking into the ice because it is denser than ice and ice lets denser things sink slowly through it. As snow falls and is compacted into ice, there is indeed a slow build-up in its thickness over the S Pole each year, since the temperature never rises above freeezing there, but actually very little snow falls there - Antarctica is a cold desert.
Briar
Briar
Suppose that will
teach me not too much look on the negative side for Maureen.....Its nice that she seems to have impressed Henry ...Could be the start of good things for her, And nobody could say she does not deserve a bit of luck for a change.
Kirri
Post deleted by the 9,00 am shutdown
Dear Angharad,
I wrote a long message about this episode, saying I liked that pun about being averse to verse in adverse situations, my sympathy with Julie, and recalling a similar event and response of mine in my own past, but the switch off between 9 am and 9.30 UK time caused it to get lost. On reflexion, it was probably too revealing and maybe I should be glad it did delete it. Nice episode.
Briar
Briar
Recovering posts deleted by the maintenance break
Depending on your browser, if you leave the window open and unused until after BC comes back up, you can sometimes get back to the lost page with a simple back button.
BCTS servers go down at 12:59 AM and come back up at 1:35 AM each night. Further, there are 10 second breaks at 5 and 35 after the hour most non-peak hours each day. Those short breaks are to fix a memory leak problem in Drupal that causes searches to run WAY too long if we do not do the breaks. It's sort of just bad luck to press send just at one of the scheduled short breaks but it happens to me about once a week. :)
Hugs,
Erin
= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.
= Give everyone the benefit of the doubt because certainty is a fragile thing that can be shattered by one overlooked fact.
I think I remember that serial
I quote,
>>
Thinking of Browning for a moment reminded me of some implausible serial I read on the internet about some transgendered character whose father was doing a biography on Browning. Couldn’t remember anything other than she races round the place zapping people with the help of some Egyptian goddess or other oh, and trying to save the US president.
>>
Can't remember who it was by though, Ang. Probably from some crazed Newfoundlander or Irish person. Involves a damp island for sure.
And Browning, didn't he make machineguns for the US Army?
And the Wordsworth poem is about ants! Would Monty Python lie?
John in Wauwatosa
P.S. Sweet chapter and have a happy and safe Easter
John in Wauwatosa
How Can I Get the Recipe?
I'm not caught up but I couldn't wait.
I never heard of Delia -- I suppose I **could** go on the web and look for a Julia Child imitator called Delia but I doubt that would get me to the recipe for grape and tarragon stuffing, would it? So, can I get the recipe? If not from you, can you suggest a link? It certainly sounds interesting.
Yours from the Great White North,
Jenny Grier (Mrs.)
x
Yours from the Great White North,
Jenny Grier (Mrs.)
Never MInd!
I'll find it myself.
http://www.deliaonline.com/recipes/main-ingredient/poultry-a...
chicken/roast-chicken-with-grape-and-herb-stuffing.html
But thank you for writing about it and bringing it to the attention of us unknowing North Americans, eh?
Yours from the Great White North,
Jenny Grier (Mrs.)
x
Yours from the Great White North,
Jenny Grier (Mrs.)
Mareen
Wonder if she will get into fights? Henry is accepting, but I suspect the crews will not be. Hope I'm wrong.
Julie, come down and meet Maureen, she won't bite
Julia Child learned to cook in France during WW2, She was sent there by the OSS to work with the resistance, cooking filled in the boring down time. Julia was about the size of Maureen.
Speaking of Maureen, she and Henry are getting along famously, I can see her come up to a job at a bank to check on the work.
SPRING IS COME,
THE GRASS IS RIZ
WONDER WHERE
THE BIRDIES IS ?
I hate myself.
Cefin
Home thoughts from abroad
One of my favourite poems, butI enjoyed the parodies as well. Of course Browning did go home, although he went back to Italy a few times and died in Venice, and he's now in England permanently in 'Poets' Corner' Westminster Abbey.