winter of discontent
Dec. 11th, 2011 03:01 pmAnother week of things not going entirely to plan, and I will start by telling you about the tea party on the patio, which the Peanut Gallery rated three 'Mirandas' in not going wellness.
It all seemed so easy. Too easy. It was a lovely sunny morning so I set to typing and went on until I finished up to the end of one notebook, so yes, the planned tea was an hour late, but only an hour. By the time I'd set the tray with pretty cups and my favourite teapot, boiled the tea (Fortnum's) and toasted the bread for my brand new batch of marmalade, some clouds had rolled up but I wasn't concerned because I'm used to clouds hanging on the back fence for days before silently slinking off again with nary a squirt.
So down we sat, poured the tea, and poured the marmalade, which on Saturday was sweet and setting on the spoon as required, was now biter and astringent and as runny as anything. Sigh. Mutter. And then, crash. Or rather, a rumble, which I insisted was yet another low flying 747, but then the crash. Oh. Oh dear. I packed up the tea set in a hurry and barely had the screen door slam behind me when down it came.
So much for the tea, which we finished darkly indoors as the brief but intense storm passed over (and wound around all afternoon, putting the kybosh on all plans to continue with my wee pc as I'm loathe to switch the wee fella on during storms and his battery power ain't what it used to be, I guess PC years are worse than dog years).
So that was that. One morning tea even the Mad Hatter would tsk at for its complete lack of sense or form. Sigh.
( more: saw that bloke from Wiseguy doing Shakespeare )
It all seemed so easy. Too easy. It was a lovely sunny morning so I set to typing and went on until I finished up to the end of one notebook, so yes, the planned tea was an hour late, but only an hour. By the time I'd set the tray with pretty cups and my favourite teapot, boiled the tea (Fortnum's) and toasted the bread for my brand new batch of marmalade, some clouds had rolled up but I wasn't concerned because I'm used to clouds hanging on the back fence for days before silently slinking off again with nary a squirt.
So down we sat, poured the tea, and poured the marmalade, which on Saturday was sweet and setting on the spoon as required, was now biter and astringent and as runny as anything. Sigh. Mutter. And then, crash. Or rather, a rumble, which I insisted was yet another low flying 747, but then the crash. Oh. Oh dear. I packed up the tea set in a hurry and barely had the screen door slam behind me when down it came.
So much for the tea, which we finished darkly indoors as the brief but intense storm passed over (and wound around all afternoon, putting the kybosh on all plans to continue with my wee pc as I'm loathe to switch the wee fella on during storms and his battery power ain't what it used to be, I guess PC years are worse than dog years).
So that was that. One morning tea even the Mad Hatter would tsk at for its complete lack of sense or form. Sigh.
( more: saw that bloke from Wiseguy doing Shakespeare )