Aspiring Ambition

Posted on November 14, 2012 by Tiggy Hayes

I do buy a lottery ticket every week, just one for Wednesday, one for Saturday and I cannot resist the Eurolottery once the jackpot reaches over 60 million and all the hype builds about the Friday night draw.  I know the odds are low, I have over the years realised that my 6 regular numbers are the worst six numbers for putting in an appearance. I also know that on the week I did miss buying a ticket or changed my numbers that is the week all 6 would come up.

The amount I have to win grows by the day; as does the list of expenses it would be needed to cover. I would go out and by my Mercedes Convertible and a proper grown up car to match Sexy Sporty Dad’s elevated position in life.  There will of course be a few nice treats and possibly a holiday for the family; the family gets bigger and wider so the more I need to win.   What about all the lovely friends who have supported me over the years and stood by me, as I have needed them.   There are of course so many people who need help out in the wider world, just last night I heard of a poor child who is in desperate need of a new experimental life-saving operation that is not done in this country but his parents have already re-mortgaged their home and have nothing left to help him.

I know that it would take a miracle for me to win and £10 is more likely to be my total winnings but I can dream can’t I as I painfully watch other numbers appear on the screen.  What if?

Miracles are not about winning the lottery though they are about real life.   They are about the creation of a tiny baby with all those fingers, toes and inner organs all working in unison to become a human being.    It is the finding of a child still protected by her dead mother amidst the devastation and carnage left by war or weather.   It is the simple act of being there for each other and giving something back in any small way that we can.

I am fast approaching a significant birthday and wondering how to celebrate it.   Actually if truth be told I wish to forget all about it and return to my heady innocence of those childhood birthdays when I spent all year waiting for them to arrive.  That is never going to happen so I need to think about what I want.

I decided,  I didn’t need a party.  I am in touch with all the people I wish to see and at a party I would be so busy seeing everyone that I could not spend any quality time with any one person.    I would consider a holiday but it is so expensive to go during the holidays and all the children are in crucial years at school that taking them out is going to be difficult.  Do you know what I would like, really like is the money towards a little sporty soft top, petrol guzzling, high insurance bracket, two seater ‘me’ car.

I have told no-one what I wanted except Sexy Sporty Dad and he agreed to help me look at a few MGfs or MX5s and guide me on what I need to be wary of.   He seemed to understand that although totally impractical I needed it now while I was young enough to enjoy it rather than when I can afford it but am too old and decrepit to get into it.  He began searching out the practicalities of the idea.

The other day he came to me and informed that I did not want an MG at all.   But I did!  No he said what you really want is what you have talked about forever and if we are going to be this impractical then we will go the whole hog, do it now and enjoy it.

 

Dreams can come True!

My lovely husband has been out and bought me my dream Mercedes and given it to me as an early birthday present.  Once he had found the right one he bought it; as the opportunity may not present itself ever again.

My children may starve or have to live off gruel again.   I may never be able to buy another ‘little black dress’ or any of the accessories.   My husband will not be able to afford that rather sleek road bike he has been eyeing in the shop window.   I however, have the most beautiful sleek shiny hard top convertible in the world.   My seats are not only leather but they heat up wrapping themselves lovingly around my body.   The roof slides gracefully down into the boot of the car at the touch of a simple button.  I truly am the luckiest person in the world.

Do you remember the classic Janis Joplin song:

Oh Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz ?
My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends.
Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends,
So Lord, won’t you buy me a Mercedes Benz ? 

Well Janice it was Sexy Sporty Dad who listened intently over the years and answered my ambition, for which I thank him.  I don’t thank him just for the most wonderful present a girl could ever be given, but also for listening.   Not a trait I usually give him credit for as his eyes glaze over and he drawls “very good” at appropriate moments to whatever story I am droning on about.

I feel the need to go somewhere, anywhere, even just round the block.  I will be taking the car on this occasion!

 Tiggy

Check out my cooking blog at Teatime Treats with Tiggy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Family | 2 Comments

Delegated Control

Posted on November 5, 2012 by Tiggy Hayes

I had Pizza in the boot, well to be exact they were resting on the shelf to keep them flat.   One was Pepperoni, the other Chilli and Chorizo, they had reached their sell by date and were on offer.  Sexy Sporty Dad would finish his meeting, join us for lunch before we watch the new James Bond film.

I still had a couple of letters to write and a phone call to make, I could do that while the Pizza’s cooked.  At least the rain had stopped and it was really quite a nice day.  Jeremy Vine introduced a song I like on the radio.  So close to home, but the lights turned to red.    I was about six cars back.    I must remember to take the left over Halloween sweets and popcorn to the cinema.   A prophetic thought went through my head “thank goodness I had left the children at home.”  Shopping is always so much more expensive with the children helping.

Not far now; the lights are starting to change.

Bang!  An explosion happened with that awful after sound of crunch. My body flung forward towards the windscreen in excruciatingly slow motion as a feeling of déjà vu hit me.  It was the seat belt that stopped me this time; locking firm round my chest and tightening as my neck switched direction and I was hurled back against the head rest.

Had the world ended?   Where was I?  I could not move, I was immobilised by the safety belt; my neck hurt, the back of my head hurt and the cars had begun to move off in front of me.  I did not move, I couldn’t, my legs were fixed in place one on the brake and one on the clutch pedal. I could not send a message to them.  A moment later and I would have been accelerating!  I switched the ignition off.

I turned to see what was happening to the left but that was far too painful.  I turned to the right and that was no better.   I stayed holding my neck wondering what to do. I always have a next step, a plan b and even c is usually forming.    A tap on my window made me jolt, and grab my painful neck. I tried to turn but no, I couldn’t look to open the window, reaching tentatively I opened the door.

“I am so sorry, I just don’t know what happened” she said.

I am not sure if I knew what had happened but cars were backing up and sounding their horns.  Did they not know I was unable to move, let alone drive?

“Can you move the car round the corner?”  She asked.

Slowly I switched on again and into first gear.  Unsure whether my foot could lift off the clutch I pulled it gently.  Inch by painful inch I crawled to the lights, miraculously they were still green and I turned the corner bringing the car to a stop.

I had to move, I had to get out of the car.  My head hadn’t fallen off, after all it was just my neck that hurt and I think that was easing a little.  Opening the door again I turned my whole body and got agonisingly from the seat.    A strong wave of dizziness hit as I leant against the car and took an incredibly long breath.  I think I am going to be sick; another breath makes that subside.

Now I could see my assailant clearly.  She was tiny, even shorter than me, a little very old lady.  Old enough to be my grandmother and she had been driving a huge great Volvo, far too big for her. She had gone straight into the back of my little runabout town flimsy Peugeot 206.   She was agitated and it was time for me to snap out of this reverie and take control.    She it turned out was not hurt at all but concerned that I seemed to be in pain.   A little understated!

What are the rules about accidents, what details should we swap.  Should I use my phone camera to photograph what?  There were no skid marks, no smashed in cars, just one very old distressed lady and me, disorientated and in pain.

We did manage to exchange some details and phone numbers.  Reassured she went on her way.  I could not see any damage on her tank and there was no dent or crunch as I had expected on mine so I could drive home.

I sat gingerly back in the car but could not turn on the ignition.  I didn’t want to drive home, I hate not being in control and I had had no control over what had happened.

I sat and burst into tears.

Not knowing who to ring and guessing Sexy Sporty Dad would still be in his meeting I called No 1 Son and told him calmly and confidently I was on my way home; there had been an accident and I would need a cup of coffee when I got in.

I managed to reach second gear on the journey home.  A few well chosen expletives crossed my thoughts as I went over the speed ramps at barely a mile-an-hour but they jarred my neck and back.  The welcome coffee was waiting my arrival.  Hardly had I got in the door before the shopping unloaded the Pizza’s put in the oven.  The phone handed to me.   Sexy Sporty Dad was waiting for me to call; No 1 Son had called to tell him that everything was OK and I was on my way home but there had been a bit of a crash so I would call as soon as I got in.

Painkillers, strong caffeine followed by a hot chilli and chorizo pizza made things much better.

James Bond was suitably brilliant, with the car chases, over the top explosive fighting a beautiful Aston Martin and lots of subtle humour.  My head and neck were a little stiff and bruised but even the noise of the cinema and the angle of watching the film did not unduly bother me.

I woke next morning in acute pain.  My head screamed at me, every time I moved. I tried to lie back as the hammers inside fought to escape.  My neck and back were so stiff and painful to turn.  I needed to get up, rolling over to push my body away from the bed I stretched and unwound.  More painkillers!

“You need to see a doctor” Sexy Sporty Dad told me.

He is right, as he so often is but I didn’t really want to disturb anyone on a Saturday.   I certainly didn’t need to spend 4 hours at A&E, haven’t I spent enough time there with the children.  Anyway being a mother you don’t really have that kind of time to spare.

I took Sexy Sporty Dad’s car and drove myself slowly and gently to the local minor injuries unit.   Prodding and poking she extracted yelps of agonised pain filled cries.  Forcing my neck to turn in unnatural positions she obtained shudders, jarring and more contained expletives as I fought to bring my body back into line.

“Severe whiplash” she diagnosed.  “Go home and take a cocktail of painkillers then rest. DO NOT do anything just rest”

Huh like that is ever going to happen!

“I mean it no rushing around, no fireworks party, no housework just rest”.  Naturally I agreed, she wasn’t going to let me out without it.  “You will become stiffer over the next few days.”

Back home and a proper look at my car has revealed that the whole of the back bumper is mis-aligned, Sexy Sporty Dad has banned me from driving it until the garage OKs it.   “What if the children are in the car?  What if the chassis is damaged and you try to brake on the motorway?  What if you hit someone else and the insurance is invalidated because we didn’t tell them?  What if…..?”

I would have to tell the lady.  Maybe we just leave it and don’t go through the insurance.   Thank God the children weren’t in the car; no, we do have to get the car checked.  We have to tell her.    A bit of control back in my life, it wasn’t my fault, she didn’t plan to hit me but now I have to be firm, forceful and frank.  I delegated the job.

NANOWRIMO month is upon us again.  I have so many ideas chasing each other round in my mind but have reluctantly decided this year not to write a new novel.  I am re-writing Memories.   It has had such positive feedback from those who have read it, now I need to get it ready for publication.   Next November I will pen a new novel; or maybe Scrum Down may see the light of day again and I can get that ready for the world to read.

Keep safe!

Tiggy

Check out my cooking blog at Teatime Treats with Tiggy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Family, Writing | Leave a comment

Tomato Pasta

Posted on October 29, 2012 by Tiggy Hayes


This is such a great dish for the family.   It uses up all the old veg that didn’t quite make it into something else.  It is packed with vegetables including the ones no-one likes and the children love it.  How better to sneak some good wholesome food onto their table.

Ingredients 

Oil – just a dash
Onions 
Vegetables chopped to smallish sizes – celery, leek, carrot, pieces of squash, courgettes, whatever you have in the fridge.  Not too much of anyone thing
Tinned Tomatoes –  the plum ones are good for this (2 tins at least for  people)
Dash of Red Wine Vinegar 
Generous spoonful of Brown Sugar


Heat the oil and begin by gently frying the onions and veg such as celery or leek.





Add the other vegetables, toss together




Throw in the tomatoes, they can stay whole for the moment.



Add the red vine vinegar, you only need a little. Then sprinkle liberally with the brown sugar.  This gives a slightly sharp tang then sweetens it which makes it appealing to the children.






Bring it to the boil and leave to simmer so that all the vegetables are cooked through.    If you are adding spinach, kale or other green leaves that do not need much cooking add them at the end just before you puree the mix.
When the root vegetable are softened, but still remain firm add the green veg and then liquidise.  This should be fairly roughly done so there are a few bits of crunch left in the sauce.   I blitz quickly once and then leave.

Serve immediately with fresh or dried pasta and plenty of hard grated cheese.   A chunky fresh bread also goes well with this.  

This is so difficult to replicate as the ingredients change each time; sometimes I add a few fresh herbs or even dried.   The delight is seeing them polish of the plates no matter what is in the pot and they think it is just tomato sauce.   I have added ginger and garlic as well to give it a little more umph.  I should rename it “Mothers Prayer Answered” with all the disguised goodness in there.  It is quick and so easy.

Enjoy 

Tiggy

Find out what I am up to in my other blog  Dawn Chorus

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Preserving Innocence

Posted on October 29, 2012 by Tiggy Hayes

“Good afternoon this is the school, I am a year six pupil how may I help you?”   I heard Mini Son answer assuredly.  He took a very important message and wrote it on a sheet of paper I had placed strategically in front of him, then; probably as I was around he gave it to me.

Full of pride I watched my baby now looking after the school office at lunchtimes.    A responsibility all year six children take on for a week at a time.  It gives them a significant role and allows the poor office staff a quick half hour to grab some food.   The children are unknowingly supervised from the staffroom and have training from the previous week’s monitors.

Standing at the counter was a small boy crying hysterically with two children either side of him.

“Jimmy fell over and hurt his head”

Calmly and confidently Mini Son took the boy into the medical room, asked him where it hurt and what happened.  Reassuring the lad he went across to the kitchen to get a cold pack.   His co-year six helper Olivia checked the first aid rota and went to call the staff member on duty.

Olivia returned to tell me the teacher on duty was dealing with a child and who should she call.  Although officially I had already finished for the day, I stepped in to sort Jimmy and the bumped head.   Mini Son already in control had the cold pack round the sore head and was chatting animatedly to a now laughing Jimmy.

We do have a strong first aid procedure in school and had the child been seriously hurt a teacher or mid-day assistant would have brought him in.    Sending him with friends was a code to the inside staff; he was hurt but TLC was required more than anything, a commodity Midday Assistants could not currently afford whilst watching the other 203 children playing.   Staff, also know; inside I have magic wipes to wipe all the pain away.   Opening slowly we can watch the enchantment captivating the sad faces as it starts to work its magic on their tiny cuts and bumps.  I have my big brave stickers for all those brave little soldiers who have need of my medical room and leave without their heads or limbs falling apart.  It is often just a mother’s kiss and rub they need but all we can lavish is attention to focus on them being special rather than the hurt.

It was later in the week that I was dealing with a lady on the phone who again had been passed to me following her initial enquiry at lunchtime.

“I have to just tell you that the boy who dealt with me before was so efficient and good.   He said he was year six but I expect he meant 6th form did he, doing a YTS type thing?”

“No”, I explained our office duty role for the 10 and 11 year olds.

“Please pass on my congratulations to the teachers, he was very good”

“I will” I assured her.  My heart swelling, pushing at my tight ribcage, a warm feeling spread from within till I could feel my skin glowing.   I felt so expanded with love and pride I thought I might really burst.   Wait till I tell Sexy Sporty Dad, he will be so proud as well.

It was later that day I realised that had it been any other child in the class I would have rushed down and told their teacher, but I had taken all the glory and not passed on the message.   Slightly embarrassed I saw Mini Son’s teacher at the end of the day and passed on the caller’s message.

“I am not surprised, he is a lovely child; a very capable role model” she told me as the internal explosion erupted and tears of pure pride pressed their way out.

Unfortunately Sexy Sporty Dad is away at the moment, missed by all of us particularly me.   I know it is only short lived but I don’t actually remember us being apart for three whole nights in all our 21 years together.  Even in the confusing days of him working away before we moved to join him, he would only be gone for two nights at a time.  He returned home to a house of crises and chaos twice a week, before going back to being an important cog in his wheel of governance.

This time, left at home with my three boys to look after me it is most definitely Mini Son who is taking on the protective Alpha male role.  His love of spiders and creepy crawlies has always allowed me to depend on his Arthurian knight skills when met with a hostile eight legged enemy.  A little hug here and there to make sure I am ok.  Little jobs are being done without me even asking and his homework is not a battle of wills, he even asked if he could lay the table.

Why oh why does all this change as they go through the grumpy grunting teen years?

If only I could bottle Mini Son’s innocence and youthful willingness now.  I know like his brothers before him he will always make us proud; I also know he will go through a change and lose some of the sporadic spontaneity of his eager enthusiasm.  Before I realise it he will be coming in with

“whatever”

“dunno”

Or just a shrug with a grunt!

To encapsulate these years of growing up would be every mother’s

Preserving for Posterity

dream.

So far the only way I have found is to write the stories down in my blog.    Not all my tales will be saved but there will be a flavour of past years for me to look back on when these children of mine leave me for families of their own.

I, in my memory laden dotage can relive this passing of time and enjoy these special moments again and again and again.

Tiggy

Check out my cooking blog at Teatime Treats with Tiggy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Family, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Restrained Opportunity

Posted on October 15, 2012 by Tiggy Hayes

I was not a model pupil.

Although I was not a naughty child I did not willingly fit in to the pre-formulated pathway the nuns at the convent had planned out for me.   Coming from a catholic background meant I was a “special” pupil and it was their sole purpose to convince me to follow them in to the church.  My aspirations refused to be restrained in their restrictive direction.  The nuns did have other acceptable callings for me; nursing, teaching and if all else failed housewife.

I would never take away from any of these wonderful caring and selfless vocations that take far more from a person than just intelligence.   I needed more choice and even then lacked the good grace to just conform for a peaceful life.  I was determined to leave my mark on the world.   My literacy report year in year out complained;   “She has such a vivid imagination but needs to spend less time in

such a vivid imagination

her mind and do what is asked in the question.”  I am still blessed with that wonderful imagination but now I use it creatively and one day will be awarded by seeing one of my books in print.  If the nuns were still alive now I would send them all a signed copy.  Unfortunately with no new novices joining the convent, the school closed as the nuns departed this world.

Looking back now I feel sorry for the head teacher, she tried so hard to persuade me to quash my desire to become a mechanical engineer, to keep me on the path of righteousness and steer me towards the servitude of others.    I did get away with so many rebellious defiant actions although today these would be termed as independence, initiative and inspiration.  The head did succeed in some ways; I never became an engineer.  I left school as soon as I was allowed for my own home based gap years.  Dutifully I learned to be a secretary at my mother’s insistence that I at least had something to fall back on.   Then spent a glorious year earning and spending, partying and enjoying all the freedom I then had.   Finally I did go into nursing but what the school had not prepared me for was life; real, hard and emotional life.  I didn’t stay!

Like many mothers across the country it will be another momentous heart wrenching July as my son moves schools, the preparations have already started.

We were invited to take Mini Son to an open evening at the local Top school to show him around.  Taken into the hall with hundreds of other parents, nervous 10 year olds and a few older students milling around; we were told how transition would work with his current school.  Following the initial introduction we were split into groups and two sixth formers led us around.   Unfortunately No 1 Son had too much homework to join his classmates and there was never any promise that he would have been our tour guide had he been available.

Having two boys already there we have been through this evening twice before.     There were parents of mini son’s friends who found it all new and overwhelming that their eldest would soon be moving on.    I remember the first evening we had come with No 1 to visit.  It seems only yesterday and somehow I must have missed it but he has been right the way up through the school and now settling into sixth form has his next step; university in his sights.

Standing in a neat group at the edge of the climbing wall; a teacher invited the children to step forward and have a go. A shyness that I had not seen before descended over the friends, the chatter ceased and the class mates stepped subtly behind their parents.   I pushed Mini Son forward slightly whispering that he should try.  Once he had taken the first step he was overtaken by the torrent of eager friends racing to get to the top first.

Shyness abandoned he gelled with the music teacher who was delighted when he discovered Mini Son is learning the saxophone.  Mini Son in turn was bursting with enthusiasm to find the tiny recording studio and drama theatre.    Finding his own way over to the pottery wheel he began turning it and demonstrating to the other young faces how to use it.  He has never to my knowledge used a potter’s wheel although he has made clay cups and pots at primary school.

He may not be my first but I felt that same pull of emotional heartstrings as I watched my youngest race around the complex trying his hand at setting fire to the strips of liquid soaked accelerant.  The awe erupting over his delighted face as the multi-coloured flames leapt into the air.

Moving over to the generator I watched Mini Son hold a shining silver surface.   As we watched and the other children round us began laughing his hair stood to attention mimicking the wonderfully eccentric Dr Emmett Brown from the Back to the Future series.   Still mad professor like he was guided to a pile of tiny screwed up paper balls the size of peas, which I had assumed were bits of paper bored pupils had played with instead of listening. As the now excitable group round him watched; the paper balls began juggling around and leaping up towards his extended hand.

I have no worries about him fitting in and loving the facilities available to him as he completes this momentous year of transition.  It will be me that will find it hard to say goodbye to primary schooling after 12 years.  Letting go and allowing him to take his own faltering steps into this wide world.  I know the school will equip him better to deal with the future than mine did.

Looking back at my schooling maybe school and I might have not have had such an antagonistic relationship if there had been a few more facilities to stretch my creative imagination.  Where would I be today with my independence encouraged, my initiative rewarded and my inspiration fuelled?

Tiggy

Check out my cooking blog at

she has too vivid an imagination

Teatime Treats with Tiggy

Posted in Family | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Baked Jackets

Posted on October 14, 2012 by Tiggy Hayes


This is a very popular way of serving Jacket Potatoes.  It does need a bit of pre-planning but if you prepare this earlier in the day it becomes a fabulous food to have following a cold damp bonfire party maybe after a bowl of steaming soup.

Ingredients

Large Baking Potatoes – 1 per person
Onion chopped
Bacon Lardons
Mixed Herbs
Dash of Olive Oil
Dash of milk
butter
Cheese grated – I use cheddar

Prick the potatoes and bake in a hot oven  for a good hour.





Towards the end of Baking, heat the oil in a small pan and fry the onions adding the bacon lardons.  




Add mixed herbs and cook well until the bacon is beginning to crisp.










Remove the potatoes from oven and  while still hot cut in half and empty shells into a large mixing bowl.








Add the butter and milk to mash the potatoes.



Then mix the bacon into the mashed potato.   Add half the grated cheese.






Return the potato mix back to the empty shells and sprinkle with the remaining cheese.






These can then be left until about 20 minutes before you are ready to eat when they need to go into a pre-heated cooker.  

Take out and serve piping hot with baked beans, salad or other vegetables.   They are very filling and very popular.


I have done this with mackerel fillets, leeks and feta cheese but there are so many combinations you could come up with.  Let me know which one goes down best in your household.


Tiggy

Find out what I am up to in my other blog  https://tiggyhayes.wordpress.com/



Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Seize Your Moment

Posted on October 7, 2012 by Tiggy Hayes

It has been a week of mixed emotions this week.  A very wonderful lady sadly passed away suddenly the other day.   Karen had been an important part of my childhood and that of my siblings.   She was a very close friend of my parents; her family and ours intertwined at many levels.

I remember a lot about the years I knew her well but she held a particularly special place in my heart because of her nails.     I was never the prettiest child in the school.  Permanently overweight despite all the sport and exercise I took part in; I lolloped around Miranda like desperately wanting to be included in the talk about boys and dates. When it came to sports I was a hero because of the hockey or netball goals I could score or the tennis matches I won for the school, but step out of the changing room and I was just plain Jane in the corner again.

All the other girls in the class had those long flowing locks of luxurious hair they wore loosely up framing their spotless and beautiful faces. A gracious flick and the locks cascaded down over their shoulders in rivulets of fine strawberry blond splendour. My hair sat thickly on my head with no shape whatsoever.  My mother battled daily to tame it but by mid-morning it had broken free and draped heavily across my face.  Underneath the mop I suffered the whole class’ share of spots and teenage torment.    It just was not fair.  To cap it all at 18 I went through a car windscreen and tore my face and particularly my chin to pieces hence ending the modelling career I was never meant to have.

Karen beautiful anyway never appeared anywhere without her long manicured nails looking immaculate. Her nails belied the fact that she ran a normal life of housework, motherhood, gardening and work.  In my mind she was placed on the pedestal I believed she lived on, with her long fingers reaching out to their striking tips.

Naturally with such strong hair growth I also had unbelievable fast growing nails.  Having very little to be happy with in my own person Karen taught me to paint my nails and promised that one day I too would be proud of them.    I couldn’t wait for Friday nights when I would rush in from school and lovingly paint them with the varnish she passed on.   I spent far longer learning to paint with both hands and how to lengthen the look of my short stubby fingers with gentle shades of colour than ever I spent studying history, french or geography.

Monday morning I finally found out why the compass was a necessary piece of school equipment.  It certainly never made sense in my maths class but in assembly it was a great instrument for scraping the banned colour from my digits.

Karen was right.  I love my nails now.  To break a nail is a heart stabbing infliction which can bring irrational distress and despair to my whole family.   Every three weeks I have my nails re-coloured in the latest product or developing design thanks to my wonderful friends at The Nail Workshop. The resultant effect, photographed and posted to social media advertising the methods now available to others.  Karen I know would be proud of my nails and thanks to her my self-esteem has blossomed and bloomed.

Thank You Karen!

I attended Karen’s funeral, which as you would expect was heart-rendering and desperately sad.   She had so much to live for including a 15 week old grand-daughter who she was so excited about.  It was a stroke that out of the blue struck the vibrancy and life from her.  She did not recover.

There were many people at the funeral from her many walks of life; each holding their very own special memory of how she had touched and coloured their lives.  I was struck by how much I didn’t know of her.  She was a huge part of our childhood but behind the character that we shared she had so many different lives converging together to make up this special lady.

I drove home alone with my sadness and resolved that none of us know when our time will be up; in Karen’s memory I will seize every opportunity with both hands wide open.   Maybe it was toying with this thought that I drew alongside the car that had left me standing a few moments before.   He had been stopped by traffic lights in the inside lane.  I drove up as the lights changed and with a feeling of recklessness knowing my 206 would never normally stand a chance put my foot to the ground.

I drew level as my smile began in one corner and spread across my face.  I inched forward nudging my nose ahead.  The throaty roar of decision filled the air as the bright orange Aston Martin V8 Vantage took off. I, foot to the ground could not even bask in his exhaust fumes.  I did catch him up when the road again became single tracks and we were held up by a tractor further up the queue. I no longer had the urge to pass him.   I had seized my opportunity and knew under any circumstances I was not going to get the better of him, but in that moment I had overtaken not just a car but all that was holding me back.

Like my unexpected meeting with the Aston Martin opportunities present themselves in small insignificant ways so take the plunge, pursue the prospect and perform the impossible.   I hope that when my time comes and not too quickly; those that I have touched in some way will all agree “she seized her moments and made the most of her opportunities”.

I know many of you have followed me for a while so I am pleased to report some wonderful news.   My stalker or so called neighbour has finally moved away.  The weight lifted from my shoulders is immense.  It is the little things I can delight in such as being able to park my car on my drive way again, unloading my shopping without him checking the bags, or hanging out our washing, nothing very momentous but when you are prevented from doing them, so restrictive. Who would ever believe I would relish putting rubbish in my dustbin. His parting shot to try and destroy me was discharged on the very day I came home re-energised from Karen’s celebration of her life.

He has gone and life is so much better already, I am safe and so are my children and husband.  I now have so much material for any evil protagonist I create in future novels that may or may not get written.   Now that he has moved I have heard other stories which leave a cold chill coursing through my capillaries.  I was not his only victim, in some small way he has upset a lot of locals which might explain why he felt he had to leave the town altogether and move to new area.

Seize today!

Tiggy

Check out my cooking blog at Teatime Treats with Tiggy

Posted in Family | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Raspberry and Toffee Pavlova

Posted on October 5, 2012 by Tiggy Hayes


Just picking up milk for home at the supermarket and wondering what on earth to come up with for pudding after our Sunday Roast.   Middle Son being helpful added a pavlova case and toffee sauce to the basket.   I added the raspberries and cream and together we put this very quick and simple pudding on the table later that day.

Ingredients
Meringue Pavlova case – we used a shop bought one
Raspberries – I used frozen and defrosted them
Toffee Sauce
Whipping Cream



Place the pavlova case in a serving dish







Take out a few whole raspberries for decoration later on.   Mix the remainder of the raspberries with most of the toffee sauce.







Add the mix to the pavlova case.






Whip the cream so it stands in peaks and then cover the raspberry mix generously.


Use the saved raspberries to decorate and then dribble toffee sauce over the whole pudding.  we added a sprig of mint to finish it all off.







Enjoy, but don’t expect any left for the next meal.   This disappeared off the plates so fast with many appreciative grunts.




See how you would do this differently and let me know.


Tiggy
Find out what I am up to in my other blog  Tiggy Hayes




Posted in pudding | Leave a comment

Broken Sentiment

Posted on September 23, 2012 by Tiggy Hayes

We had been invited to, probably the last BBQ this summer.   It was Saturday afternoon and the sun had been shinning all day.   Unusually I had no food to prepare and things were quiet in the house.   We were bringing the drinks including Pimms so I did need to chop and soak the fruit in the alcohol before we left.

I started early as the longer the fruit marinated the better the Pimms tastes. I own a beautiful glass punch bowl which comes with delicate little cups.  The sheer glass has vine leaves bulging with fruit etched delicately round it and the glass spoon sits comfortably poking through the opening in the lid.

This punch bowl has been part of my family for as long as I can remember.  My father a born host produced this bowl from the recesses of his cupboards for every memorable party he gave.    Perfectly chopped fruit, pimms, ice and bubbling lemonade taking centre stage on the drinks table at the summer party.    Warm, spicy cinnamon and red mulled wine pervading the room, hinting at the fruit mix and warmth waiting to  be enjoyed after the bonfire and fireworks display he had already pre-planned.

In fact I don’t remember an occasion he didn’t bring the bowl out and make good use of it, and yet the delicacy of the glass survived them all.   When my father passed away and my mother downsized she gave the bowl to me to follow his guardianship, with the understanding that I too, would put it to good use.   I hoped that I had emulated that custody.

I began chopping strawberries, oranges, lemons and apples.  I dug deep into the cupboard to bring out the bowl and even deeper to count that I still had all the cups to serve the drink in.   Carefully I brought it to the sink to wash it and took the lid off.  The water running, the lid shining I lifted the spoon out.

Crack!

Time stood still.

It was only a gentle tap as the spoon came out but in slow motion the side of the bowl shattered as each shard of splintered glass speared my disbelieving memory.   One side of the bowl remained intact but the one nearest me was in pieces as was I.   Sexy Sporty Dad responding instantly to my cry of pain, tried to find where it hurt.

Inside, where my heart is; where all the memories of my childhood had just converged on my core tearing it to pieces.   I had been given this to use, protect and pass on.  In a moment’s distraction I had destroyed something precious, at least to me; the memory of my father as he entertained his guests and never let anyone be without a drink or a companion at any of his parties.

Sexy Sporty Dad gathered the pieces and with sombre tone admitted that not even he could glue all the slivers back together for me.   He carefully wrapped the offending pieces in newspaper and will dispose of them as if they were a beloved pet that had passed on.  Quietly and secretly so my misery is not re-ignited.

My mind wrenched back to this evening’s activities.  What of the Pimms?  I still needed a receptacle to serve it from.  I knew the friends we were dinning with would have accepted a bottle of wine or other form of drink without damming me; but I had promised Pimms and so Pimms it must be.

Where do you find a punch bowl late on a Saturday afternoon these days?

A plethora of charity shops adorn our high street and there is one that sells all kinds of odd bits of household clearance items that rarely anyone wants.   I started there and trawled the aisles finding beautiful cut glass vases, jugs that would hold enough for two or three drinks even large brandy glasses that might be used instead.   I found a sugar bowl and milk jug that matched Granddad’s cups, I spotted a silver or possible stainless silver jam spoon that it had taken me weeks to find when I was looking for a present for my mother’s new house.   The one thing I could not find was anything resembling a punch bowl.

As I browsed a couple of outfits and smart tops on the way through to the exit I noticed the two ladies at the counter waiting I guess, for someone to say hello, buy something or just a bit of excitement.   I popped back in and asked “I don’t suppose you have anything like a punch bowl?”

The first lady looked at me sadly “no unless it is out on the shelves we don’t”

The other lady seemed a little more thoughtful.   “Could you wait a moment we did have one handed in a while back I am not sure what happened to it.”

Naturally I waited; picking up a top and admiring it; wishing I was 4 sizes smaller and could squeeze into it.  Why are all the best clothes always too small.  After 10 minutes of browsing I was becoming a little edgy, late on a Saturday afternoon and I didn’t know where I might find what I was looking for.

Finally she appeared staggering under the weight of a large punch bowl box.  Unsure even if the box held what it promised we gently removed the bowl with spoon.  It seemed to be resting on a layer  which we lifted exposing all twelve cups in perfect condition.  This was not delicate thin glass with beautiful etching on it, but thick chunky glass made to withstand even my clumsy washing.  I would take it.  After all the cost would not matter; how much does it cost to replace the priceless memories associated with my broken, shattered bowl.

“That will be £5 please”

“How much?  Are you sure?”  I added another top I had been toying with as I felt so guilty at the cheapness.

Ten minutes later all clean and shiny; the bowl adorned the shelf in the fridge with a small layer of pimms soaked fruit.  The lemonade would be added at the party.

As we drank late that evening in the glowing embers of the sunlight we raised a glassed to my father “Cheers Dad.”

Cheers!

Writing

I seem to have reached a goal; one I was not expecting.  Although my book “Memories” is supposedly going through a revamp and re-edit before being sent to publishers; I have found myself writing a short blog in the newly launched Gillingham Guide. I may only have a remit of 250 words a month to tell my tale, I have gone over on both occasions so far, this is to be a regular, time critical writing that I will have to produce as a filler providing space is available.

With all that is going on currently I am deciding whether I can find time to join NANOWRIMO this November.  How can I write 1600 words a day when currently finding time for 100 per day is  a challenge.  I have several themes going round in my head for the next book but maybe I should get Memories published then write the next one.

On another note my writing coach from our writing group has slated this blog for it’s over use of literary features and clichés. Having recovered slightly from the slating I thought long and hard about his comments.  I could of course drop all the fun features as he suggests and just text speak my thoughts in plain boring words but I think I would lose the essence of what I am saying and I am not sure I would stay focused for long.   I suspect my coach needs to understand blogging, twitter and social media before he can write-off my penned word completely.  After all I am publishing two blogs regularly and now another monthly blog, people are beginning to know my name.  Does he really want me to stop that just as things pick up for me?

I guess I need to get used to these beratings and rejections before I send Memories off.

Tiggy

Check out my cooking blog at Teatime Treats with Tiggy

Posted in Family, Writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Flapjack

Posted on September 21, 2012 by Tiggy Hayes

I was at a friends house and we had this flapjack.  One piece led to another with us all commenting how delicious it was. She was eventually persuaded to divulge the family recipe and although mine was slightly different it went down as well and did not last long in our house.

Ingredients
1lb Oats mixture with nuts and sultanas (I used a mix of 70% jumbo and porridge oats; with dried cranberries and apricots rather than nuts)
1/2lb butter or margarine
1/2lb Muscovado Sugar (I actually used a bit less as I am not keen on very sweet things)
4 tablespoons Golden Syrup
2 heaped teaspoons of Baking Powder
2 heaped teaspoons of Dry Ground Ginger





Melt the butter gently, adding the golden syrup and sugar allow to cool slightly




Mix all the dry ingredient together.


Add the dry mix to the butter and mix well so that all the oats and fruit are well coated.


Lay the mix in a buttered tin or on grease proof paper and put in a pre-heated oven at

 350°F/180°C/Gas 4 

for 25 minutes



When the flapjack turns a golden brown but is still soft to the touch (beware sugar content is really hot) take it from the oven and allow to cool.   It will harden once cooled.    Score the portion sizes out and once cooled leave in the fridge before cutting it up.






We like our flapjack gooey and soft but if you cook it slightly longer it will cool much harder.

Enjoy and there are so many variations to this let me know what your family love best.


Tiggy

Find out what I am up to in my other blog  Dawn Chorus






Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment