Soup etc [PINK *]
Because the title box won’t take colours? WHY? —ed
So I made a ginormous pot of soup. Duh. Now one is not at one’s best coming off a gratuitous insult to one’s body like stomach flu and I haven’t been at my best in some time full stop* but it’s like I couldn’t grasp the concept of vegan broth as being suitable for consideration. Chicken soup and flat ginger ale for queasy stomachs.** If you can’t have that you are lost utterly in a hostile wilderness of deep-fried crullers, Pringles and maraschino cherries. It took several people posting or sending me either vegetable soup recipes or links to vegetable soup recipes for the tiny rattletrap cogs to connect and start clinking around in my brain. Very, very slightly in my defense I fell out of the soup habit with a thud when my freezer died***, although it’s embarrassing to admit that when Georgia and Shea were here a couple of months ago and we were talking about food and cooking and related goals, I said my next ambition was to start making my own vegetable stock.†
Well. So I NOW HAVE A FREEZER. What am I WAITING FOR. So I made a ginormous stock pot of cabbage soup††, saved some for now, put the rest through the blender and put it in the shiny new freezer in useful little 1-cup wodges. I’m so clever. And efficient.††† With a little help from my friends. To whom thanks all.
* * *
* However I am having my first voice lesson in yonks and yonks^ and I’m starting up with the Sam[aritans] too. I am GOING to have a life again. I am.^^
^ I was trying to figure what to take in to Nadia. I’m still singing some of my favourite arias but it’s mostly folk songs. And I realised with some embarrassment that the things I’m most likely not to screw up totally are a handful of hymns to folk-song tunes. I think I’m trying to exorcise all that frelling Jesus Is My Boyfriend music that I not only sing but help lead every Sunday as an anti-crying device. Okay, it does stop me crying, but At What Cost.
^^ Including writing stories. Not only because I need the money. The thing from forty years ago that was derailing me? It’s still derailing me. It’s kind of interesting though. Um.
** Or beef broth and Saltines, or whatever is the folk wisdom in your neck of the woods.^
^ Which is a bizarre phrase. Just by the way. https://www.theguardian.com/notesandqueries/query/0,5753,-22668,00.html%E2%80%8E
*** I live in a world of tiny autonomous under-counter appliances. When my freezer died it did not take my refrigerator with it.^
^ Although there have been some pretty redolent Appliance Follies concerning the Lodge. My little freezer died when I moved it to the Lodge—elderly freezers apparently don’t like being moved, I only need one (tiny) freezer and I’d rather have the space at the cottage for the hellterror’s crate.+ I had to buy a refrigerator and a washing machine for the Lodge anyway so what’s another expensive appliance when you’re running out of money.++ I found a fridge+++ and freezer I liked but the freezer was out of stock at my retailer of choice so I made the fatal error of trying to buy it from idiots who never consulted me about delivery but kept sending me chirpy emails saying, Your freezer is scheduled to be delivered between 5 am and 11 pm next Wednesday, please be there to let them in! ARRRRRRGH. Next Wednesday is not a good day, can we DISCUSS THIS PLEASE? New chirpy email: your freezer is scheduled to be delivered between 4:30 am and 11:34 pm next Friday, please be there to let them in! I eventually frelling cancelled and then hung around till it came back in stock at the retailer with the customer service department which is what I should have done in the first place.++++
And then there was the washing machine chronicle. I had a fancy to have this effectively second washing machine big enough really to take a double duvet, instead of only pretending to be big enough in standard washing machine bumf.+++++ There are a few 10 kg machines around, but when you start trying to buy one it turns out there aren’t, unless you want to spend £15K on a gilt-edged one to match your gilt-edged twelve-burner Aga and your gilt-edged SUV that takes up two and a half parking spaces. Well, maybe there are one or two for the hoi polloi. I tried to buy one of these. One of them turned out to be only 9 kg on closer inspection—truth in advertising, ahem—and then there was the fascinating two-for-one disappearing model. Even customer service couldn’t figure this one out and had to ring me back. Okay, it’s an old one and the new replacement model. And the new replacement model has worse water and electricity ratings than the old one, because people with SUVs were complaining that the programmes take too long. These people probably don’t believe in global warming either. ARRRRRGH.
Oh, and neither model was available.
I think I made some snarling noises. And I think my customer service person was trying not to laugh. Let me see what I can do, she said.
They found me a washing machine. One of the old slow eco-friendlier model. And I haven’t tried a duvet yet but yes, the biggest of the hellmob beds fits.
+ Little did I know that the space situation was about to become acute after my plumbers laid £800 worth of useless pipe through my kitchen. Regular readers will remember this story. Pretty much the entire available floor is now hellmob bedding, although this does make it more comfortable to lie down on when I’m having a bad day. I am of course remarkably furry when I stand up again but Yeti answering the door when it’s someone who wants to sell me something# is quite useful for scaring them off. If I’m having a bad day grunting in a Yeti-like manner, if they don’t scare fast enough, is easy too.
# Including God. I may have said this to you before? I now wear a cross, and I find it disconcerting to be (metaphorically) embraced as a sister by the kinds of Christ merchants that cold call. This usually makes the conversation shorter without any effort on my part because they bustle off to harangue someone less well defended, but occasionally they want to stay and chat about theology and . . . I don’t share much theology with my own congregation~, I do not want to get into sticky points of Scripture with random evangelical strangers at my door.
~ Hums a little tune and bends lower over her knitting
++ Because life is like this, I presently have three would-be buyers supposedly about to make me an offer on Third House. After this particular bit of fatuity is over with# I’m going to take it off the market and let it. Which is another saga.
# Which is to say that I am expecting offers of two shillings sixpence, two shillings eight pence, and one decision to move to the Caribbean. But post-Brexit, I should be grateful that someone is willing to take it off my hands. Um. No.~
~ I will not get into all the interesting stories right now about the real estate market galumphing through the zeitgeist and trampling the slow and unwary under large hairy feet.
+++ Note that the new, CHEAP fridge is much nicer than the way more expensive one I bought for the cottage several years ago because several years ago we were apparently in an anti-under-counter appliance era and this was what I could get. Bosch is overrated: pass it on. Of course I don’t yet know how long the new CHEAP fridge is going to last, and the Bosch is now having its life shortened by hellmob bedding getting jammed up against its fan, motor, dorgligfast and gluppermeyer# which are of course floor level and exposed to the elements, including the 85% ambient fur and lots of well-scrabbled blankets.
# The hellterror has her butt squashed against the gluppermeyer right now. I’ll move her as soon as it starts making protesting noises.
++++ This is John Lewis, by the way, for British readers. I know they screw up too, but I’ve never had them not unscrew up, and they’ve had plenty of opportunity for me to put them on my (lengthy) pond scum list, and they’ve never taken it.
+++++ I’ve been cranky for years, since I’m good at cranky, that I had to buy an 8 kg drum machine when my old 6 died, because apparently they don’t make 6s any more. I’m ONE PERSON. I have an ENTIRE DRAWER of white t shirts because I RUN OUT before I have enough whites to fill a frelling 8 kg drum machine. ARRRRRGH. And to add insult to injury, 8 kg is nothing LIKE big enough to wash a duvet. Sure, you can cram it in, but it comes out in exactly the same folds and creases that you used to wedge it in in the first place and the only thing that’s clean is the soap dispenser. The big proper dog beds won’t fit in either. Most of my mob’s bedding is easy because it’s old blankets. Hairy but easy. But the point of this story is that the cottage’s washing machine is too big for my ordinary purposes and too small for the extraordinary. GOOD SYSTEM, WASHING MACHINE DESIGNERS. MAY ALL YOUR BOTTLES OF WINE BE CORKED.
† I do not know why it is that proprietary stock pretty much always has Weird Crap in it, not, I realise, that the weirdness registers with normal humans. But hydrolized vegetable protein? Are you freaking joking? Even Kallo’s organic stock cubes have sugar in them three times,^ plus maize starch, which is evil.
^ Um, why??
†† Well, standard contents-of-refrigerator stock, you know? What’s in there that needs eating, especially after you’ve lost the plot a bit. Cabbage, onion, carrot, celery, lovely Shiitake mushrooms^, the huge bag of fresh basil I was going to make pesto out of^^, and I forget what all. Garlic. Always garlic. And a big handful of dry herbs for the last ten minutes. The result was, if I do say so myself, rather delicious.
^ The anti-rheumatism diet doesn’t allow ordinary mushrooms but Shiitake are actually GOOD for you.
^^ I am motivated to make [vegan] pesto. And I’m nearly through my last huge jar.
* This was supposed to have gone up last night, of course, and my so-called broadband connection wasn’t having any. ARRRRRGH. Meanwhile it’s going up this late tonight because I had that FIRST VOICE LESSON today^ and it was EXCELLENT. Not, I have to say, in terms of the beauty and accuracy of any noises I was making ::shudder:: but the excellence of being under Nadia’s tutelage again, and the way she starts sorting me out IMMEDIATELY, and sends me away with stuff I can do. This post is already too long, but let me just say in passing . . . as an anti-crying expedient, as previously observed, singing for service works a treat. As a likelihood that stage nerves will make all my shutting-down and stiffening-up habits worse it’s a sure frelling thing. Sigh. —ed
^ But by the time I got home not only was I STARVING+ the hellmob was all TAKE US OUT. TAKE US OUT NOW. WE’RE BORED. WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN.++
+ Singing is a sport. Like marathon running.
++ In the first place every road in the area is torn up for roadworks AND the main road is blocked because of some festering doodah festival so it took nearly twice as long both to get there and get back. In the second place . . . the problem with Nadia’s new studio is that it requires me to drive past our excellent not-quite-local-enough-to-be-dangerous-except-if-I’m-going-to-see-Nadia rose nursery. And I may have stopped and bought a rose.
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