Humbug

And so I’m stocking up on sachets of all-in-one powdered smoothies, in preparation for my assault on Type 2 Diabetes. I begin the course on January 15th. Starving myself to reverse the offending numbers. The dietary way of combating blood sugar issues has been in the news a lot so I am, if anything, extremely topical. I’d prefer tropical but what with all the winds and gales and hurricanes and forest fires I’d prefer to stay local.
As it stands I’m doing okay but not so okay that my readings are perfect. Indeed they are so far from perfect that were I to die tomorrow I would not be buried in the perfect cemetery I would have to go against the wall in some sort of unknown grave.
Three weeks to Christmas and so far I’ve made Grannie Beevers Christmas cake TWICE.
The first batch, was overcooked, burnt on the bottom and currentless.
The second batch is sans baking soda because I forgot.
I now have 6 huge christmas cakes 3 taste ok, and 3 not so good. The not so good ones work with a coffee watching the lunchtime news, but certainly not unxious enough to be served on a cake stand with flunkies and critical friends. The second lot just about cuts the mustard.
I’ve had to buy two vintage 50’s cake tins to store them in since my other tins are taken up with crisp breads, dried Hunza apricots and the remnants of last years Christmas fare.
I’ve just made the list of presents and am contemplating tree erection, although that can wait till next week when we get back from Brixton babysitting – two children and a puppy dog.
I want Trump to wither away like a faded poinsettia. Angela Davis said:
‘I’m no longer accepting the things I cannot change I’m changing the things I cannot accept.’
It inspires me to do something. I’m not sure what yet, I feel we are all living in suspended animation until Ms Mayhap totally cocks up, Kim Jong Loon finally falls into the South China Sea and The 45th president of the United States of America is impeached. Doesn’t feel appropriate that a 500lb mass could be damaged by a fruit, but doesn’t nature have a way of rebalancing us.
It’s coming up to the afternoon, tomorrow I have a meeting in London to rearrange my future. Then it’s home again home again jiggedy jig to the old git who is still pruning, sawing, snipping and bagging. My garden duties have been curtailed since my groin complains. But by the time we reach the spring of 2018 I’ll be on secateur duty.
Ah!! Here comes my cake tins, it just requires me to re-arrange the kitchen so I can find somewhere to put them. I hope Granny Beevers is looking down from her cloud and not tut tutting me but complimenting me on my new found biceps from stirring 83 tons of dried fruit, 430.000 whisked eggs, and a ton of flour. Christmas comes but once a year.
Humbug