The market field was muddy on Sunday, but luckily we have a nifty little vehicle that loves driving through muddy fields. Best selling items were light bulbs, children’s pictures, diarys, we even sold some of our chrysanths from the garden.
I just can’t resist putting them on again they’re so beautiful. I picked up a scented geranium, after paying for it of course. Also a lovely china cup and saucer. I do love a bargain. It amazes me how much people need to handle something like a diary before buying it though. A man flicked through once, twice, thrice, (well I’m studying Shakespeare remember) nay, four, five, me and Alan looked at each other wondering who would tell him first to PUT IT DOWN, but no, we smiled along, then he was tickeld pink to find that one diary had no ribbon to mark the pages, and ho so funny, another one had two of those ribbon markers. Well blow me down how side splittingly funny is that. He eventually bought one for himself and one for his brother. Later a little boy started handling the diarys and said to me. ‘Don’t you think it’s too early to sell those.’ I answered. ‘No.’ Then he said. ‘It is.’ At the same time flicking through it, so I was happy to tell him to ‘Put it down then.’
Now I’ve bought our pumpkin ready to cut out a funny face, and up until now I’ve always thrown out the middle. This year I’m going to make either pumpkin pie, or pumpkin soup. I’m veering towards soup as I love onions and tomatoes and carrots and suede that would be tasty. Or maybe pumpkin pie with a cheesy pastry would be quite tempting. Especailly with some curry flavouring in the pumpkin mush for filling. Which is your favourite?
I heard from the editor of Best of British Chris Peachment that my article on ‘Growing up in the 1960’s’ will be published in his magazine soon. I made enquiries as to if they’d run a short story competition, so will let you know if I hear any more, he’s thinking about it. I know I’ve done a story on growing up in the 70’s, but I took a while to grow up, not saying I have completely grown up yet. I popped round to see Mum and Dad yesterday, and Mum is doing really well following her mini stroke. She reminded me that she hasn’t seen my story on the twindle, or is it the tweedle? So now when I’m on the computer Alan asks, ‘Are you on the tweedle dum and tweedle dee? She means the kindle story, and maybe she’s thinking of tweeting and twitter. I like the twindle much better, so what I’m going to do is make a folder of all the stories on the twindle and computer, so she can have a read and see what I’m twindling about. I think it’s mainly because of the first paragraph in that seventies story where Dad refered to the make up wearing men as a load of *****, which is what you said in those days, but when I reminded him he looked horrified and said. ‘You can’t say that.’ It’s all fiction though, so nothing to be alarmed about Dad. He’s collecting slugs now I could say what he’s doing with them, but I’m saving that for my next horror story. So, pumpkin pie or pumpkin soup? Or, how about pumpkin pasties??? Bake off, eat your heart out. I think the blog bakers have better ideas and we’re not so fussy are we? Who cares if your jam tarts are different sizes, I always make a small one for tasting. My Gran’s mantra was – A good cook always tastes the food. If you’d like to read my spooky poem it’s on my website on the poetry page.