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Showing posts from July, 2016

Shiny, happy people...

Gathering together my outfit for last night's 1920's night out, I realised that I didn't have any appropriate footwear to match my flapper ensemble.  I pulled out every pair of shoes from my wardrobe, but as far as I remember, the Bright Young Things of the '20's didn't choose to wear wedges, flip-flops, Chelsea boots or Converse pumps (daughter number two's if you remember...now paint splattered) with their beaded and fringed dresses.

And then I had a light bulb moment.

Miss R's contribution to my hen weekend many years ago, was a pair of shoes for all fourteen of us to wear on the journey out.  The idea actually was that we wore them for the whole weekend, but we all went off that idea when Miss R (always ever so organised) ran out of plasters to cover the numerous blisters which were popping up all over the place.  So the shoes were consigned to the top shelf in my wardrobe.  This is where all those things go that I can't bear to throw away, and …

Flapper girl...

Believe it or not, tonight is yet another 'Big Night Out'.  The husband has the dubious honour of taking Miss R, Mrs S and me up to the bright lights of London to a 1920's themed nightclub.  Of course, dressing up is obligatory, and this week has seen us three girls getting our costumes ready for tonight. 

Miss R was very organised, and ordered her dress last week.  Thinking that she had loads of time, she didn't spend money on the next day delivery option, and consequently the outfit only turned up on Thursday.  It is lilac.  Not the most flattering of colours for ladies under 76 and apparently, the straps are elastic.  Now Miss R is particularly well endowed in the bosom area, and I am slightly worried that the elastic might not hold.   Miss R is renowned for her dance moves whilst under the influence, and I think I may pack a couple of industrial sized safety pins just in case all hell breaks loose (I am referring to the dress) around 11.00pm.  Her dress has less f…

Gangsta's paradise...

Master B returned to work today.  You may remember that I mentioned he was heading off to Europe for a long weekend of sightseeing and culture with some friends.  How anyone could spend five days in Portugal and come back paler than they went, is slightly beyond me, but as he filled Master P and me in on the holiday, it all began to make sense. 

After wild nights out (and most of the mornings as they weren't getting in till 7.00am) all of them would sleep till the afternoon, going out just as the sun was melting back into the sea each evening.  Basically, he had not seen daylight for five days.  I am going to suggest he takes some Vitamin D tablets to ward off the possibility of rickets. Who knows when he might need to stop a pig in a passage in the future?

Notwithstanding the milky pallor, there were things to be thankful for.  For a start, he didn't get third degree sunburn this time.  He told us that he'd been slapping the factor 50 on all day just in case.  By 'al…

Baby, it's cold outside...

So normal service resumed yesterday morning after my day in bed nursing my head.  By normal, I mean getting up at silly o'clock, even before the birds.  Here's how the first five minutes go :

Put dressing gown on
Go downstairs
Remove dressing gown
Flap around wildly on patio trying to cool down from major hottie (I'd like to point out that this is not a new nickname for the husband)
Cool down
Cool down further
Put dressing gown back on
Cool down even more
Rush inside to find socks as feet now freezing
Sit down at computer
Remove dressing gown etc etc

It's a wonder I manage to do anything in the morning, I'll be honest with you, but it's the time I tweak the blog before publishing, chat to any lovely American ladies who are reading it online, and generally catch up on what's been happening overnight.

You're probably waiting for me to tell you all about the lovely television lady who came to check me out this week.  It was all going rather well, until dau…

Stop right there...

I thought that I had kicked migraines into touch.  Just under two years ago, my doctor basically told me that most of my health problems could be addressed with a few changes.  The list of things she gave me to cut out read like this:

Alcohol (Never been a big drinker, so this was easy)
Chinese food (Not so difficult, as Indian food was still on the menu)
Cheese (Never touch the stuff, so that one was a no-brainer)
Chocolate (Ah.....this could be a problem - three bars a day at least.  I'm surprised that Cadbury hadn't approached me at some time about becoming a shareholder)

At the risk of hacking too many of you off at one time, I basically did as she told me.  Two years later, I am thirty pounds lighter and not needing the knee replacement which was being threatened.  I felt much better, and the previously weekly migraines dwindled down to one every two months or so.

But it would seem that even doing the right thing has a shelf life.  Since Mother Nature evicted me from The …

Girls on film...

On Sunday, the husband and I headed off to what is becoming our favourite drinking hole on Sunday mornings. R&R in Abingdon.

This is our neighbours' café, and has a lot to answer for when looking at how tight my trousers are becoming.  On our first few visits, I limited myself (and the husband) to a lovely coffee and perhaps a waffle. Fast forward a few weeks, and we are now having a two course snack in there.  This Sunday, I have to confess to having one of Mr R's homemade sausage rolls, followed by carrot cake.  This was quite possibly the worst decision I have ever made, as I don't think that any other food I taste will ever touch the perfection of that cake.  The husband on the other hand, had a sausage roll, then a bacon bap, and finished off with another sausage roll.  No pudding for him, just three mains...

We sat outside in the market square with the husband, two fairly well behaved dogs (we'd walked miles, so they were knackered) a great coffee and the ra…

Missing you...

'Will you come and watch me play cricket tomorrow?' asked son number two on Saturday afternoon as I was recovering after three hours of artistic creation on Mrs S's fireplaces.

'Of course', I said.  Notwithstanding that I try to be a supportive mum to all my offspring, I actually quite like watching cricket.  The weather looked good, so a few lazy hours in the sunshine on a Sunday afternoon seemed like a grand idea.

When we eventually found the cricket pitch, 'our' team had been bowling for almost an hour.  Sitting down in the newly purchased fold up chairs (according to the slightly camp gentleman I bought these from, they have a handy drinks holder...well I never) the husband, who had been dragged along under duress, went off to chat to someone he knew, leaving me and son number two's BFF as the only team supporters. 

The team they were playing were a strange breed, I had some trouble understanding what they were saying as they seemed to be using too…

All by myself...

The husband, looking for any means of cure for the hangover from hell (I am blaming son number two for this for keeping him plied with Peroni on Friday night) headed off for a full English fry up yesterday morning.  When I say 'full' I am talking about the plate, as you couldn't have squeezed a Rizla paper between the bacon, sausages, fried eggs etc which the husband forced down.   

I was prepared for no dinner last night as he was still feeling full, and for the sewing machine being brought out of retirement to let his trousers out.  He never learns, that man...

While he was eating this, I headed off to Marlow for my normal Saturday breakfast, preceded by a wash and blow in my favourite salon.  My normal stylist was on her holidays, so I had a man do it this time.  He was of advanced years, with all of his hair being on his chin rather than his head. He had a spectacular beard, which skimmed his clavicles (look this up, it's not as rude as it sounds) and he was '…

Rip it up...

My best friend, Mrs S, is moving into her cottage in a few weeks, and has spent the last few days turning what was an interesting colour scheme (think Joseph and that coat of his) into a very cool, classy pad.  Of course, not all roads to beauty are easy (those of you who wax will know this) and this week has been spent ridding the house of a rather peculiar smell (marigolds would be a polite way of describing it) and replacing that with the clean smell of emulsion. 

As each room has been stripped of its gaudy coat, she has been able to see what it will become.  I said to her that now the bright colours had gone, so had the house's personality.  It was now time to create a new one - possibly one which doesn't give you a migraine as you walk from room to room.

The husband, ever helpful, has been there all day with power tools.  He has been very effective, and I am secretly relieved that the house is still standing.  I know what he's like when he's got one of those pow…

Hunk of burning love...

Some of you will know that Wednesday night was spent in the company of Elvis.  Not the real one of course, but a chap who does an act which incorporates some rather rude jokes and some cracking Elvis songs.  If you want to book him (I wouldn't recommend him for children's parties before you reach for the laptop) you can find this Hunk of Burning Love at http://www.alvin.co.uk/

The show was held in a local pub, and as I had two spare tickets, I coerced daughter number two and her best friend Lucy Loo to come along for a giggle.  I knew that they weren't really interested in the show as such, but when I mentioned the words 'Fish and Chips' their ears pricked up.  It wasn't till I mentioned the word 'Free' that they fully committed.  Once a student, and all that...

I wasn't sure what they were expecting really.  Alvin, who I have seen three times before, and who is on good acquaintance with Mrs Jangles and Miss R, is on the wrong side of middle-aged…

Nellie the elephant...

Son number one left for 'somewhere in Asia' yesterday afternoon.  Unlike the very organised daughter number two, he hasn't provided us with a day by day itinerary as to his whereabouts, so we can but guess where he is going to be on a daily basis.  He has taken the smallest rucksack with him for the three weeks he's away.  It actually looks more like a bum bag than a rucksack, and I am worried that he hasn't thought to take the entire Boots Prescription counter with him as daughter number two did.  Of course, the good side of the small rucksack is that as it doesn't hold much, I would imagine that the washing he brings home will be minimal. 

I'm still sorting daughter number two's washing from her trip.  As well as the clothes she took with her, other items came back in the rucksack.  Most of these items are made of cheap cotton printed with elephants, with elasticated waists and ankles.  If I didn't think that I would look like a feminist CND supp…

It's oh so quiet...

So the heat continues.  

Mrs B-T, the mathematical genius with a penchant for a boxer (the four legged variety, not Frank Bruno), who keeps the husband's accounts in check, has been telling me about a cooling mat which her dog has for times such as these.  I am sad to say that I have already been on Amazon, to see whether there is one large enough for me.  The biggest one that is available would be for a Labrador-sized dog.  Even curled up with my nose touching my knees, I can't think that it will be big enough, so it's back to the drawing board I'm afraid.  I am also considering filling hot water bottles with ice cubes and sticking my pyjamas in the fridge.  Well, you have to try these things don't you?

The husband, ever keen to wake up dry in the morning, allowed me to have the electric fan on all night.  This was a revelation.  I woke up yesterday morning feeling refreshed after an uninterrupted night's sleep.  It was a different story for the husband thoug…

Fever...

I have taken to living in the downstairs loo.  It's the coolest room in the house (north-facing, dark, no heating) and with the temperature being as high as it is just now, it is my only refuge.  The only other place I am considering is the fridge, but that's full of food as the shopping was done yesterday.  Having said that, by Wednesday there'll be plenty of room on the top shelf as the plague of locusts I share my house with would have done their worst.

It's not such a great idea though, as I would also have to depend on someone letting me out again.  As you know, my lot can't even put their washing in the linen basket, so remembering to let me out of the fridge looks unlikely.  I have suggested sleeping in the garden, but the husband wasn't too keen, suggesting an electric fan instead.  Yes, great idea.  With that targeted on me on top speed, he'll think it's raining...nice.

So on Sunday night, I had to contend with the double whammy of a hot flush …

Cleanin' out my closet...

Yesterday, the husband and I schlepped up to Milton Keynes to take a look at daughter number two's new home from August.  I'm not too sure what I was expecting, but I was pleasantly surprised with the two bedroomed flat she's sharing with a friend.  It was a sensible home for a couple of young people in gainful employment.  Clean, tidy, in full working order and with a pile of instruction manuals neatly piled up on the kitchen worktop for all the appliances they have (even a dishwasher). 

I suppose that having visited her university digs several times and seen the state of that (and also her on occasion) I was quite used to the fact that the majority of her time was either spent sleeping, or with her head down the only loo in the house.  The last time I was there, about three weeks before she moved out, the kitchen had been cordoned off as a health hazard and the bathroom hadn't been used for weeks for fear of being attacked by the festering bacteria which had taken u…

Heatwave...

Summer tipped up again yesterday, catching me completely unawares as I got dressed.  I had assumed that the sweat running down my face, accompanied by a generous helping of recently applied mascara, was down to another 'hottie' (these are happening more frequently, and the children and husband have taken to locking themselves in the bathroom every time, just in case I go the whole hog and lay into them with a rolling pin and spatula) but I soon realised that my thermal vest and Arran sweater were to blame rather than my hormones, who, like Elvis, have left the building.

This meant a full clothing change into something more in keeping with the heat.  White jeans, (my staple summer wear), and a cream top.  Sorted.  I always have a problem with summer clothes, never quite having the right top to go with the right trousers.  I put this down to the fact that the British summer lasts a cumulative 47 minutes, which doesn't justify buying lots of different things.  So stuff comes …

Jump around...

On vacating the premises of Carphone Warehouse after a year's work experience, the staff presented son number one with a larger than life cardboard cut-out of himself.  Walking in with it tucked under his arm on Thursday evening, I had taken a myopic look through my varifocals, and muttered under my breath something about him bringing some drunk friend back home again.  Closer inspection revealed it was only two dimensional, so I mentally stopped stripping the spare bed and sticking a bucket by the side of it, and worrying whether we had enough bacon for the morning.

But oh the fun we've had with this over the last twenty four hours. 

The first wheeze was when the husband lifted it very slowly above our neighbours' fence as they were having a quiet glass of something after a hard day in the best café in town (R&R in Abingdon).  It looked like son number one had turned into some Peeping Tom now he was unemployed, and I was concerned that they might thrown something at …

Questions...

Daughter number two brought the husband back a t-shirt from 'somewhere in Asia', which he decided to wear to work yesterday.  Blazoned across his manly chest, it reads...

'I don't need Google.  My wife knows everything'.

Naturally this isn't true.  Perhaps it should read, 'My wife knows some things, and what she doesn't know she blags'.  Yes, that would be more accurate.  He seems to think that I am a walking encyclopaedia, and often refers to me as 'The Oracle'.  I am assuming that he is talking about her off The Matrix, and not the fat bloke off Benidorm who is brilliant at crosswords.  Anyway, as I was saying, he thinks I know everything.  Time to fess up I think...

1.  I can't speak French.  Some years ago, we were driving in France and got lost.  Having got directions (in French) I have simply made up where we should be going, and hoped for the best.  There have been a couple of times when I have had to blame the French direction gi…

School's out...

It was daughter number two's graduation yesterday. The culmination of three years of hard study. This meant an early start for all of us who were schlepping north of Watford for the last time.  We had to be there for around 9.00, so the husband, who hates to be caught in traffic of any kind, insisted that we leave at 6.30am.  Driving up the M1, we got a call from my dad, who was joining us there. Now he hates traffic even more than the husband, so when he said 'I'm here love', we weren't surprised.  It was 7.10am, so only two hours early.  Almost a record.

Gradually, all the other family members arrived.  We made our way into the hall, found our seats, and settled down for two hours of name calling (in a good way).  I was sitting next to my dad, who has quite a low boredom threshold, but I was sort of prepared (more of this later).

There were various speakers at the ceremony, a couple of which who would have benefitted from a course in 'Working A Crowd' bec…

Let's talk about sex...

The husband is mourning the loss of his trailer, which was stolen over the weekend.  Having hit social media (my facebook page) with posts asking for information, he has now offered a reward for the return of said trailer.  I do hope that he's not the victim of any hoax with regard to this reward.  I can just picture some undesirable taking advantage of his broken heart, passing off some other trailer as the one which was stolen.  Only for the husband to hand over the reward and then later find out that his trailer is an interloper, and that he has been polishing and servicing a stranger for the past three weeks.  Time will tell.

Talking of servicing strangers, I have really been enjoying the new series 'Brief Encounter'.   This is one of those programmes which really shouldn't be watched with your older children or your husband.  For those of you who have yet to catch up, or who live across various wide stretches of water, it's all about the start of the Ann Summe…

Dream on...

After Sunday evening's merriment, it was with a sigh of regret that I heaved my sorry carcass out of my bed at 6.20am yesterday morning.  Luckily, I had been sensible enough to write my blog when we'd got in around midnight, so leaving the husband snuggled in, I headed downstairs to see sons number one and two off to work.  (Hallelujah, they're out of the house for the day). 

I managed to come down just as they went out the door which was perfect timing.  If I get down with too much time to spare before they leave, I run the chance of being roped in to make packed lunches for them.  I'll be honest with you, chopping up red onions at 6.00 in the morning is not my favourite pastime, so I tend to hide on the landing until I hear them get their car keys.

As I was negotiating the schnauzer ambush on the third step down, narrowly avoiding major lacerations of the ankle courtesy of Reg, daughter number two, who returned from somewhere in Asia last night, shouted at me, '…

Evergreen...

I should have known when the husband walked towards out table at the Henley Festival, cautiously juggling a bottle of Rose, four bottles of beer, six glasses and a sealed bowl of olives, that the night was going to be an interesting one.  We were there to have a posh dinner with Miss R and her new beau, Lord A, and also to see Will Young.

When they eventually turned up, the husband had polished off three of the four beers, and was having trouble getting the lid off the tub of olives.  Introductions were made, and Miss R, surprisingly nervous, managed to finish the bottle of rose, while Lord A drank the last beer, all the time watching the husband as he resorted to using his molars in an attempt to remove the lid.  I had to do it for him in the end.  It was getting rather embarrassing watching him salivate over the pot.

Dinner was excellent - I should point out that there was a quick pit stop at a gin bar, where a Rhubarb Gin and Ginger Ale was necked by the husband.  This was not goin…

The long and winding road...

So Friday night pretty well went the way I said it would.  Prosecco in the kitchen for us younger ones, while the older pair settled for a bottle of Malbec, cutting out the middle man completely by taking it in turns to swig out the bottle.  They turned up early at Miss R's house.  Half an hour early in fact, which meant that while they were knocking it back in the kitchen, Miss R and I were still putting the finishing touches to our makeup and hair.

The taxi arrived on time.  This was a huge relief to Miss R and me, as Mrs Jangles and the mother were eying up a second bottle of Malbec in a very suspect manner. If they'd managed to get their corkscrew into that one as well, we may well have had to leave them there, slumped over their glasses at the kitchen table, singing some dreadful songs from the 60's. I will have to have word to Miss R about leaving her wine on show - perhaps some discretion is needed when Hinge and Bracket are on a mission.

So off to Windsor, where we…

Get this party started...

Getting ready for a big night out is always different when you're doing it with your sister.  Miss R had booked a meal out with the other pair of reprobate siblings (the mother and Mrs Jangles) on Friday night.  An evening of cocktails, dinner, dancing on the tables, throwing up in the taxi, Alka Seltzers and crying....before falling into bed fully clothed for two hours' sleep...

In reality, it will probably be a swift glass of something in her kitchen, followed by some posh nosh, lots of talking and home before midnight.  Once in our pyjamas, there will be time for one episode of Graham Norton with a hot chocolate before heading off to bed.

Of course, getting ready at home involves allocating around seven minutes sandwiched between the husband's ablutions and his trying on of six different shirts before settling on the first one.  As the perfect wife (ahem ahem...) I will always be expected to put the husband's cufflinks on for him, and straighten his dicky (think wha…

Blaze of glory...

You'll be surprised, and I hope a little impressed, that I sat through a whole football match on Wednesday night.  Having depleted the whole country's supply of Welsh cakes last week, I only felt it fair to support their national team as they battled against Ronaldo and a few other Portuguese chaps in a bit of a kick about.

A lot of thought went into the evening.  As the weather was positively balmy (I'd left my vest off, so it must have been warm) the husband fired up the barbecue, and I laid the table outside, choosing red napkins to complement the Welsh kit.  I even printed off some Welsh flags and dotted them about the table for waving when appropriate, so you can see, I was doing everything I could to channel some positive energy out to France (mainly using paper but you get my drift).

The husband, ever handy with an extension lead, had turned the television round, so that we could sit outside and watch the match while we ate.  It was all very exotic for a Wednesday n…

Leave right now...

Daughter number two returns from 'somewhere in Asia' on Sunday.  In my totally male household (I'm including Percy in this, although he does tend to have unusual leanings for a male dog) it will be good to have another female in the house to talk to.  Daughter number one is rarely to be seen these days - that's the joy of being a teacher, it's feast or famine.  Come mid-July, we won't be able to get rid of her for two months as she enjoys her very, very long holiday. 

This return of the females heralds a new problem in my household...the disappearance of all I cherish as it heads to their rooms, never to be seen again.  For daughter number one, this is usually jewellery, tweezers and make up.  For daughter number two, it's face wipes and every shirt I have ever owned along with several pairs of shoes.  So my eyebrows will resemble those of Percy (look up schnauzer-this will make a whole lot of sense) and my wardrobe will be a barren one until September.

A…

Tom's diner...

Son number one, nearing the end of his work experience in London before heading back to university, is being wined and dined by various agencies as a thank you for all his hard work this year.  As he walked through the door last night (slightly unsteadily), he regaled his dad and me with all the details as to where he'd been.  Apparently, he'd been taken out for breakfast (Freshly squeezed orange juice, Eggs Benedict, artisan bread, fresh coffee) then taken out for lunch (French salad, perfectly cooked rare steak with a secret sauce and the 'best chips ever'). 

I had already made dinner, and the husband and son number two had polished it off very quickly, apparently loving the Moroccan-style salmon which I had cobbled together.  I didn't have all of the ingredients which the recipe demanded, so I had used spring onions instead of red onions, and a lime instead of a lemon. The recipe also called for fennel which I didn't have.  I did think about adding a dash o…

9 till 5...

Many, many years ago, I had another life.  Not one so far back as AD or BC...more like LBC (Life Before Children) when the first day back to work after a great holiday was just the worst thing you could do to yourself.  I can clearly remember having the post-holiday blues until Thursday, when it was nearly the weekend, and only then would I crawl out of the deep pit of despair which was called 'Not Being on Holiday Anymore'.

But my, how things change.  Now I have many children dipping in and out of the house, the thought of going back to work after a holiday or the weekend cheers me up no end.  At last I can get away from the piles of washing and ironing which seem to procreate on my laundry floor.  I don't have to look at the small pile of crumbs where toast met its maker on the kitchen worktops.  Nor do I have to fight my way across war zones (bedrooms) to find a glass.

Leaving the house yesterday morning for my first day back after the WWW (Wet Welsh Week) I was almost …

Simply the best...

It was another first for me yesterday.  You'll know from previous ramblings that I support a fabulous charity called Schnauzerfest (www.facebook.com/SchnauzerfestUK)  which helps ex puppy farm dogs find loving, safe homes. 

Yesterday I dragged the husband down to the Diana Brimblecombe Animal Rescue Centre (www.dbarc.org.uk/) who work closely with Schnauzerfest, as they were having their annual fundraising event.  I had already looked at what was on offer there, and was marginally excited by the fact that there was a dog show.  There were many categories, such as 'Best Rescue', 'Dog of Courage' and 'Puppy Farm Survivor', but setting myself and the two dogs a sensible target, I entered them in for 'Best Puppy', 'Cutest Schnauzer', 'Most Appealing Eyes' and 'Dog With Most Expressive Ears'. 

Assuming that all I would have to do was make the two of them sit still for about five minutes (pockets stuffed with treats as bribery) I…

Que sera, sera...

Now that the house is back into some semblance of order after our wet week in Wales (taking six washes, two hours of ironing, four cups of tea and three Welsh cakes) it was time to check the garden for any dying or wounded (plants, not the children). 

First stop was the hanging baskets.  These looked like they gave up around last Wednesday, and three soakings later, I could just about make out a faint heartbeat.  I had planned on dead-heading the baskets, but decided not to in the end, as it would have meant just upending each one straight onto the compost heap.  The colour is coming back into their petals, so it looks like they have a reprieve for the time being.

Next on my list were the borders.  Now for some reason, the copious amounts of rainwater which has fallen on my borders this week has been extremely selective, falling only on the nettles, dandelions and other offensive looking weeds.  I say this as the weeds are almost as tall as the fence, whereas my beautiful plants are …

Back on the chain gang...

All good things have to come to an end, and yesterday we said goodbye to our home for the past week.  (If you interested in taking a look at it, here's the website:  http://www.cefncam.co.uk/)  Trust me, you won't be disappointed...

Not only did we say farewell to the house, I also bid a sad adieu to my waistline.  I would like to say that the amount of walking, cycling and general schlepping we did should have been enough to keep the inches at bay, but to be honest, the amount of Welsh cakes I have eaten, a cycle to Mars and back would only have scratched the surface. 

Of course, it wasn't just the Welsh cakes...two lasagnes, a humpbacked whale and chips, half a dozen Chelsea buns and some glorious pheasant must also hang their heads in shame.  And then there were the waffles. I mastered the double meal waffle on one occasion, having them with sausages and syrup in the morning, and as an after-dinner pudding accompanied with hot cherries and cream.  Impressive eh?

So the…

The runaway train...

We all woke up to a beautiful morning yesterday, and the general consensus was that a trip to Snowdon was on the cards.  Now I have never been to Snowdon, but the other three have, so you would like to think that when I asked them on several occasions, 'Which peak is Snowdon?', that one of them might have known.  Instead, I got the same answer all day.   'You can't see it because it's too cloudy up there'.  So my lasting impression of Snowdon is a big grey cloud...most impressive.

We had headed up to where the railway started, which takes you to the summit (not that you'd see the mountain peak or any of the surrounding countryside or views through that bloody great cloud) and a caffeine pit stop was arranged while we decided what to do.  Queuing at the hatch for drinks and a Cornish Pasty (when in Rome, eat like a Cornishman), I watched as one by one, they were taken from the hot shelf.  Finally, it was my turn...there was one left.  A pallid looking thing,…