a-Peeling We Will Go!

More domestic strife...

Last night just before tea time, I was sitting in the living room trying to make sensible conversation with my mother (never easy...) when Miss Franny shouted from the kitchen.
"I can't find the potato peeler!"

I gave up trying to make sense of the tale I was struggling with - no my brother hadn't had an accident, Mother was talking about another Frank without considering I might think of one I actually knew...

"When did you have it last? Last night?" I asked unthinkingly.
"No I was working remember? You cooked yourself chicken korma last night!"
"Oh yes... Tuesday then?"
"We went to David and Jeannie's for tea on Tuesday!" Ah, yes... and they definitely didn't ask to borrow it, because we had lasagna...

We came to the sad concusion that it may have inadvertantly been wrapped with its very last peelings on Boxing Day... The bin men came yesterday... So it was a choice of knife and very small chips or fingernails and very long ... time before chips...

The daft part is that this was one of Fran's favourite types - a potato peeler with a detachable plastic handle that when reversed turned the peeler into a knife - gradely for making chips! A flick of the wrist and chop, chop, chop, chips!

That's not daft in itself, the daft part is that, having taken ages to find one the last time we needed to buy one, we bought two so that when it wore out next we would still have one. Yes... but where did we put it...?!?

Anyway I found an old faithful Lancashire peeler hidden in the depths of a kitchen drawer.

"I can't use those!" Fran complained.

I think I'm on peeling duties for a while until I can find a replacement...

The Great Christmas Eve Bulb Blow-Out

All is not well. Miss Franny left for work this morning before 8:00am. Her last words to me were: "Do you know what you're doing?"

"Yes," I said confidently, "Put all the gear away after last night's gig, do the hoovering, make a loaf and try to get some spare bulbs to mend the Christmas tree lights."

She paused dramatically and her lips pressed together (something little girls' mothers teach them from an early age...) "You will get some bulbs, not try!" she said. "I'm not having a blacked-out tree on Christmas Day!"

Anyway I hoovered. I stowed all the band gear away. I went out but it's Christmas Eve so no sets of lights to be had. A nice man at B&Q pointed to a small almost empty box and said "These are the only spare bulbs we have - you can help yourself now, compliments of B&Q!" What a nice man! "They're all last years models..." he added.

What?!? They bring out different fittings every year?!? But our set is a good five years old! Maybe the setting has come round again...? Some of them looked a bit like them. I grabbed a small bag of six bulbs and hefted them.

"Alright if I take these?" He nodded, "Sure!" he said, "Merry Christmas".

The bulbs fit!!! The lights still don't work though...

I tried every bulb in the other set and the ones that are in the bottom half of the tree all work in the top half set but the bloody thing is still dark as a squirrel's hidey hole at the bottom.

It could be the fuse in the plug and the set is old enough to allow me to take the plug apart to get at the fuse. Something that you can't do these days because the government have convinced us we're all too stupid to tie our own shoelaces unless qualified... I've got the fuse out but can't find any others to replace it.

Fran finishes work in 25 minutes. [Gulp!] I'm going to have to confess. At least the bread maker has just beeped to say the loaf is done!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggghhhh!!! It's not risen and where it has, it's sunk in the middle and split and all dough-like inside!!!

I followed the instructions carefully! Kept salt and yeast apart! Though with its first jerk it mixes them up anyway! Measured everything minutely! Failed spectacularly...

Christmas dough balls in the dark, anyone?

The George Formby Grill

Couldn't resist this...

Fran's been fancying one of those "healthy" grill gadgets promoted by ex boxer George Foreman.

What she actually said was, "I'd like one of those George Formby grills..."

You can just picture the Wigan Warbler pulling a steak out of the grill and saying "Eeh! Turned out nice again!"

No George... oven gloves, not boxing gloves...