Always the bridesmaid!

Hey, it's Sunday Scribbling time again! Today we have a one word prompt and it's ADULT!
Over the last few years I’ve been to lots of weddings. So many of my mates and cousins have got themselves spliced. Then they seem to go from being fun loving party animals to rather dull couples who enjoy nothing more than a night in beside the telly with a nice cup of tea.

I have of course,become an expert in the duties of the Bridesmaid and the (wait for it) Matron of Honour! Me a matron! Wooo!
And I every time I perform my role my Father says the same thing ‘Miss Rosemary Pinkerton, always the bridesmaid never the bride’. Grrrrrrr!
Most of the nuptials take place in damp dark grey walled churches where a bored looking vicar spouts the usual stuff about obeying and procreating children. And almost without fail a nervous friend of the couple will go to lectern and read a piece from the bible – a book they have probably never seen since they were in RE classes at school!
And it’s always the same bit – Corinthians Chapter 13 which goes on like ‘love is patient, love is kind, is not jealousies, not pompous, it is not inflated (beg pardon?) it is not rude (he-he!)
But the bit that makes me want to stamp my size eight on the floor is the bit which says’ When I was a child, I used to talk as a child, think as a child, reason as a child; when I became a man, I put aside childish things’.
Obviously I’m not a man, but it’s not that makes me cross. You see, the thing is I still like to talk as a child as many of you are only too aware! I have no intention of putting away childish things - my Teddy stays exactly where it is!. And when faced with a problem I find it much easier to work through it if I reason like a child. I have no problem with being a child and an adult at the same time. And ok, I admit it - I still suck my thumb when I go to bed. If all that has to go, then marriage 'aint for me!
You always hear people saying ‘Ooo, I love children’. But how often do you hear someone say ‘Ooo I love adults’. It’s just not the same.
As many of you know I enjoy the best of both worlds because I landed the best job in the universe. I’m a classroom assistant to a teacher with a class of seven and eight year olds and I spend my days at play whilst getting paid for it.
When I’m shopping I see many of the kids from my class in the mall and so often they are dressed like mini adults. If only they realised how precious the innocence of childhood is, they wouldn’t be in such a rush to leave it behind. I rest my case!



This is a bit rude ......sorry!

George and Mary had never been abroad before. They didn’t trust foreigners, and they heard that the food in other countries was different from ours. They didn’t mind the odd Indian curry, but they really preferred English things like fish and chips and sausage and mash. They weren’t sure how they’d get on with the language either but someone told them not to worry because in Spain everyone spoke English. So when they decided to be adventurous, the Costa del Sol it was. Viva Espana!

They soon found out that almost every restaurant in their resort offered English food - the all-day breakfast fry up and Steak and kidney pie appeared on almost every menu. But one day George decided that they should be a little more adventurous so they wandered into a Spanish restaurant in search of something a little more local.

The menu was written in two languages but even in his native tongue George found it a little difficult to work out quite what was on offer, so when the waiter approached they thought it best to ask for his recommendation.

‘¡Buenas noches!’ he said with a flourish of his arms ‘iu‘nuestra comida especial es hoy guisado de la bola' He could tell by the look on Mary’s face that he was not getting through to them. He started again. ‘Good evening madam and sir’ he said ‘today spezial deesh eeze guisado de la bola’
Rather than get into a difficult conversation with the waiter they decided to order two of the special dishes.

Well, they were pleasantly surprised. They were each given a thick stew with two enormous meatballs in the bottom. It was delicious although there was a little more than Mary could manage. They asked the waiter to tell them what exactly the meatballs were and through by using a combination of ‘Spanglish’ and hand signals (some which embarrassed Mary) he explained that when the matadors killed the bulls at the local bull ring the unfortunate animals testicles where supplied to the restaurant to use in their special dish.
Anyway, the day before George and Mary were due to return to the UK they thought it would be fun to go back to the restaurant and order two more portions of guisado de la bola. But when it arrived they were a little disappointed. Instead of two enormous meat balls in each there were two tiny ones. George called the waiter over and asked why it was different from the last time they had it
‘Ah señor’ he said ‘Today ze unfortunate matador he lost’


Now you are probably wondering why I told you that story! Well, it’s because I came across a great recipe for this under rated and very cheap cut of meat . It's a Spanish twist on Hungarian goulash and I thought I’d share it with you!

cocido húngaro del testículo

2-3 tablespoons vegetable oil
4kg of bull testicles
2-3 onions chopped
A beef stock cube
1 clove garlic crushed
ground pepper
thyme chopped
mint herb chopped
small can tomato puree
1 tbsp plain flour
200ml Spanish white wine
1 tablespoon honey
2 squares cooking chocolate

Cut testicles into thin slices. Fry briefly, adding finely chopped onion, garlic, black ground pepper, tomato puree and chilli pepper. Cook while gradually adding water. When nearly finished, add white wine. When wine evaporates a bit, add beef stock cube, pepper, thyme, red pepper, mint herb and a tablespoon of flour. Mix all well until wine completely evaporates and at the very end add honey and chocolate.

Serve with crusty bread and a bottle of Rioja!


My dinner party


Here is my Sunday Scribblings post. It's about a fantasy dinner party

Now this is fun! I’m going to hold a pretend dinner party for eight people including me. I’m going to have a mixture of people including a couple of dead ones! Obviously I don’t want corpses sitting there. I’ll get a few batteries to make sure they get going! I think it will be a good idea to chose people who each have a talent which they can use to entertain us.

I’m sure if Keithy has started reading this he’ll be busily scanning down the page to see if he’s invited! Well, I’ve not decided yet. We’ll see how we get on..

Did I tell you I’ve got a karaoke machine? I love it although I’m not so sure my neighbours share my enthusiasm! I reckon a couple of songs would be just the thing to get the party going, and the best person to kick it off would be Luciano Pavarotti! Actually he’ll probably need more than a couple of Duracell's to get him fired up. I might have to plug him into the wall! I think he should start with Nessan Dorma. Keith once tried to tell me that it was a song about the Loch Ness monster! Another time he told me it was about a new Japanese car. But I know exactly what it’s about because Nessan Dorma means ‘you shall not sleep’ in Italian. So I think that’ll be the perfect tune to set the theme of the evening. As he is Italian he probably likes spaghetti and meatballs so I’ll put those on the menu .

I could take the easy route and just invite my blogging mates, but I’m not going to do that. The only one I might bring along is Whitesnake. Actually I might have to warn him to behave himself. He can be a bit rude at times. Hey, did you see his Carry On Tuesday poem last week? I was so embarrassed when I read it. You can click here to see it if you want but it’s not for the easily offended! I’ll put him in charge of jokes and witty remarks and just hope he behaves himself. Now, he comes from down under so I’d better get some kangaroo meat.

We need a thespian. I love that word. Thespian! I think I’ll invite Johnny Depp. I’ll insist he comes dressed in his pirate fancy dress from his films. I want him to have a parrot on his shoulder and a hook in the place of one hand! What food can he eat with a hook? I know - sausages! I’ll get him to stand up and recite Shakespeare ‘What's in a name? That which we call Rosey by any other name would smell as sweet’.

Do you think the Queen would come? Last year I went to her garden party at Buckingham Palace so I suppose it’s only polite to ask her in return. I know she likes cucumber sandwiches and fairy cakes because that’s what she gave us but I don’t they would be right at my dinner party. There is a dessert called Queen of Puddings, so we could have that.

Now there’s one person you won’t have heard of. He’s Jeremy Dawson and we know him from the pub. He is a children’s entertainer and does amazing things with his balloons! He also paints kids faces and I thought it would be fun if he were to paint ours. I’d like to look like a cat. Quite what he’d do to the Queen I don’t know! His party piece is to produce a rabbit from down his trousers. Actually he’d probably like us to have some of my famous rabbit pie!

I thought I’d also invite Alice. You know, that pretty little girl with the looking glass who comes from Wonderland. She must have some amazing stories to tell. She should feel quite at home sitting at the table with us because I remember seeing a film of her at the Mad Hatters tea party. As she’s a child she’ll probably want a McDonald's.

Do you remember me telling you about Bert? He’s got the allotment next to mine and he has grown the most amazing vegetables this summer. Mine haven’t really got going yet. The other day he had in his hand the biggest carrot I’ve ever seen! It made my eyes water! His curly kale is legendary and as for his cucumbers – words fail me. I don’t think he’ll be a bundle of laughs at my dinner party but if I invite him I should get my vegetables for nothing. I suppose he could have half an hour of so answering our gardening questions. I understand the Queen is quite an expert in the cultivation of radishes. At least I think that’s what I heard.

How are we doing? We’ve got Pavarotti, Whitesnake, Johnny Depp, The Queen, Jeremy the balloon man, Alice , Bert and me. Great. That’s eight of us. Any minute now my phone
will ring and it’ll e Keithy asking why he’s not invited! I have an idea. He used to be a chef so I’ll get him to cook for us! Sorted.

Now this is going to be fun!



I love my cats!

This is my go at Carry On Tuesday 13

We think we know the ones we love
I thought I knew my cat
Until one day he left for me
A dead mouse on my mat
Actually I’ve got two cats, Fuzzybut and Scruff and I love them to bits. But I couldn’t rhyme cats (plural) with mat (singular)!

And I do love my cats; it’s just that I don’t know them very well. I know what they like to eat, I know where they find most comfortable – on my bed or on my lap! But what goes on in their devious little minds is a mystery. I mean, they should know that I hate mice, dead or alive. I thought they hated them too because one day when a mouse ran across my bedroom I jumped up on my bed and they jumped up too! So I really didn’t expect them to deposit one on the rug in front of my fireplace!

My friend Keith is a bit anti-pussy (oh! that sounds terrible!!) He thinks that cats are inherently evil and they prowl around planning the day when they’ll rule the world. I’m not certain he really thinks that, because he does have a habit of winding me up in the hope I’ll believe him then make a fool of myself in front of our friends! I’m not convinced.

Someone once told me that cats are loners. They only sit on you because the like the warmth from your legs. They say that cats are only affectionate because they need you to feed them! They also say that dogs have masters and cats have servants.

I suppose dogs are quite clever. After all, if you throw a ball they’ll fetch it and bring it back- I can’t imagine Fuzz and Scruff doing that. And dogs help blind folk cross the road and that’s very clever too. But when I look into my cats eyes I get the feeling that they are thinking deep thoughts. Perhaps cats are the clever ones and they have a little smile to themselves when they see dogs performing for their masters while they sit around just purring, preening and being waited on.

So what I’m saying is that I love my cats but I’ll never really know them. As for men they are even more difficult to get to know. On second thoughts I’m not going there! Hey, I feel another poem coming on!.

Dogs they bark and cats just purr
Dogs have hair and cats have fur
But when it come to which is best
I know which pet that I prefer!


The journey

This week I've combined Carry On Tuesday with Sunday Scribblings!
It was several years ago. Quite a few in fact. I could only have been about sixteen, but I remember it as if it was yesterday.

My parents decided that we’d go away for a weekend camping. I was so excited. Up until then the only holidays I’d had were in posh hotels – we even went on a cruise ship once. All of my friends had been camping and I’d always been envious of them. All those stories of spooky noises in the night, creepy crawlies tickling you and having a pee behind a bush! It sounded GREAT!!! I was so anticipated! (Oh dear, that doesn’t sound right but you know what I mean!). But my story is in the journey, not the destination.

My father being my father would never have been satisfied with any old tent. No, ours was the size of a bungalow! It had two bedrooms and a main room – my mother called it a drawing room! In a tent, whatever next! Well, we had quite a big car but it wasn’t big enough for our tent to go inside so he tied it to a rack thingy on the car roof! I was crammed into the back seat surrounded by cases and bags, but I didn’t mind because I was so excited.

So off we went, charging up the motorway heading for the New Forest in Hampshire. We hadn’t got very far before I became aware of lots of hooting noises behind us. I looked out of the back window and I noticed that the cars behind us were falling back and the drivers seemed to be waving. I waved back thinking that they were being friendly, but then I realised that they were pointing at the roof of our car. I told Daddy that there was something wrong and he told me not to be stupid and suggested we play Eye Spy.

Then I heard the screeching of tyres, and through the back window I watched cars going this way and that like so many dodgems, and our tent was bouncing down the road between them. I thought it was so funny!It was like something out of a comedy film! Daddy however was not amused. He was more worried about his tent than the possible carnage he could have caused.

The police were not too impressed. Gave him a lecture which he didn’t exactly enjoy. We eventually got it fixed back on the roof and when the police were satisfied it was safe, we carried on our way.

A few miles later we had to turn off into a narrow road. It was very windy and went up and down a lot. We climbed up one hill and when we got to the top there was a sharp corner then a steep drop downhill. Daddy went around and down a little too fast and we almost ended up in a ditch. And then a tractor pulled out of a gateway right in front of us and Daddy slammed the brakes on so hard that I nearly shot out of my seat! You should have heard the language! Then the funniest thing happened – the tent broke free again and catapulted through the air and straight into the trailer on the back of the tractor! I was desperately trying not to laugh, so much so that I nearly wet myself!

We eventually stopped the tractor and got the tent back. Dad had a word with the farmer driving the tractor and we arranged to pitch our tent on his farm instead of going to the New Forest.

The holiday was a letdown. It rained, my clothes got wet and my magazines got wet too. Peeing behind a bush was not nearly as much fun as I thought it would be and I got stung by a wasp. Mummy couldn’t get the hang of the camping stove and the final straw was when a gust of wind blew the tent down.

But the journey to the camp was fun and it made the whole thing worthwhile. I’ll certainly never forget it.