Charity update

Oh joy of joys last year Barnardo's in their infinite wisdom decided to open their first charity superstore not in London, as so often happens with big new initiatives, but just down the road from 88. Thank you, Barnardo's! I have two friends, S and J, and they are as charity shop obsessed as my good self....by the way, fear not I do have more than two friends...just.

Come a new season or if we feel down, we hop into the car and down the road we chug to see what gems the great Barnardo's superstore has to offer us. And oh what bounties.

The store is huge and offers up a cornucopia of different clothes, ranging from bog standard brands to designer labels. Pay anything from £2 to £30 and over for the more exclusive second hand labels. My friend, S, complains of arm ache after every visit due to the carriage of copious items of clothes on her arm in readiness for the great trying on. We should have our own engraved individual rails upon which to hang our potential buys.

Fortunately we are all three different sizes and have slightly different tastes. This way we avoid huge fights on the shop floor, arguing over the bargains. In fact, we now know each other well enough that we can spot items for each other. A shout often goes out across the shop floor 'What about this top, S?' 'This is just you, J.'

By the way J and I are in no way  jealous of S who is tall, willowy and basically could wear a bin bag and look fab. We turn it to our advantage and enjoy dressing her in all the size 8 designer labels which J and I can only gaze longingly at. Having said that J (and I am sure she won't mind me saying) has been known to squeeze herself into a few smaller-sized labels quite successfully. The problem is getting her out again.

So we are three happy girls this morning, standing in front of our new wardrobes, wondering what to dazzle the world in today. Whatismore and to the point is we've recycled and we have helped an important charity.

Charity Items since last time:

H&M stripey top £3.99 (Barnardo's)
Coast skirt £6.99 (Barnardo's) - Christmas outfit sorted in plenty of time!
Betty Jackson skirt £9.99 (Barnardo's) - never had a designer name like Betty's before!
H&M Jacket £4.99 (Barnardo's) - wore last night to a course I'm on
Regatta boy's fleece £2.99 (British Red Cross) - my son has desperately needed a fleece for mucking about in.

What's a drip here, a drop there

My Mum in her heyday was very very self-sufficient and efficient. She would do all her own decorating and she would paint the house top to toe every year. I have a sneaking suspicion that if I had stood still on one of her painting days I would have got a first coat. Although she would cover furniture and other obstacles some things did get paint-splashed here and there. Indeed she was asking  the other day how my own house painting was going and located a little speck of paint on her cardigan from days gone by. How much she wishes with all her heart and being that she could still climb a ladder with paint brush in hand and transform a room in a day instead of sat in an elderly people's home, riddled with arthritis and memories.

Anyway I only serve to mention the above in letting you know the paint school to which I subscribe ie cover with sheets as little as possible and wipe up as you go along. I am a busy Mum with things to do and can't hang around over-prepping.

I have a lot of painting to do since our extension was finished. And I am amazed where paint can transport itself. Yes I swear it's alive and deliberately lands where it knows it should not. It creeps under newspapers and stains floors; it drips on covers and then I move the cover and it streaks the floor and my most novel accident: it drips onto a spear-like plant leaf and then drips off on to the floor. I thought I was making excellent smudge-free progress and then aah I saw the damage.

I'm not very good at preparation basically.  Look closely at the non-carpeted areas in our house and you will find faintly white cirrus formations in corners or along skirting boards where I have dripped and wiped but not very immediately nor successfully. Of course this is all my own fault. My painter's report would read: 'an impatient person with no attention to detail. Virginia will not go far in the professional paint world.'


At times over the last few months I've felt I've been appearing in my own Laurel and Hardy sketch or Norman Wisdom screwball escapade. I drip paint, I wipe it up, I drip paint, I wipe it up but I wipe it up with the cloth I've just wiped it up with and just put more paint onto the floor. Then the paint laden cloth contaminates my fingers and I open the door to get to the bit of arcitrave I can't get to and then swipe paint on the lovely glass door handle that I wanted to keep pristine and then I wipe it with the cloth forgetting it's covered in paint already. It's a joy.

But here's the thing, looked on as a whole (and as long as you are not a professional decorator) it's all just fine and progress is being made. Moreover I am thankful I can still paint and regret with all my heart that my Mum cannot.

I know you're out there!

Just thought my regular readers might be interested in finding a little more about other readers of Livingat88. By my calculations there are about 10 of you who regularly read my posts - yep I'm hitting the big time here. I'll settle for quality readers not necessarily a huge quantity of you.

And I think you are mainly British, Russian, and American with a German thrown in for good measure if I can decipher the stats correctly. I assume I know most of the Britishers (loyal family and friends presumably - although they often forget to read it, don't you, David!).

I thank you all and hope you'll keep reading. Try to get in touch please. I say 'try' as I know at least one of you would like to comment more but the means by which to do so is too technically complicated or something. Perhaps that's a good thing really. I live in hope anyway.

Are you thick or what?

I was reminded today of an expression that I hadn't used for a long time. One of those expressions that turns the normal meaning of a word upside down and encapsulates perfectly a feeling or concept. One that is full of subtleties. One where the meaning has just seeped into you over the years.

We were talking about two friends who are 'very thick'. And no...we didn't mean that they are a little dim or unintelligent. We meant that they are very good and close friends. Mates who are almost inseparable, have good times together, stick up for one another. It's often difficult for other friends to penetrate that 'thickness'.

I could go on but that's defeating the meaning of the word. When my friend said 'they are very thick', I knew what she meant and no more was said.

One letter to go

What do you think about 'thank you' letters? I was brought up big on thank yous whether in person or on the page. And so now I insist on my children writing them. My children could spell 'thank you' from a very early age! Of course if they see someone and can say thank you face-to-face that's great but otherwise it's letters.

I have a theory that in this day of social media, texts, mobiles and emails that we have less meaningful communication. So many ways to keep in touch and yet sometimes we just forget to talk or say thank you. My Mum in her elderly people's home loves letters and yet she receives so few. We are all so busy it's sometimes nice to slow down and take stock.

I have a vague notion that by making the children write letters they will appreciate their gifts and the thoughts behind them all the more. Goodness knows that they receive enough and so I believe it's a way of slowing down and giving a little back instead of getting, getting, getting. I also think it makes them remember who bought them things. I'm sentimental that way.

There is also a practical aspect when presents are sent through the post that you acknowledge they have arrived!

Of course, there is a danger that they will forever resent writing the damn letters but we do it very slowly after birthdays and Christmas, doing one a day or not so I think it worth the risk. They do moan and rant a little but I'm old fashioned so won't be moved on the subject.

One letter to go!

Mr Kipling sprinkled with icing sugar

When is a biscuit not a biscuit? I have a cook book out of the library about biscuits and in it there is a recipe for Viennese Whirls. These are my very absolute favourites from childhood. I would have them at my Auntie Ivy's and they were delectable, luxurious, wondrous objects which melted in the mouth. Dusted with icing sugar, Mr Kipling was very clever. Is that Mr K sprinkled with sugar or the whirls? But are they biscuits or small cakes? I think they are small cakes, purely on the basis that they are found in the cake aisle at the supermarket.

Confession: actually the whole point of this blog is to show off my homemade Viennese Whirls. Tasteablog really does need to be invented.

Biscuit nostalgia

Did you see Nigel Slater's documentary on the 'Great British Biscuit' over the holidays? I caught up with it last night and oh what a joy. I really didn't realise how much or how many biscuits make up my history. My Mum was a great home baker and I didn't think I had been exposed to the shop-bought biscuit that much. But I was wrong when I think about my own great British biscuits. Garibaldis, digestives, pink wafers, iced gems, rich tea, fig rolls, Pppppenguins, Clubs, Tunnocks, Jacob's cream crackers. The list is endless.

I associate Penguins with starting school. My Mum gave me one every day to take to school. Which colour would I get? Think the green wrappers were my favourite. Then she thought they became too expensive and I was bereft of my Penguin.

I associate Party Rings with..well...parties. The colours were just splendid. It was beyond my experience to see these colours on something you could actually eat.

I associate iced gems with little miracles of colour too and a treat. Lovely tiny little kisses of colour. Do you pop it whole in the mouth or bite the top off?

I associate Clubs with visits to my Auntie Ivy's. And in those days the chocolate was laden so thickly on them that I agree with Nigel Slater: you really could carefully bite off all the chocolate and be left with the biscuit within untouched. You'd find it difficult today.

Pink wafers....well they were pink and had a sweet, almost perfumed smell and taste.

I associate Tunnock bars with walking in my teens. My Mum suddenly started buying them from Morrisons and introduced me. We would have them on picnics.

I associate custard creams with taking them apart and scraping off the cream with my two front teeth.

Garibaldis were the moreish biscuit for me. Have one and you are done for. You have to break off the whole row and start on the next.

Bourbon biscuits were always disappointing. Chocolate biscuits but not quite chocolate somehow. Bit malty? They had a strange almost stale taste that to me didn't go with how they looked. Bourbons would definitely be my last biscuit remaining in the tin.

At tea times in my Mum's elderly people's home, the care staff bring round a biscuit tray of pink wafers, fig rolls, custard creams, digestives and a few others. Pink wafers are definitely the most popular. It's somehow very comforting, civilised and reassuring to see that tray.

I'm off to the supermarket. I may linger in the biscuit aisle.