Losing it

I SEEM TO be losing my mind…

I’m dragging my way around the housework today, with both the muggy heat and my tinnitus – the continual buzzing in my ear – getting me down.

Then I turn my attention to Sunday dinner – a salmon kedgeree – a dish I’ve made dozens of times. So, why should it have got to me this time?

It’s as if the whole thing, the whole afternoon really, goes pear-shaped on me.

I just lose control, lose patience, and I’m swept with overpowering waves of tedium and weariness.

And of course, things start to go wrong on me; the onion I’m dicing keeps slipping away from my grip, the boiled eggs I’m to chop somehow refuse to allow the shells to come off – at least not without large lumps of egg coming off with them.

And I can’t get the tin of salmon open, the damn thing flies off the tin opener and I gash my finger so that I have to run for a plaster.

Of course, My Good Lady tries to calm me down, tries to be reasonable – but that’s like a red rag to a bull to me by now.

I just completely lose it! I verbally lash out at her and the whole black and bloody business of the day.

After that and for the rest of the evening I’m sunk in a wordless gloom, barely able to say a civil word.

I think, at times, I’m really losing my mind.

Feeling calmer now, but even now I feel I’m not far from the brink, that I could lose it again without warning.

It isn’t the first time this emotional imbalance has affected me – the last time was when we were on holiday, in Nice – and I’m honestly frightened of when it might happen next.

Do you think I ought to go and see a doctor? I am wondering.

Changes

IT’S ALL CHANGE at the Pub, it seems.

So many of the regulars have already departed the Geriatrics’ Corner – many have passed away, some have moved away… Even My Good Lady and I rarely go, now, more than a couple of times a week, and then only if we know that one or two of our remaining friends will be there.

So very different from those halcyon days when the Corner was regularly full of jollity and laughter.

The latest blow fell today when Gaz, one of the managers, announces to us that he will shortly be moving himself. It seems he’s selling his share in the Pub and he’s got a job at our former local hostelry in the village of Arnside in Cumbria.

His reasons for going are sound enough of course; he’s getting married shortly and he’s looking to put down a deposit on a mortgage and to start a family – not something he can do while living “over the shop” as he is.

But we shall miss him; he’s been a good mate to us over the last ten years or so.

Sad, but c’est la vie…

Doing the Laksa

I’M STILL REELING from my experimental cooking session today.

I make us a “Quick” Thick Chicken Laksa from a recipe My Good Lady located in some magazine or other.

The recipe states clearly that it’s to serve either 2 children or 1 adult; so, my reasoning says, just double up on the quantities for two adult. Simple, right?

Wrong!

For a start, the recipe calls for 1½ red chillies – doubled up, that’s 3. 3 whole chillies? Okay, I know it’s supposed to be a spicy dish, but 3 chillies, surely, will be fierce enough to blow our heads off?

Next item is 5cm of root ginger – doubled up, that 10cm. Nearly 4 inches. That really will make a heap of ginger!

Then the recipe calls for 100ml of chicken stock and ½ a tin of coconut milk – both to be doubled up; the plate is going to be awash with liquor at this rate. All right, I suppose a laksa is a sort of Malaysian soup but this, surely, is rather a lot?

I decide to make some adjustments.

I double up on some of the ingredients, and I keep to printed recipe – that’s to say, half quantities – on some of the others.

And I have to admit, the old nerves are getting a bit frayed by this time. I feel I’m flying without a safety net.

I serve up the resulting concoction on a bed of egg noodles and nervously take a sip… Much to the surprise of both of us it turns out to be rather delicious, with the balance between the sweet and the sour, the fiery spice and the creaminess just about perfect.

One to keep I think, although retaining my adjustments to the quantities.

Yours truly, out of humour

MY DRATTED SPUDS are almost growing faster than I can keep up with. Every day I’m having to top up with more compost. At this rate I might end up a bumper crop of potatoes but I shall be a wreck!

Anyhow, I’ve another problem, health-wise, today – my periodically recurring gippy tum. Don’t know what’s set it off this time – I promise I haven’t touched any shellfish. It’s certainly griping up badly; so far I have to use the loo about six times – I even have to dash to the gents’ toilet mid-shop at the supermarket.

Oh, the joys of growing older!

Talking of which, have you noticed how, when you’re treated as a wrinkly, you end up feeling like a wrinkly?

I’ve been sent a form to fill in for my heating allowance for next winter; I’m applying for my bus pass and I can get my prescriptions filled free of charge now.

Honestly, all these perks have made me feel a lot older than I did just a few weeks ago when I was only fifty-nine and eleven months old.

On the other hand, grumpy I’m certainly getting. Glancing at next week’s Radio Times I’m struck by the omnipresence of coverage of some footballing event – almost every channel seems to be carrying some match or other, driving out even the meagre offerings they usually show.

At times I feel I’m the only sane person in a world driven into a stew of collective madness!

Anyhow, my tum seems to have quietened down for the minute – I had a bowl of chicken soup about an hour ago, and that seems to have settled it – so I might just risk a cup tea…

Might put me into a slightly better humour.

Just pottering

AL, OUR JOBBING gardener, seems impressed with my spuds, and even suggests most of them are big enough to need earthing up.

So I spend a back-aching hour shifting soil and compost into my patio bags yesterday until only the tips of the tubers are showing – and guess what, already by today, most of them have grown an extra inch or so. Just like that, overnight.

My tomatoes are progressing fairly favourably, too – bushing out, with the stems thickening up. Too early for fruit of course, but definitely looking promising.

Only the onions seem a little lackadaisical – doing nothing but just sitting there. Still, I did wonder if I was maybe overdoing it with them.

Anyhow, I’m modestly pleased with my gardening efforts so far, and with all the rain today I don’t even need to get out my watering can. God’s on the job.

For dinner this evening I do us a pie from the freezer – a rather excellent beef in red wine, made with great chunks of meat and a delicious rich gravy. All too often, shop-bought pies can be disappointing – thin, watery efforts, pastry cases filled with a syringe. Not so this one – I would not have been ashamed to have made it myself from scratch.

Sunday evening, after the chores of the day, is basically just telly watching time, recorded episodes of Daily Cooks Challenge (ITV 3) and NCIS (Channel 5). I put My Good Lady to bed about 9 o’clock, then watch a little of the Bafta ceremony (all rather tedious) before going off for my evening shower.

A quiet weekend, then, just pottering around home.