… is absolutely delicious! With its base of agar-agar grape jelly with real pears, a mid-layer of vegan custard and the pièce de resistance – the meringue topping that went onto the custard this afternoon, it really was a masterpiece. I shall be making another one of these at some point in the near future.
So what with the vegan cheesecake that I made the other day, my repertoire of puddings seems to be expanding quite quickly. And that can only be a good thing, especially as I have decided to make a chocolate cake for Easter, with real chocolate chips and a chocolate topping. That’s Sunday’s task, with Saturday’s being, of course, to make some hot cross buns.
But retournons à nos moutons as they say around here. I was so looking forward to my trifle yesterday that last night I dashed right through my notes and everything else that I had to do, and I was actually in bed at something like a reasonable time.
However, regular readers of this rubbish will recall exactly what happens when I manage to go to bed early. It was something like 02:00 when I awoke, and failing miserably to go back to sleep, I lay there in a kind of semi-conscious haze as the clock went round and round towards 06:29.
At one point, I was seriously thinking of leaving the bed and doing some dictating, but how do you dictate when you are being constantly wracked by a series of severe coughing fits? I came to the conclusion that I would be of more use if I were to stay in bed, rest and relax and maybe eve fall asleep if I’m lucky.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be, and I was still awake when the alarm finally went off.
As regular readers of this rubbish will recall, being awake is one thing — being up and about is quite another thing. As usual, it took me a good ten minutes to bring myself round into the Land of the Living. Only then was I able to stagger off into the bathroom to sort myself out.
Into the kitchen next for my hot honey, lemon and ginger drink and medication, and then back in here to listen to the dictaphone to find out where I’d been during the night. And to my dismay, it seemed as if I hadn’t been anywhere. Nothing but silence.
Never mind — after such a bad night, it’s hardly a surprise, and there are plenty of other things that I can be doing instead.
The nurse blew in this morning after his week’s break. He had a few things to say, but he kept very quiet about the fact that in the local elections on Sunday he’d been elected to the town council. That’s probably because he knows my opinion on the town council — I’ve expressed it often enough.
After he left, I could make breakfast and read some more of ESSAYS ON THE LATIN ORIENT by William A Miller.
We’ve now come to discuss Albania in medieval times, and this has, as you might expect, led me off on a trail down a side-alley, at a tangent to where I’m supposed to be. But regular readers of this rubbish will recall that that kind of thing is only to be expected when I’m doing something.
Back in here, I revised my Welsh and then went to the lesson. It was another really good lesson, but I had to keep my microphone on “mute” for most of the time because I didn’t want my classmates to be disturbed by my constant coughing. It’s really out of control, this is.
After the class ended, my faithful cleaner turned up and shooed me under the shower for a good scrub. At least I feel quite clean now, even if I wasn’t very enthusiastic about the affair today.
She’s also bought some of the medicine that Emily the Cute Consultant prescribed for me yesterday. And now I’m more convinced than ever that she doesn’t love me any more. According to the warning notice, "Severe side effects include an increased risk of suicide.". The lesser side effects include "sexual problems". So that would seem to indicate that a bout of indoor alligator-wrestling is off the menu for the foreseeable future, for various reasons.
The good news is that she managed to find some of the expensive kitchen knives that were on offer, ridiculously cheap with my fidelity tickets. Not the ones that were most important, though, but as the offer continues until the 11th of April, she’ll keep on looking.
Mind you, there was a professional knife-sharpening tool that was included as part of the offer. They had a few of those so she brought one home, and I’ll see if I can rekindle some life into some of the old ones, as a kind of stopgap.
After she left, I went to make my meringue topping. I didn’t have enough aquafaba in the freezer, so I opened a tin of chick peas for some more. That made me decide that I would have a noodle stir-fry for tea tonight, using up the chick peas that I had just drained.
Whipping up the meringue topping made it a much greater volume than the unwhipped liquid, so I’m glad that I used my big Pyrex dish. It only just about fitted all in. And it’s heavy too. I can’t carry it one-handed so I’ve been relying on my little trolley to push around.
Back in here, I was really exhausted after all of that and what with the bad night too, so it’s no surprise that I had a little … errr … relax on the chair. Except that there was nothing “little” about it. I was away with the fairies for ninety minutes, although not in any kind of situation that would excite comment from the editor of Aunt Judy’s Magazine.
When I was back in the current World, I finished off one of the radio programmes that I’d started last week. That’s now added to the mountain of stuff that needs to be dictated, and I’ve no idea when I’ll be able to do that.
As I mentioned earlier, tea tonight was a vegan noodle stir-fry — delicious as usual, followed by my wonderful vegan trifle.
So now, suitably refreshed and suitably clean, I’m off to bed.
But before I go, seeing as we have been talking about my vegan trifle … "well, one of us has" – ed … someone once asked me "what’s made of egg-whites and sugar, and swings from tree to tree?"
"I’ve no idea" I replied. "What is made of egg-whites and sugar, and swings from tree to tree?"
"A meringue-utan of course."
, there’s a scene in there where an elderly man turns up on parade with a shotgun, the only weapon the troop has, and Mainwaring insists that he should have it. I’ve always thought that that was rather a silly decision, not the least reason being that because he would have been the only person with a gun, he would have been the only person firing at the Germans, so they would naturally fire back at him and that would remove the head of command from the Home Guard troops (with Mainwaring, that wouldn’t have been much of a loss, but there you go). Anyway, last night, there I was, and there the subject cropped up again. I suggested making the owner of the gun a Lance-Corporal, giving him two privates to assist him (all of which would have enhanced his ego and brought him on board) and thus forming a ready-made light artillery section whenever more substantial weapons appeared on the scene. I’d seen some builders and they had a stack of about two dozen trenching shovels – very thin-bladed shovels on long pole handles – and I’d fancied liberating one of those for use on the farm. But here I was on parade with a three-metre pole with a spoon on the end (with no idea what I would do with this). I was sent off to patrol around the corner of Richard Moon Street (which bore no resemblance whatever to the real Richard Moon Street) and down there was an ancient garage that I had never seen before. It had a bodyshell of an old Lotus Elan and the bodyshell of an old 105E Ford Anglia, both white, both covered with dust and green mould from standing for so long and both on sale at £100. Behind them was what remained of an old Mark II Ford Zodiac, yellow, and which was also for sale. But this place was a treasure trove. There were the remains of a 1920s hand-cranked petrol pump and all kinds of things like that, all overgrown and abandoned and I would have loved to have spent a day or two going through everything that was here.