A Head of Marmalade

This morning I made the Much Malarkey Manor Marmalade 2010. This process had the added advantage in that I was able to steam my head over the mixture for the duration of its two hour cooking time, and believe you me, marmalade has much better nasal/ear/ throat decongestion properties than Vicks and all your other leading de-congestant brands.

I was very good - I didn't cough or sneeze into the mixture once. I merely imbibed of all the steamy rich-in-Vitamin-C air, and then my ear went pop and for a brief few seconds I was able to hear in glorious techni-colour.

But now my ear is back to humming at me, though I fancy not quite as loudly as it was first thing this morning. I wouldn't mind the humming if it came in the form of something cheerful, or entertaining, like 'I'm Too Sexy,' or 'Let's Groove,' but it doesn't. It's just 'Hummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,' in the manner of a having tone deaf bee trapped inside a sea-shell clamped to your ear.

Last night was the best night's sleep I've had for a fortnight. I think it was the codeine. Either that or the dubious Hugh Grant film we caught the tale end of where he was pretending to be an ageing 1980's boy band singer whilst writing songs for a teenage strumpet who did a lot of writhing with not many clothes on. At least, that's my understanding of the plot. It was disappointing. I rather like Hugh Grant and his ability to play all his characters in exactly the same manner whichever film he is in. He is what you might call an 'economical actor.' It's nice if, like me, you don't enjoy surprises. Anyway, I gave up after half an hour. I did not wish to see if Hugh managed to live happily ever after with Drew Barrymore especially as he is old enough to be her father. (Apparently, they did live happily ever after, so Andy said, but I'm still not interested.)

The only other time I've been disappointed by Hugh G is when he pursued Andi McDowell so relentlessly in 'Four Weddings and a Funeral.' I mean, Andi McDowell?? There were at least 5 other women in that film he could have cast his affections upon and he chose Andi McDowell. She's the human equivalent to a Kleenex, for heaven's sake. He should have stuck with Charlotte Colman. At least she had a bit of fizz to her, God rest her soul, and didn't spend the entire film strutting around like a precocious humourless arty know-it-all with a loo brush up her arris...

Of course, the making of the marmalade brought once more to the fore my recurring angst about where am I going with my life. Aside from both having their sticky moments, making marmalade is the polar opposite of being a teacher. I suppose I could teach people how to make marmalade, but then I enjoy marmalade making so much I'd only end up snatching the spoon away and saying 'I'll do it, you idiot. Just go and sit in the corner and DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING!'

And I miss having the time to make cakes, and biscuits (although I did knock up a batch of shortbread last night during the ad breaks for Harry Hill's TV Burp) and to do things like knitting and sewing and, more importantly, writing. This blog has been the sum total of my writing over the last 5 weeks. It's just not good enough.

Ah well. Only one more week and then it's half term. I hope my germs have all died a death by then because I have things to do that require A1 tippity top health. And that I'm not bogged down with school work because my Head of Department keeps saying things like 'Oh, you can plan for this during half term, and add to that in half term, and don't forget that as soon as you come back after half term I want this, and this, and that done as well.'

And we're supposed to be getting more snow this week.

Well, I'm not having it. No way. Stay away snow. If you know what's good for you.