Early Morning Cheese Sauce
It is an hour, wee and small. But past the witching hours and now firmly into the bitching hours: “Whyohwhyohwhyohwhy can’t I sleep etc?”
Trouble has woken me up by purring sweet little nothings into my ear, which would be sweet, apart from the concommitant drool. She’s getting on a bit but clearly enjoying these middle years, I think. There’s nothing she enjoys more than a bit of early morning impishness (“snicker” – The Cat) and waking me – legendary insomniac in my own nap-time – up, totally and irreversibly. Perhaps for ever. I’m not joking about the insomnia; why do you think I blog so much?
It’s freezing. Off to try and institute some housal-warming and get us out of this permafrost Dave likes to keep us all semi-mummified in.
Back now, with a warming beverage and a high-fibre cereal.
I have been banished upstairs to the spare-room, you see, because of the insomnia, or so Dave thinks, but actually it is a self-imposed exile because of his snoring. We’re hopelessly incompatible, you see. But, as my granny always taught me: let the man think it’s his idea. And thus, one rainy afternoon, baking with Granny in her warm kitchen and thigh deep in jam tarts, I learnt my first Womanly Wile.
But, here, night after night, Wocky (my laptop) and I are developing, well … feelings, for each other (furious blush). As I gaze into his pixels, I know that he will take me skipping to the mountain-top and show me the other side. He will show me the world. And I will be a good owner and never let his battery run out.
*
Last night was Team Trivia Tuesday at the local bar, and we carried the night; the first half, at any rate. When we win a round we get free shots, which means a good overall lead has to be established early on, in order to win overall. This is because by the later rounds we can only win if the topics are things like Synchronised Team Dribbling 2004-2006) with questions like “Who, in a memorable lurch towards the bathroom in June of ‘05, hilariously stumbled over a bar-stool, ricocheted off several paying customers, scoring 5 points for each, and, executing a beautiful, almost ballet-like spin and double toe-loop, which will live forever in the minds of the spectators, scored the bathroom clean, without bumping off the door-frame, or anything? Bonus point if you can say if it was the correct bathroom for his or her sex. Extra bonus point if you can still say anything at all, at this point.”
*
Moving on to the Romanians, then. What? You were expecting coherence, were yo?. A post with a point? Ohnononono. You’ve got the wrong site. Move along, please. There’s nothing for you here, today. On account of the wee hour thing.
Anyway, the Romanians. I’ve been following a conversation about Germans over at Dies Irae:(http://diesirae.blogspot.com/) when latterly, Mr Ivan Terrible asked the following:
Ivan the Terrible said…
Well, the Rumanians are still trying to domesticate the dog. But they beat Hungary anyway.And another thing – why can’t they make their mind up how to spell their country’s name? Is it Rumania, Romania or even Roumania? I’ve seen them all…
Well (modest cough), I think, as a housewife of some experience, I can help clear that up, Mr. Terrible: It is one of these words, like ’schadenfreude’ in German, which has no corresponding words in other languages, other than to highlight something unsettling about one’s national character.
“Roumania” is that high you get from making vast quantities of perfect cheese sauce*. It is an example of a “High Romanian” word. It’s corresponding “Low Romanian and hinterland” word is Roumelancholia and is characterized by almost no sauce-making at all, white, cheese or bechamel. You have to have medicaton for it to start saucing at regular levels again, but in some ways the Roumania can be worse. That can be isolating and exhausting and the cost of the flour alone is often prohibitive. It is not to be confused with ‘rheumatism’, which is an inflammation, or burning of the cheese sauce.
Don’t feel you have to thank me, though, Mr. Terrible. I’m just glad to be able to help.
I’m feeling really sleepy again, and my eyes are closing as I type, so off to try to wink 40 times.
*The ‘roux’ (ph: roo) being the butter and flour pasty blob that you add the milk etc. to.
March 15th, 2006 at 9:00 pm
Try interrupting the rhythm of the snore by getting an electronic watch that will beep when you press one of its buttons. If that doesn’t work, carefully pour a teaspoon of cold water into one of his nostrils.
March 15th, 2006 at 9:08 pm
Thanks Mr. Bananas. You have given me 2 more things to do when I just can’t sleep (I’m always hunting for new and exciting ways to not sleep). I’m off to add them to my list but i don’t know how to categorize them. Under “Impish Nocturnal Japes”, “Scientific Experiments Conducted In A Genuine Spirit of Enquiry”, or just “Stuff to Do While the Kettle’s Boiling”. I rather think the second. Yes, I rather do.
March 15th, 2006 at 9:56 pm
Have you said hello to all your fellow Scots in this corner of the blogosphere – e.g. Dr Maroon, Kim Ayres (real name) and Binty McShae? They are linked in my blog as Dr Maroon, The Bearded Scotsman and Average McTosser. I’ll link to you as well in the near future.
March 15th, 2006 at 11:10 pm
There are the old remedies – sew a tennis ball in the back of his jammies so he woun’t lay on his back (depending on his jammies) and also making him go to the doctor to determine why he snores. It might be a curable medical condition (as mine was).
As for bechamel sauce, how does it go on hot dogs?
March 16th, 2006 at 12:02 am
OK, you lost me with the ro.. rou… Romania thingy… and you mention dribbling twice, is this going to be a constant theme?
Sounds a bit like some of the pub quizzes I’ve been to “Extra bonus point if you can still say anything at all, at this point.” indeed!
March 16th, 2006 at 8:30 am
I’m a tired problem-child-bride, so am off to bed, but will be stopping by the other Scottish bloggers tomorrow to growl at them. That’s what we Scots do when we want to be winning and affectionate.