'Blogging' Etiquette

I can't get used to this internet nonsense. That young lad from the newsagents was trying to get me to do a 'website', and I was nearly sucked in until he told me it would cost £350 and a monthly 'host' fee. I didn't realise he was a catholic, or that Jesus needed a tithe for the priviledge. Anyway, he told my my blogging effort was amateur and prosaic, not that I'm quite sure he knew what that meant. He was reading The Star after all. I caught him on the nude page too, when I picked up my Foxes' Glacier Mints. But I will persevere with the blog, as Mrs.Colchester's son is very clever. He's been to Oxford, you know.
So I shall start again...
There has been a development. The empty shop across the way (it used to be a second hand book shop) has been let at last! I know it because it had a light on and a tall chap and two young girls came out. They were tall too, and blonde, one thin and one plump. I have to say they seemed very clean but laughed rather too loudly, and Malcolm Trestle is convinced they are 'of that sort'. He's a dirty old man, though.
The girls were talking to the Manager of the hotel, who I am sorry to say I think is also a 'dirty old man', as he was leering at the slight girl in that peculiar way. He's got a bit of a reputation for being a 'ladies man', or so said old Vera who has her hair done in the village hairdressers. That has its own reputation, but I don't go in for gossip as a rule. Anyroad, they all shook hands and that seems to be that. Whether it will be a bookshop again I don't know, but it will be a nice change from a the boarded window with faded picture of Elton John.
The morning was uneventful, but seeing the manager and the girls, and Mr Gimbert's being sick on himself after the rhubarb tart, I decided to close a little early and do a spot of tweaking on my strawberry sponge recipe. It was not a success, but I believe the recipe should be as follows...

To make a cake for 8 people to eat together at the same time.
200g golden caster sugar
200g unsalted butter
2 large eggs
200g self raising flour
1 tbs golden syrup
100g fresh strawberries
2 tbs balsamic vinegar

I make the cake in the usual way, creaming butter and sugar, beating eggs together and adding to sugar/butter mix a bit at a time with the flour. I then cook the strawberries gently in the balsamic vinegar over a low light and then add the syrup. I bake the cake while the strawberries cool, and then spread over the cake. It went soggy, which is an accurate representation of my mood.

Off to a cheeky start.

Hello there. My name is Maud Mortimer and I am new to this 'internet' lark. I have been told by Raymond, Mrs. Colchester's son who is a lawyer, to keep a public record of all the doings of the shop, what with recent events, and apparently this 'blog' effort is a good way. Whether it will stand up in court is quite another thing, but I'm doing it anyway. I'll give a bit of background, as I'm sure none of this will make sense any other way, but there we are. I am the proprietor of Miss Mortimer's Tea Rooms, a quiet establishment in a little village in Lancashire. We serve traditional fayre, despite the wranglings of those blasted Americans the other day, insisting on a cappucino. I told them we don't serve cappucino, we serve tea and coffee. "That's what I'm talking about," he said in his Maryland accent and badly fitting denim, "give me a cap." "We don't sell 'caps'," I said, "you need to go to Emmets', the sport's shop for a cap." "Look lady," and he wagged a finger in such a rude way... but I digress. We serve tea, coffee, occasional fruit juices and baked goods, scones, cake and the like. I bake everything freshly on the premises and all tea is served in china, with the correct number of accoutrements; tea pot, cup and saucer, milk jug, tea strainer, sugar bowl and tongs, silver spoon. I don't tell Mrs. Greenwood that the spoons are silver as she would have them away quicker than I could say Jack Robinson, what with her saving up for a cruise. Anyway, I have been here for twenty seven years and have had a very succesful time of it, until now. Unfortunately, our village has been usurped by...a corporation. A very large hotel has been built on top of us; literally, as I have a bedroom on top of me now, number 83. The Mimosa suite, apparently. I'm not sure what a 'mimosa' is exactly, but I don't want it on top of me. Anyway, the hotel have bought the whole village! I have to pay my rent to a hotel! Can you credit it? And the manager was in this morning, telling me he'll have to see our menu to make sure we don't compete with anything they do. "I don't do caps," I said. "I thought you were a tea shop, not a milliners." They're getting cheeky. So there we are. The beginning of the end, Mr. Chesterton said. We'll have to see.

This is a test

Testing
Testing
Millicent, can you read me?