I haven’t had Sangria in well over a decade. In my head, it was a pure, spanish sun holiday in a glass. So, in a moment of pure nostalgia, I clicked a £2.50 can into today’s shop, expecting a smooth, fruity treat to go with lunch.
It was a mistake.
Reality hit on the very first sip. It doesn’t taste like Spain; it tastes like carbonated battery acid with a desperate squirt of lemon juice thrown in to cover the crime. I’m sitting here looking at this half-finished tin, purely out of spite, and it’s a violent reminder of why I have a wine collection sitting in my flat that I never actually touch.
The last time Sangria actually tasted good was when I was 14. My mum used to make it properly—cutting up fresh fruit, mixing half a bottle of normal red wine with fruit juice, and letting us have it as a special treat. Later, on family holidays to Spain, I was allowed to drink it while sitting out in the heat. It was brilliant.
Nostalgia is a liar. It tricks you into buying a cheap, fizzy tin of regret because you’re chasing a memory of fresh fruit, red wine, and family holidays. I thought briefly about trying to recreate my mum’s recipe, but honestly? I’d rather leave those memories preserved exactly as they are—safe from modern canned imitations.
Not sure if I’ll post this but need to have a rant as my head is getting full up again with crap. I had a fall this morning and my knee really hurts from it. I wasn’t using my stick so totally my fault. D shouted at me while I’m on the floor and passed me my stick. I was still too sore to get up but felt I had to otherwise I would anger her more. We still talk about the September deadline to decide what we are doing. I’m not sure if I want to be with someone who shouts at me when I fall over, regardless of the stick. It’s only happened a handful of times. She made me feel small and stupid. Which I am because I’m not using the stick all the time. So I’m to blame for it. Guess she just got sick and tired of caring about that stuff.
I guess it’s just little things that bother me. I wasn’t looking for sympathy but a hand helping me back up would have been really appreciated.
She also keeps saying I sleep all the time. When I confront her all I get back is “you do” when in fact I don’t. When you cannot wake me, even slapping or prodding me, that would be an FND seizure. When I’m asleep in bed I wake up or move if nudged and asked to roll over because of snoring. That is normal sleep. This I wake up from. I can’t help it sometimes as my meds make me sleepy, give me red eyes, and make me look tired. I do not fucking enjoy taking them in the first place. I don’t need comments about it, I don’t find it funny.
Truth hurts I guess and I’m just too soft for it.
And dickhead (brother) has signed up my number to a debt collection agency in his name so now I get texts and calls. Blocking them as they come. Muppet.
I thought I would l try something new. A picture paints a thousand words and god knows how many emotions it involves as well. So I’ll pick a photo twice a week and write about it. Then see where the conversation takes us. Hopefully discovering more in the picture. It will make a change from moaning about things. I should really stop saying moaning because the whole point of this blog is to vent somewhere while I wait for professional help.
Oh my god, my typing is awful today. Constant deleting. I’m blaming the PRN meds again. But that’s another post for later.
So this picture. I have a routine with both of the dogs now which works pretty well with my work, home life and responsibility.
7am – 15-minute dog walk around the block 10am – Garden bathroom for dogs 2pm – 30-minute dog walk around the area (see photo) 5pm – Dinner time 6pm – 15-minute dog walk for bathroom 9.30pm – 15 minutes Last walk before bed
Dobby refuses to go to the bathroom in the garden, so I gave up waiting 20 minutes for him to do something I just take them both out on a walk and that does the trick. We used to get a few accidents when we first got him, so the schedule, although annoying sometimes, works well.
My point. The afternoon walk takes us to a local landmark which you can see in the background of the photo. A beautiful Tudor house which is open at certain times for people to come and see it. The photo was taken as I was walking past earlier this year. It makes me feel intrigued that something so old is still standing, that the history of that place is immense but saddens me because it lives in a council estate. Yes, I live on a council estate. I don’t mind the labels but they are true about the behaviour on them. So makes me a little sad to see the windows on the bottom right that is broken, the massive chains on the gates and the amount of dog shit that people never pick up. Never understood that last one. Are you supposed to stand there and pretend they didn’t do that? and just walk off? weird. Unless they didn’t have a bag, but still, I’d come back out again with one if I did. Sidetracked.
It makes me feel warm and happy because of the snow. The snow makes me feel cold which means the house will be warm, so when I get home I’ll have that lovely warm feeling of sitting down, after a good walk and drinking coffee. Preferably that would be rum or some red wine but alas we cannot have everything.
If you want to read up about the building you can see everything you need to know over —> here <—
During the mid-17th century, when it was owned by a family of wealthy yeomen and merchants, the hall was given a grand Jacobean-style stone extension.
In later years the building was split into several rented dwellings and, whilst living in one of these with his family, this is where Samuel Crompton famously invented the Spinning Mule.
This invention was the first multiple-spindle machine capable of consistent fine yarn production. It revolutionised the UK’s textile industry and literally shaped the fortunes of the town and the North generally.
Hall i’ th’ Wood was inhabited up until the late 19th century, after which it fell into disrepair.
Thanks to Lord Leverhulme, a local businessman and philanthropist, the building was saved from ruin and much-needed repairs were undertaken.
The house and grounds were presented to the people of Bolton in memory of Samuel Crompton and were opened to the public as a museum in 1902.
Today it is a place where you can enjoy displays of 17th and early 18th-century furniture, objects and artefacts, learn more about the fascinating life and work of Samuel Crompton and discover all about life in Stuart and Tudor times.
The rooms have been accurately refurbished to retain their homely atmosphere and the Lancashire kitchen, cosy Brownlow bedroom, fine oak panelling and ornate plasterwork all bring to life times gone by in this fascinating family house.
A wide variety of events and activities take place throughout the year, catering for people of all interests and ages, meaning there is always something to see and do on your visit.
