Last Night ....

The neighbours were at it again ... the drunken foul-mouthed neighbours.

Now anyone who knows me knows I'm not a prude, I'm not adverse to a bit of a swear now and again (I was a heavy contributor to the swear jar at work, we, 5 of us, managed to raise $90-odd in 3 months @ 50c a swear - paid for xmas lunch). However, the constant, monotonous, unending repetition of F***ing C*** (how coy - I mean fucking cunt of course), being howled, banshee-like, by a woman who at best sounds like an enraged cockatoo, between say, 11pm and 2am, does not for a restful night make.

And last night she took it a step further, last night she smashed in his front window. The tinkle of glass was sufficiently unusual to bring out Mr Brown (who generally does not like to go out to tell them to shutthefuckup, which is what I'd do if he did not give me one of those looks). Mr Brown popped out the front door and asked in level moderate tones (he'd make a good diplomat) what was going on? He was informed that she'd been locked out, that he wouldn't let her in (we'd gathered that). Mr Brown sagely advised that perhaps it might be a good idea if she went home then. She declined to do so but apologised for the noise and was quiet from then on, just sat on the doorstep, amongst the broken glass.

This happens quite a lot, the two of them get rip-snorting drunk (at the local bowling club Mr Brown believes), he leaves to go home before her and (we assume) pops himself into bed and goes to sleep. She follows later, can't get in (it's not her house and it would appear he doesn't want to give her a key, what a surprise) and starts howling to be let in. And the hammering with her shoe on the door and the angry, abusive words, as noted above. This has happened every couple of days for a month or 2 now. Perhaps it is their reaction to the armpit month.

Before it was just every month or so. Sometimes the police are called (not by us Mr Brown snatches the phone from me!), sometimes the ambulance (not because of hitting, apparently they get so drunk they fall down and break wrists and ankles, also he has a dicky heart). The police take her away, shrieking threats and abuse at him as they lead her down the street. We don't think they hit each other though at times it sounds like they are racing horses up and down the hall while throwing furniture.

As I said, a restful night this does not make. The hate and the rage and the venom makes my heart race. Even when it's all over I lie there, heart going thumpety thump, beastly thoughts racing through my mind (at one point I remember thinking, if he kills her, then he will be taken away to goal and it will be nice again - and I'm not one for wishing people dead, generally), unable to sleep.

SO, I've baked a cake to cheer Me & Mr Brown up, a lovely Orange & Almond Cake, again from Mr Parmenter. It's the easiest (if time consumingest) cake in the world.

2 Large oranges - boiled for 2 hours and allowed to cool
250g ground almonds
250g raw sugar
5 large eggs
1 teaspoon Bicarbonate of Soda
2 teaspoons of orange liquor (this is optional but really good)

Pre-heat your oven to 200 degrees Celsius.

Chop up and then blend to a paste, the oranges.
Beat the eggs and the sugar until creamed. Then, in alternate blobs, add the almonds (with the bicarbonate of soda mixed through) and the orange stuff, lastly dribble in the orange liquor, mmmmm.

Line the bottom of a 20cm cake tin with baking paper, butter & flour the sides. Pour in the cake mix and bake for 80-90 minutes. If it is cooked to rightness it should come out of the tin with no troubles at all (I always test with a skewer first). Allow to cool & serve with whipped cream, or King Island cream or vanilla yoghurt.

It looks dark on the outside but inside it's golden & cakey on the outside and creamy, almost quiche-y in the middle.
(crikey, I hope this doesn't mean I've become one of those people who photographs their every lunch or something)