And did she enjoy it?
I have a fresh sour dough loaf on the cooling rack
I advise folk to stand back until our chatelaine has had the hot buttered crusts
Surveys Sharp Elbows inna Proud Manner…
I have been sewing. With a cat on my head. She likes to sit on the back of that chair and supervise goings-on in the street. Then she played with my ponytail for a bit, before turning round to look at the outside world again and gently edging her bum onto my head. It must have been reasonably comfortable, because she stayed like that for a good half-hour,
Now I have an edake.
I would suggest that the edake can be accounted a self-inflicted wound.
You know what, Fishy? You’re probably right, but not in the way that you think [draws veil over the indoor recycling bin]
I have been knitting a winter jumper and baking bread rolls as cosy activities that allow me to remain by the stove!
It’s just not good enough. I am .so chilled after braving the wind and rain while shopping, that I have been forced to use my microwaveable heat pad. On the bright side, we have two blackbird fledglings who are proving more doughty than this ageing bee.
The heating has gone on again here, Bee, and I’m wondering if I can persuade the cat back onto my head for a bit of body heat. Sod this, as they say, for a game of soldiers.
I hope that Pidge’s diet is such that she won’t be adding an anaerobic element to your boncely heating, Gus.
It is a rare occurrence, very rare; but it wouldn’t be pleasant. When she was still a young kitten she once let rip with a truly appalling stench, earning the awed respect of the friend who was on the receiving end (literally, she was climbing on him at the time) who had hitherto considered himself, and with some justification, a virtuoso in that regard (he’s not a bad person, just very in touch with his inner nine-year-old).
That Poodle can aim a fart with precision at the one she intends to cop for it. The first time one was gifted to Mr Bee, he went a bit green. Nobody else in the room was the slightest bit affected, apart from nine-year-old laughter at his discomfort. Given our besottedness with said Pooch, we accept these, her gifts, with equanimity. And count this ability amongst her talents.
I’ve further lowered the tone and should apologise.
Oh, dos that.
Tomorrow, armed with the flours I have had delivered from t’Internet, I am going to make (hopefully) some properly wheat-free nan breads. The recipe involves a batter of almond and tapioca flours with a tin of coconut milk and seasoning. Glops of batter are then fried in a pan and produce luscious non-bloaty nan breads. Damascene, or wot? Erm…gin?
In the nan breads?
Possibly, Fishers, but only on the second coming.
I have high hopes for this recipe and shall report back, after sleep < that is only a notion, but I intend that tomorrow will be another day. It usually is, after all.
Goodnight, Fishers and all.
Goodnight, Soo; goodnight, all.
Goodnight to those who are going
Drinks of choice to take with you
By curious coincidence I tried making a chapati-ish flatbread this evening. Very simple, yet surprisingly effective.
As a foodstuff or as SALW?
I can assure you I am neither a dwarf nor Jill Archer.