Beanjar, bread, bangs and flashes
A day when things started to unblock. The exchange of contracts on the twitten looks likely for this week. While Talib, who photographed our wedding only to become silent and not reply to my email, got in touch. And I ended the day with a virtuous glow, having completed the preparation of my accountants, something which made me feel light and airy, as well as stern and efficient. I also did some preparation for the gifted and talented session I am doing on Thursday with Dawn. Contacted too by my chums in Tavistock Square, and may be covering for First Matie next week.
Meanwhile I also cooked a Guernsey beanjar, harbinger of winter and delicious beany aromas. I started it in the new slow cooker, but it soon became apparent that it wasn't cooking properly, and had to be transferred to the beanjar. The clue's in the name really. Additionally I baked some bread which I'd not done for a few years, and we ate some in the evening with our beanjar. Also drank fresh coffee this evening so the kitchen was full of pleasant commingled aromas.
Lorraine brought work home to be done, so I answered the door when Mark next door gave me a big bunch of flowers, from him and Nicki next door. Sweet. Turns out it was for the wedding.
Apart from a quick flour-buying mission to Sainsbury's did not venture outside until Lorraine was home, and we took a stroll the dark full of the bangs and flashes of fireworks. The air smelling of gunpowder. Lorraine, however, is nervous of unpredictable fire, having nursed the victims of the Kings Cross fire disaster, so we returned home fairly quickly.
Meanwhile I also cooked a Guernsey beanjar, harbinger of winter and delicious beany aromas. I started it in the new slow cooker, but it soon became apparent that it wasn't cooking properly, and had to be transferred to the beanjar. The clue's in the name really. Additionally I baked some bread which I'd not done for a few years, and we ate some in the evening with our beanjar. Also drank fresh coffee this evening so the kitchen was full of pleasant commingled aromas.
Lorraine brought work home to be done, so I answered the door when Mark next door gave me a big bunch of flowers, from him and Nicki next door. Sweet. Turns out it was for the wedding.
Apart from a quick flour-buying mission to Sainsbury's did not venture outside until Lorraine was home, and we took a stroll the dark full of the bangs and flashes of fireworks. The air smelling of gunpowder. Lorraine, however, is nervous of unpredictable fire, having nursed the victims of the Kings Cross fire disaster, so we returned home fairly quickly.
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