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Monday, 3 October 2016

Monday, 3rd October 2016 - Pickled Crab Apples

Tim is elsewhere. I am at home. He has continuous rain. I have warming sunshine. He is having a holiday following a conference in Bangkok. I have been rodding the drains. The weather conditions don't equal the imbalance.

The crab apples we picked from Hallwood Farm are now happily infusing. They take a few months to become edible but when they are they are rather lovely with cheese and a slice of apple.

The stocks we bought from The Walled Nursery are now very deeply and firmly planted as instructed.

The direction I am heading in my art class project has become beautifully clear this evening.

Sunday, 2 October 2016

Sunday, 2nd October 2016 - Broken Spine

Happy birthday to gorgeous Tom. I am so very proud of you and hope you have a fantastic time with your new job and new home. Two huge changes. We will be visiting soon so you need to do a bit of pub research before we come.

My Kindle is unable to be repaired. I have had to resort to that old fashioned book system of reading. I have two bad book habits. One is turning the edge of the page, the other breaking the spine. I feel a little guilty but just cant help myself.

Our chickens have reached their 'best before' date. One egg between six hens in one week is not terribly productive. I am having to purchase eggs from Tescos which is slightly galling when I am buying sacks of layers pellets for non laying hens. I'll speak with Si who had a surfeit of hens the last time I visited.


Saturday, 1 October 2016

Saturday, 1st October 2016 - Pot of Gold

The weather has been disgusting just as it was forecast. The smell of chutney is subsiding from the house. The jars labelled and stacked in the cupboard. I am just hoping that the preserving pans very burnt bottom will be possible to remove. I have it soaking outside in the rain with a couple of dishwasher tablets fizzing in the bottom.

I ate my courgette and tomato soup then sated my need for mind numbing entertainment with Strictly Come Dancing, while ironing bedding - I don't like to be totally indulgent.