I’m trying to be domesticated. It’s all rather haphazard as nearly all my brain is occupied by Fred. I have large purple shadows beneath my eyes as Elise and Kit keep talking in my head at bed time. It’s like having rather noisy room mates living in your brain. When I’m not busy with Fred, I’m trying to be a good and useful little woman about the house (that’s what happens when you read too much Monica Dickens).
I made an apple pie for my Canadian friends and for the lovely Laura and Mr Miles (who sent me to Persephone books). Gillian (Canadian pal no 1) was slightly anxious: ‘why don’t we just buy one?’ she quoth-ed. ‘Suppose no one knows that you’ve gone to all that trouble and they don’t realise it’s home made?’ I reassured her that everyone would know my pie was home made. See insert. And yes, I like to label my food, just in case no one can tell what it’s supposed to be…
Then, this morning, Mr S and I went picking sloes to make sloe gin. Yum. We picked on a well-walked path in the village and several neighbours passed, commenting ‘Gin,’ as they went. I think ‘Gin’ is the new ‘hello’ for this Autumn season. Then, in the local hardware store, we bumped into another neighbour trying to buy a jar big enough to hold 3 pints of the stuff. It really is the season.
And finally, a picture of me not working, but happy all the same. Ah. I have to go. My mother’s coming round for supper and I’ve not put the slow roast pie in the oven.