Today is the day Covid restrictions are lifted and we can all do as we please. Except where we should follow guidance. Or common sense. Or whatever is most expedient at the moment.
That's all I am going to say on the subject, as it makes absolutely no difference to me - well, us two, as if he goes out on the razzle and brings the virus home with him, then I'm up some creek or other without a paddle. I'm not sure if this situation was what we had in mind when we made out marriage vows, but then, life is full of surprises.
So, what have I been doing these past three weeks? Loads of stuff, none of it remarkable.
I'll save the little micro incidents of our daily life to pad out a whole series of blog posts...
Let's talk sour dough.
I have flushed my two jars of sour dough culture away. What a good job I didn't give them names. The problem is, that apart from the bread machine method I haven't been able to produce anything except ballistic missiles. It seems to go like this - feed the starter every day, weigh out and mix the ingredients, knead it until it looks plausible, prove overnight, bake, cool, slice, and throw away.
You also have sour dough 'discard' to use; I love sour dough crackers, but my home-made ones tasted of cardboard. The sour dough cinnamon spiced loaf tasted bland. The sour dough scones - I'll tell you what happened to the sour dough scones.
One of the cats, at the ripe old age of ancient, is not so creaky that she can't jump up onto the work surfaces if she thinks she won't get caught, and the smell of sour dough has proved to be an acceptable substitute for catmint, as far as I can tell. So she sampled the sour dough scones. We knew, because that resulted in them being rearranged from rows on the cooling rack to an untidy heap on the floor.
That was the last straw - why spend hours messing about with pale beige sludge when there is a new bakery opened up in town and friends will buy a beautiful loaf for us which we can slice and freeze.
As for That Cat, now that there is no sour dough to hunt down, she turned her attention to the empty butter dish, and was caught crouched in the sink, drinking buttery water...
That Cat - looking as though butter wouldn't melt in her mouth