Now what am I supposed to do?
Grant went off to the Post Office to make some negotiation leaving me without instructions.
He made rusks and left them in the oven, but he didn’t tell me what to do when the beeper went off.
It wouldn’t do to be like Alfred and burn the cakes.
Perhaps I’ll just go and look at them.
Glad to say they will not be ruined because just as I took the picture, he returned.
Obviously they aren’t done yet, but they have to be taken out of the pan and separated and then they go back in to cook a whole lot more, very slowly.
Till they are hard like rocks, but oh so good!
For dunking in tea or coffee or whatever your choice of warm beverage. What we call “more-ish”.
A South African invention.
Another of Grant’s creations.
The man is mad for curry. We had just found an Indian restaurant when Covid struck and that was that, so he decided to make his own and hasn’t stopped since.
There was a time when I would have tucked in too but these days I don’t tolerate anything spicy.
So a couple of times a week, Grant feeds me scrambled egg or French toast. Which he does very well.
He says I need the protein.
He’s probably right. My diet is atrocious.
Two hours in the garden this morning, which were good for the head, at least.
Poking around, I let my mind go to my fantasy land, where I make the rules as well as the story.
It’s a lot better than reality.
A halo of mosquitoes hovered over me, but was kept at bay by the repellent I actually remembered for once.
Summer is definitely winding down, but there are a few plants that seem to prefer this time of year.
So I cleared the beds to give them space.
It may not help them at all, but at least it makes me feel better.