We’ve cut up a lot of random wood for firewood, though some of it needs splitting some more to make kindling sticks. No gardening, too cold and wet. But the remainder of the wood was made a bonfire of (grammar? The purpose of grammar is to make sense, and that makes sense, yes?). And I’d taken the sensible step of removing a dish of chilli bean casserole from the freezer in plenty of time, which went nicely with asparagus from the garden.
All the same, having cooked and eaten dinner and replied to a couple of emails, I felt a bit hollow and chilly. I went back into the drawing room. “I feel like a pudding,” I announced. The Sage gazed at my stomach politely. I explained that I felt like cooking and eating a pudding, a proper one. Do you know, the microwave is jolly good, has anyone else ever noticed? I weighed two bantams’ eggs, 2.5 oz and, using their weight in the other ingredients, whizzed up a sponge pudding mix, spooned syrup in the basin, cake on top, into the microwave on moderate for 5 minutes, which gave me just time to make custard, and – well, darlings, the Sage isn’t a kissy man. The only time one can be guaranteed is on production of a proper pudding. Ben was thrilled to receive his own (small) helping.
Weeza had wanted a particular book, George’s Marvellous Medicine, to read to Zerlina, who has just very much enjoyed the BFG, I couldn’t find it, but have found a dozen or so others (and there are lots more, of course) to take over on Saturday. These include the Sheep-Pig, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Eloise, the Owl who was Afraid of the Dark – all of them books I read to Weeza, or she read herself, thirty-five years ago – no, I’m wrong. The Sheep-Pig wasn’t written then, that must have been read to Ro.