Starting a sixteenth year of blogging seems momentous, but nothing happens at present. I made spinach soufflé for dinner and that is truly the highlight of the day.

Tim wanted to know if I’d like to keep last weekend’s Guardian food supplement. It was about pickles and fermented foods. I read everything and, actually, it was a bit dispiriting. We agreed that we don’t really feel the urge to make sauerkraut, when the local Polish shop has it anyway and, keen as I am to achieve zero food waste, cauliflower leaves and stalks pickle is depressing, even with beetroot in attendance. The help section asked “My pickled veg is fizzing. Is that OK?” to which the answer is clearly no, botulism is nasty, just bin it. Pickled sushi ginger, which I adore, was the only recipe that attracted me and, frankly, it’s not that much bother to buy.

I haven’t drawn anything either, it just doesn’t appeal today. But we are happy enough. The soufflé, as I said, was a highlight and I wrote a mildly petulant email yesterday (polite, luckily) that had a genuinely helpful answer. I have no tax to pay and a refund to look forward to. My sister is recovering well from her operation and, though I probably look quite terrible, I don’t mind at all that my hair is now long enough for a ponytail; not that i’ve resorted to one yet. Even the chickens are happy. I’ve given up on their drinkers and put a big tray in the run that will take two gallons of water, so they’re okay for a day or two.

Tim has promised to make an especially delicious cabbage soup, if I can remember to buy some leeks to go in it (yes, I know, cabbage is diluted already). He also needs white bread. So up myself I’ve become that I prefer to make rather than buy it. Lockdown fever, evidently. But anything that keeps us busy. *sigh*

Cheery-pip, darlings. I’m more cheerful than I sound.