After spending the last three days convinced I have the worst, most aggressive form of breast cancer and finally collapsing in tears on Chef about it, I found a way to really know you are alive while carrying a low-grade temp (AGAIN), boobs that feel they may either spontaneously combust or perhaps just fall off, joints that ache and muscles which feel like you’ve run the City to Surf rather than watching it on the tele while eating toast with lashings of butter.
FIVE fucking hours of FUCKING SOCCER.
And some how we were lucky, because we had AFL beforehand so were late, the rest of the team were there for SEVEN hours. SEVEN FREAKIN’ HOURS.
Chef was like a bear with a sore head, I resembled one in the dying stages of mange, Oscar was bored senseless and hot and tired, Jasper was wired in that over-tired way and Grover fed all over the shop, slept some and farted lots.
Quite a day. Stop it, I know how much you all want my life.
Yesterday was another sourdough – this time as rolls. I kneaded it for eight minutes this time and it resulted in great texture, so that seems to be the ticket for me – mixed by hand, kneaded for eight minutes.
I also made Bec’s Rotary Cake – absolutely sensational. I added a few handfuls of sultanas as well and used pecans instead of walnuts – delicious.
- Voyage ::in sunshine
- Patricia ::who?
- Transformation :: of one kind or another
- Vocabulary :: extensive
- San Francisco:: hilly
- Edward :: Scissorhands
- Sawyer :: such a nice boys name except it sounds like soya, as in bean
- Literary :: success would be nice
- Tiger :: stripes
- Seal :: flappy flippers
That is all.