Five things
Aug. 18th, 2013 12:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shewhomustBefore we went on holiday, I made an appointment for a dental checkup: it was two months off, because 'my' dentist is on holiday, but for a routine checkup I didn't mind waiting. But while we were away I developed one of those not-entirely localised pains in the jaw that usually turn out to be toothache. I've been keeping it at bay with paracetamol, but once we got home I went to the dentist and asked to see someone, anyone. Not today, they said, in fact not until next week, (which means not until Thursday, as I can't do Tuesday or Wednesday). If the pain weren't pretty low-level, I would be even less pleased about this - and I'm not very pleased as it is.
Also before we went on holiday, I took Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's advice and froze my sourdough starter. I assumed that I would discard most of this batch, and just use enough to restart it, but when it thawed it started bubbling so cheerfully that I mixed up a batch of bread anyway, using equal quantities of spelt flour and bere meal, and rather more plain white flour. This then sulked, didn't want to rise and had a odd (and disagreeable) putty-like texture. I left it overnight, thinking that if it was no better in the morning I would throw it away, and in the morning it had risen a little, and felt more promising, so I shaped it into a dozen rolls (still not sure whether I would bake them or discard them). After most of the day, the rolls had swollen if not exactly risen, so I baked them: not the lightest bread I've ever made, but not the heaviest either. Definitely the sourest, though. Cream cheese and smoked salmon may be in order.
Two curators came from Beamish Museum, as promised, and collected the washing machine. Also some of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
durham_rambler's collection of political t-shirts, and the NCCL 50th anniversary mug with the broken handle. The following morning we received a very nice letter from them (yes, of course it was a form letter, but done properly) saying thank you, this is exactly the kind of stuff we want, let us know if you have anything else... I'm eyeing a couple of lampshades in the top of the bedroom cupboard.
I have broken the butter dish. I'm annoyed about this. I always say that the only way not to break things is not to use them, and where's the fun in that? But this was sheer stupidity. The dish was one Skip* gave me, white china, rectangular, shallow, with a small fish looped lenthwise along the lid as a handle. It must have been intended to take not butter but a tin of sardines or pilchards, and it made me laugh.
August rain produced magnificent rainbows yesterday evening, on the way to and from a poetry launch (film haiku! poetry launch as movie quiz! at Whitley Bay's fabulous Dome! sitting in deckchairs, which was more comfortable than I would have expected. Wish I'd taken my camera...) At its best, a semicircle, high and complete of strong colours, with a second, more tentative bow outside it.
*My mother. I could just have said "my mother", but discovered that I miss being able to assume that the people I'm talking to remember her. So let's pretend...
Also before we went on holiday, I took Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's advice and froze my sourdough starter. I assumed that I would discard most of this batch, and just use enough to restart it, but when it thawed it started bubbling so cheerfully that I mixed up a batch of bread anyway, using equal quantities of spelt flour and bere meal, and rather more plain white flour. This then sulked, didn't want to rise and had a odd (and disagreeable) putty-like texture. I left it overnight, thinking that if it was no better in the morning I would throw it away, and in the morning it had risen a little, and felt more promising, so I shaped it into a dozen rolls (still not sure whether I would bake them or discard them). After most of the day, the rolls had swollen if not exactly risen, so I baked them: not the lightest bread I've ever made, but not the heaviest either. Definitely the sourest, though. Cream cheese and smoked salmon may be in order.
Two curators came from Beamish Museum, as promised, and collected the washing machine. Also some of
durham_rambler's collection of political t-shirts, and the NCCL 50th anniversary mug with the broken handle. The following morning we received a very nice letter from them (yes, of course it was a form letter, but done properly) saying thank you, this is exactly the kind of stuff we want, let us know if you have anything else... I'm eyeing a couple of lampshades in the top of the bedroom cupboard.I have broken the butter dish. I'm annoyed about this. I always say that the only way not to break things is not to use them, and where's the fun in that? But this was sheer stupidity. The dish was one Skip* gave me, white china, rectangular, shallow, with a small fish looped lenthwise along the lid as a handle. It must have been intended to take not butter but a tin of sardines or pilchards, and it made me laugh.
August rain produced magnificent rainbows yesterday evening, on the way to and from a poetry launch (film haiku! poetry launch as movie quiz! at Whitley Bay's fabulous Dome! sitting in deckchairs, which was more comfortable than I would have expected. Wish I'd taken my camera...) At its best, a semicircle, high and complete of strong colours, with a second, more tentative bow outside it.
*My mother. I could just have said "my mother", but discovered that I miss being able to assume that the people I'm talking to remember her. So let's pretend...
