Five things make an LJ post

[shewhomust]

• I breakfasted this morning on the last corner of a loaf of the rye / cornmeal bread. The dough had been very wet - too wet, really, I misjudged it, and as a result it was very sticky and hard to handle. But it had risen - and spread - spectacularly, which supports the hypothesis that the wetter the dough, the better the rise. If this were the only change from the usual I'd say "proves" rather than "supports", but I also forgot to add any salt. And yes, I could taste the difference. It was still good enough that I served it with cream cheese and smoked salmon as first course when J. came to dinner on Saturday.



• The problem with being so enamoured of my own baking is that going out to breakfast, as we did on Monday, isn't the treat it should be. durham_rambler had been looking for a reason to breakfast at Broom House Farm, and he always enjoys the traditional cooked breakfast. I quite enjoy it, but not at breakfast time, even if I've swum a thousand metres first, so I chose 'eggy bread' from the children's menu. It was excellent, but a massive helping: two thick doorsteps of fluffy wholemeal bread. Afterwards we came home to a pot of our own coffee - and I would have made toast, too, out of sheer greed, if I thought I could possibly have eaten it!



• The snowdrops were blooming along the lane that leads to the farm.



• The reason we chose to breakfast out on Monday was that it was going to be difficult to fit lunch in, as I was due at the Eye Infirmary at 1.30 for laser treatment to clear the clouding in my left eye (a not uncommon sequel to the cataract operation, apparently). This went very smoothly. I had expected to be aware of the laser beam, but didn't feel a thing - other than the lens which they put in the eye to help target the laser, which felt huge and angular, especially when I had to look up, down, left, tight... Anyway, I am beginning to see an improvement in my vision, which is encouraging.



• STAnza, the St Andrews Poetry Festival, have been compiling a poetry map of Scotland. Almost all the poems seem very recent: so far I've only found one I already knew (attached to Sule Skerry) but I liked this Egilsay Calendar.