shewhomust | Five things before (the end of) breakfast

Tuesday is the morning we set our alarm clock, because durham_rambler has a nine o'clock meeting - luckily only a short walk away at Redhills. They say that as you get older you need less sleep, but it isn't working that way for me: that seven o'clock alarm is a shock every time.

Our milk comes from Paradise Farm, just down the road. But the bottles comes from all over: this morning's had a little red dragon on it, and a phone number which durham_rambler identified as being in Wrexham.

The second loaf of the year is very plain, just buckwheat and wholemeal - one I've been promising myself for a while, and then being distracted. It's as tasty as I remember it, and dough which was too sticky to handle with ease has produced a well-risen (and unusually symmetrical) loaf. (The first loaf of the year was the Swedish summer rye because a) I thought the starter might be past its best after a longish break, and b) I had oranges to supply the necessary zest. In fact the starter was fine...).

In the continuing story of disposing of leftovers, I scraped out the last of the little jar of clementine curd which I had bought at the market as a treat. It was too sweet to be really enjoyable, and I should have known it would be (most curds are, and this supplier in particular), but I was tempted. I blame GirlBear, who served a delicious cherry curd for breakfast, and reminded me how much I like curd, when it's done right.

Less cheerfully, Saturday's paper - I'm still nibbling at the crossword, though I may now be stuck - has an obituary for Wendy Ramshaw: I like her work, and was sorry to hear of her death.