One of these things is nothing to do with the other

[desperance]

Ouchie. Yesterday's physio session was, um, a little brutal? in its efforts to recover what might have been lost ground; and now my shoulder is strapped up. And exceedingly sore. I think the strapping is really just to hide the bruises. "You may feel it for a day or two," she said. Heh. (But I left her brokedy too, nursing her poor abused thumbs. The last five minutes, she'd been using her elbows instead.)

And now I must go and make bread. Which I have not done for weeks'n'weeks, and nothing good has happened in the meantime, so. (If there are no superstitions about the baking of bread causing good things to happen around it, there ought to be...)

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[bellinghman.livejournal.com]

It uses flour and mashed potato, and known as Floris Bread, after the two writers (Maria Floris and her son Christopher) who both included it in their books on cakes, patisserie and bakery.

I'm a little leery of copying out recipes from books, but (a) I'm tweaking this one, so morally it may count as a derivative work, (b) even the latter book is currently at the life+30 years point of its copyright lifetime and sadly unlikely to get reprinted now, and (c) I'm going to claim it as part of my inheritance, Christopher Floris having been my godfather. (Hmm, his widow Kate is still alive, come to think of it, though they were divorced before his death. I could ask her if she has any ideas to whom the rights may have gone.)