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desperanceIt's, um, in the eighties out there and heading higher. Ninety-higher, according to a swift poll-of-polls. (It is extraordinary to me, how the top ten weather forecasters on the internet can disagree so profoundly not only about their forecasts but about what the temperature is right now, right here. Very odd.)
Needless to say, I am loving this. It's October. I may have Fall in love.
In other acclimatisation-kind-of news, I may already have betrayed my legal-residence status, by jubilating yesterday over Europe's last-second astonishing-comeback defeat of America in the Ryder Cup. For those of you who do not care about such things, you will not care about this - but ooh, yes. That was good. On US soil, too. That's fit revenge for '99 and the infamous 17th green.
But I am clearly on my way to becoming Americanised, even if I'm not there yet. I had pie for breakfast, and damn' fine pie it is too, tho' I say so myself as shouldn't. I made it with apples and pears. I admit to making the pastry - which appparently I should call "crust" these days? - in a machine, but hey. I make my pesto in a machine too, and have long since stopped apologising for it.
Needless to say, I am loving this. It's October. I may have Fall in love.
In other acclimatisation-kind-of news, I may already have betrayed my legal-residence status, by jubilating yesterday over Europe's last-second astonishing-comeback defeat of America in the Ryder Cup. For those of you who do not care about such things, you will not care about this - but ooh, yes. That was good. On US soil, too. That's fit revenge for '99 and the infamous 17th green.
But I am clearly on my way to becoming Americanised, even if I'm not there yet. I had pie for breakfast, and damn' fine pie it is too, tho' I say so myself as shouldn't. I made it with apples and pears. I admit to making the pastry - which appparently I should call "crust" these days? - in a machine, but hey. I make my pesto in a machine too, and have long since stopped apologising for it.