Success. Of a sort.

[desperance]

I have finally made a halfway decent loaf of bread again: good consistent crumb, nicely sour flavour. And I achieved this how, you ask? By giving it twenty-four hours for its final rise, rather than four. It's insane. Dear sourdough starter, what is the matter with you...?

In other news, we went to balutakat's party last night at learnteach's house, and a fine time was had by all, or at least by us, or at least by me; far be it from me to speak for anyone else.

And any minute now we're going to take tea (at lunchtime, yes) with friends at an English teashop. They think I'll be amused and perhaps a mite disparaging; what they don't realise is that genuine English teashops are just as fake.

And this evening we're going to watch Julie play hockey. That's ice hockey, of course. I once had a delightful conversation with a Canadian about hockey, and it took us a good ten minutes to realise we were discussing totally different sports. I look forward to the opportunity to exclaim "Jolly hockey sticks!" and ask who's taking the bully. (Do they bully off in ice hockey? I have no idea...)