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desperanceToday we experienced a weird phenomenon: atmospheric moisture! Atmospheric moisture. Atmospheric moisture. *is bewildered*
In the true Californian spirit of running-a-tumble-dryer-despite-baking-sunshine, I have none the less turned the hose on to give the garden a thorough soak this evening. Tragically, it was only after I'd done so that I remembered I had meant to harvest the fava beans and repeat my bean-with-a-pea-dressing salad for the yogi tonight, alongside the chicken-and-white-bean stew and the mashed spuds.
I suppose I could harvest wet favas, but my feet would get all icky. Maybe I'll just steam the broccolini and the sugar snap peas instead, toss a little butter over 'em, and save the favas for m'lovely wife in days to come. Besides, there isn't any bacon to enliven the putative salad; we finished the last batch over the weekend, and the next lot is drying in the meat-fridge in anticipation of a smoke tomorrow.
In other dampish news, I seem to have washed everything today, except the cats. Which reminds me: the news you really want is this, that our little furry convalescent ate all his own (wet) breakfast and as much as he could snatch of Barry's, played loudly with his mousie and complained even louder that I wouldn't let him out to enrich his diet with a bit of wetwork, a birdie or two. I think he's fine.
In the true Californian spirit of running-a-tumble-dryer-despite-baking-sunshine, I have none the less turned the hose on to give the garden a thorough soak this evening. Tragically, it was only after I'd done so that I remembered I had meant to harvest the fava beans and repeat my bean-with-a-pea-dressing salad for the yogi tonight, alongside the chicken-and-white-bean stew and the mashed spuds.
I suppose I could harvest wet favas, but my feet would get all icky. Maybe I'll just steam the broccolini and the sugar snap peas instead, toss a little butter over 'em, and save the favas for m'lovely wife in days to come. Besides, there isn't any bacon to enliven the putative salad; we finished the last batch over the weekend, and the next lot is drying in the meat-fridge in anticipation of a smoke tomorrow.
In other dampish news, I seem to have washed everything today, except the cats. Which reminds me: the news you really want is this, that our little furry convalescent ate all his own (wet) breakfast and as much as he could snatch of Barry's, played loudly with his mousie and complained even louder that I wouldn't let him out to enrich his diet with a bit of wetwork, a birdie or two. I think he's fine.