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Kneads must..

Oh to bake on a beautiful day. Such contentment.

Things have been continuing apace of late, certainly as regards career (I can't go into any detail here sadly, as at least one of my waitresses is an occasional reader, hey Flip!), there has, of course been the attendant nightmares of stress and politiics. Intriguing in darkened corners and all of that sort of business. Frankly, I'm not a great deal of use at that sort of thing. It makes me fret and when I fret I get snappy and when I get snappy I drink biblical amounts and when I drink biblical amounts it annoys the bejaysus out of the missus. No good at all.

So today, being as it is my only day off this week, has been dedicated to relaxing as thoroughly as possible without artificial aid (you feel calm, but never really are, I find). The morning was dedicated to manly, outdoor pursuits (translation, I bought a pair of hedge loppers and assaulted the back yard, two would-be trees now lie in bits in bin liners). Exertion aside, and a certain smug glow achieved the afternoon has been all about the pottering about in the kitchen, including a spot of baking which is always a calming pursuit, and yet I always seem to forget. There's something deeply satisfying about kneading dough, a tired observation which has been noted a hundred thousand times by a hundred thousand writers, but that doesn't make it any less true.

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