Hopelessly attached to my cakes: to each, its own character, and a weekly slug of brandy. .
Hooked on Charlotte Mendelson's 'When We Were Bad'. Irredeemably dysfunctional rabbi and literary family, imploding in the eerily familiar Hampstead/Fortis Green/Gospel Oak triangle. The central character's mystery stomach pains are making me feel a little uncomfortable. Hoping for miraculous denoument. If you've read it, don't tell me.
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Bazaar at the lovely St Andrew's Church Hall this pm, where I used to teach an unfortunately timetabled yoga class (always began by sweeping up splinters and dog hair - dog handling, alas, was a few hours before me). They've had a revamp since, but I bet the same stock comes out. Have been accepted on an in-service training course, teaching yoga for cancer. It's a year away. But a good thing to have on the distant horizon.
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Sainsburger's online grocery ordering has crashed - the only thing the system is allowing anyone to purchase, is a chicken.
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Weather good enough for gardening. Time for a symbolic snip or two.
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