Today was the best kind of day, full of unadulterated pleasure. The radio playing all afternoon, three sets of Sunday papers, it took me 4 hours to plough through the Sunday Times, Telegraph and Independent and I still haven't covered every article. I always wheedle out and set aside the sections on motoring, sport, appointments and money matters, before I dive head first straight into the arts and travel, then on to the supplements, returning to read the main papers after lunch.
In a kind of effort to cut back on waste, now I only buy the Sunday papers when I know I am going to have time to read them. I cleared a pile from my office before Christmas dating from September, still in their cellophane! At the time another distraction from writing; I was like a child sent to clear her bedroom but on finding a favorite book finds time to sit amongst the mess before falling under the spell of the narrative, yes even old news holds and interest, losing all sense of time or purpose.
I made a delightful lunch with Savoy cabbage, sausages and gravy that reminded me of my cooking chums in Arvon, hardly worthy of a culinary award but none the less full of flavour and goodness. I whipped up a baked egg custard and a rice pudding to use up some eggs and a surplus of cream and milk and a maraschino jelly. It was a day taken at a leisurely beat, when the cooking just fell into place, nothing was stressful, everything flowed with ease ensuring a smooth end to a hectic week and a relaxing start to a new one. For once guilt escaped me, I was just filled with a sense of indulgence as I finally tucked into my rice pudding and blackcurrant conserve from somewhere in between the broadsheets ... Ahhhh.
2 comments:
That lunch is making me very hungry, Foxi. Today I am consigned to what will doubtless be a very ascetic and rather somber lunch, in the Crypt below St Martin's in the Field in Trafalgar Square, with an old, old friend from s long-defunct homeless men's soup kitchen. Memories!
God, I love rice pudding!
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