Fungi

These are not just any mushrooms. These are Parisian mushrooms, hand-cut and gently pan-fried in home-rendered duck fat, lightly sprinkled with Maldon sea salt.....

Actually, they are rather yummy. And a very occasional treat (mainly because I keep forgetting to do them whenever we have duck). Mr B puts them in the oven with the duck so they get all shrivelled, but I put orange juice in with the duck when I put it in the oven, so it wouldn't quite work.

Today, contrary to yesterday's pledge, I didn't get much done - whether for myself or anyone else. I finally accepted late last night (after the fortieth sneeze) that my general sense of malaise yesterday was in fact the prelude to proper poorliness. And as so often when I realise I'm actually poorly, that cheered me up no end. I hate having zero energy without knowing why.

So, today I didn't do much, and didn't feel bad about it. My book is a bit more read and the teabag and biscuit boxes are a little less full. I did look after a neighbour's kids this afternoon (though frankly there's not much too it - providing I don't restrict access to the biscuit/cake/chocolate milk storage areas they pretty much look after themselves) and managed to get Katherine to and from her basketball camp. And, after a lot of toing and froing, Mr B booked the ski holiday. So that's a success of sorts. And I finally accepted that my delicate plants outside need some help - so one is in the kitchen. Actually, I may have left it a bit late. Plants are rubbish: there seems to be no intermediate step between "I'm green and healthy" and "I'm yellow and dead". Can there not be a "I'm a bit chilly, time for my winter home" stage?

So now, full of biscuits and mushrooms, I'm off to wrap myself up in a blanket and indulge my cold further with some decent telly.