(Don't you get sniffy with me about the chemicals. I have a disabled ramp in my garden which becomes covered every winter in a layer of delicious slimy algae. Being green is the last thing on your mind when your child is standing at the bottom of a slithery ramp tapping it nervously with the end of a crutch.)
Anyway, it's not like I'm going out there anytime soon. It's hideous. I'm content just to peer at it through the kitchen window.
(self portrait with moss and tarpaulin)Sunday was great for the simple reason that there was SO MUCH CAKE. My mother had roped me into hosting a dessert course for the church Safari Supper on Saturday night, which necessitated baking far too much stuff in case anyone didn't like any of the other stuff. In case you are a very lucky, blessed person and you have never had to attend a Safari Supper, this is a bizarre social occasion where you trudge around the streets having a four-course dinner in four different houses with different sets of people every time, in order to meet as many people as possible whilst keeping to an almost military eating timetable. With MAPS.
(Please tell me other people do this. Please tell me that Anglicans are not just, you know, weird.)
So Sunday morning found us with a fridge full of carrot cake, lemon drizzle cake, pear tart and chocolate brownies. And no day can go wrong after that.
Especially not with visiting grandparents around to brush up on their cycling training skills, last used when Mr Coffee was a lad.
