Another successful if fairly idle day. I meant to make sourdough, so, like last week, I mixed the levain last night. But this morning, it wasn’t ready-to-go. The test is whether a small piece will float in warm water. Mine sunk like a stone. I feel sure it was over-proved. I’ve been including rye flour in my starter feed of late, and that is like putting a starter on steroids. Should I have gone ahead anyway? It couldn’t have been dead. Maybe it would have sprung into action. But I didn’t want to waste a day’s work and all that flour.

 

So tomorrow I’ll go back to the old system, and mix the levain first thing in the morning.

 

No knitting, I’m afraid. I’ve been idly reading Jan Morris’ diaries. In her 92^nd year, she walked a mile a day (1000 steps) and read in the bath. I used to do that, long ago. VK was a favourite. But now I don’t dare sit down, for fear of not being able to get up again. I kneel, and take the legs one at a time when we get to that stage. No reading.

 

Archie came We got around the garden. He persuaded my iPad to disgorge pictures again. Here is Paradox, slightly blurry, with last week’s sourdough loaf. 

And we did some paper work.

 

I also got back into Craftsy. I had to re-set my password, because of all their changes, and for some reason password-resetting didn’t work on the iPad. But did, here on the laptop. It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten most of my courses. I spent some idle time refreshing my stir-fry technique.

 

I’ve been feeding myself, some weeks, with carry-outs from a dear local restaurant, l’Escargot Bleu. Today they put their Christmas menu up. Fred is eloquent about la poule noir, volaille du Mans, a black chicken popular at noble French tables in the 17^th century, he says, and recently rescued from near-extinction. He has himself only eaten it twice in his life, and hopes we will leave him one for Hogmanay. It’s terribly expensive. Maybe I should have macaroni cheese and give the money to the poor. I’ll think about it overnight.