A Touch of Calm, Sent to Jail and Waiting for Godot's Loaf

After a fairly traumatic week in retired gentleman terms the weekend was relatively peaceful. Having been confined to the house for a succession of collection and delivery reasons you may, dear reader, find it strange that I did not venture out of doors when I was free to do so. I have not taken Trappist vows nor do I have any inclination to be a hermit. The weather was simply so appalling that I chose not to go out. Having divested myself of the breadmaker on Friday I called at the High Street on the way back and did a much needed shop. I was well stocked up with provisions so there was no need to go out into the elements. Saturday and Sunday dawned cold, wet and miserable. That nasty type of cold wet weather that seems to seep into your bones. I had thought to take a photo to illustrate this but opening the patio doors a crack I was immediately assailled by rain sweeping in from the distant Pennines. The weather forecast indicated that the wet stuff was approaching from a westerly direction so I can only surmise that it did a government U turn on reaching Chez Kojak.

On Sunday I thought I would use some more of the excellent beef I had purchased at a garden centre some weeks ago. I rather fancied a steak pie but my hands felt a bit painful for pastry rubbing, perhaps a legacy from Friday's breadmaker toting. All was not lost, however, as I thought I would give the Kenwood a whirl. I was a tad dismayed at the time it took but the end result was very acceptable. It was only later, after a post-operation glance at the instruction manual that I realised it is perfectly possible to make pastry using the dough hook instead of the recommended "K" beater... 

This morning was the usual early and unwilling rise from the sprung edge 4 drawer divan to do battle with the evil binherren. After last weeks sneaky attack I readied myself in ambush. The weather was as grey as the bin so I was armed with an umbrella. Once more I was impressed by the fluid transition from the push in the general direction of Chez Kojak to delivering it into my open arm. I say "arm" because the other one was holding the umbrella. Last week's embarrassing defeat avenged, I took a risky shower as there was always a chance that the new breadmaker might arrive and these things tend to happen when I am soaped up to the armpits. In the event it arrived as I was leaving the house for a physiotherapy appointment, literally leaving - I was actually in the car. During the physio session, I mentioned in conversation  to Lynn, the practice physiotherapist, that I was off to see my friendly farmer for milk & eggs. She mentioned that the local open prison - known as "Butlins" had a farm shop which sold such stuff and as I was out & about I decided to suss out the pros and, pardon the pun, cons. I was pleasantly surprised at the variety in the shop, all grown in the prison except for the milk which was actually from my friendly farmer so I felt much less guilty about forsaking him. Unless the lady who served me was in heavy disguise there was not a con in sight although I did check the boot for "passengers" before I left.

On my return home it was time to unpack and play with the new bread machine. I did all the right things and pressed all the right buttons but it didn't appear to be doing anything for quite some time. Re-reading the manual I was relieved to find that this was perfectly normal. It is a lot quieter than the previous model so I have made one or two anxious checks but all seems well. The proof of the bread will of course be in the eating...