Some of us might like to be at the Taj Mahal and some of us might just like to be able to get out and stroll down to the local bakery for the Sunday morning rolls. An enduring memory of childhood is the Sunday morning cooked breakfast. Usually a soft fried egg in a buttered morning roll.
I can almost feel the yolk squirting out and down my chin as I type.
I received 2 invitations to join the Poem Exchange yesterday, one on Friday and one earlier in the week. There’s plenty of poetry in this house, although I don’t write poetry, but having been a little enthusiastic early on, I’m running out of friends to Bcc the invite to.
DH and I also received a sheet of anagrams made from the guest list of a party we attended before the lockdown. That was challenging. Short names are more difficult to unravel, I think.
I didn’t walk out yesterday or shop.
I cooked a great Hello Fresh dinner of venison steaks and braised fennel – and there’s leftovers.
There was a lovely family what’s app chat. DH spoke with friends and we now know about another family expecting a baby this year.
Mayfield Salisbury Parish Church for Palm Sunday is here