Only British food from now on.
I mean it.
Made a curry last night and had the most dreadful of nightmares.
In them I'd lost the cat.
I was hanging by my fingertips from a moss covered wall a million foot high.
People were hitting me with boulders.
My screams went unheard.
I was back in London in a terrible flat.
I was screaming.

Now whether or not that was due to an overdose of Patak's Tikka Masal Paste I just don't know. I mean, what else could cause such terror.

So when I escaped from the bed this morning I flung open the conservatory doors embracing the chill and vowed that from this day on only British food will served in the bungalow. Bungalow? Indian origin isn't it? Just have to move I spose:)

Anyway Sunday beckons and as Rafa plays Novak in the Australian Open Final I am in full working gear.... British white lace pinny and cup of tea.

Being cooked today.
A British Chicken.
Carrots.
Peas.
Roast potatoes.
Yorkshire pud.
And gravy.
Will have a spoonful of Quince jelly on the side.

For pudding...Apple and Blackberry Crumble and either double cream or custard.

Hope Rafa wins and hope mum sticks to her promise of venturing outside the front room to visit the conservatory. A humble yet important place. Especially for someone whose been lounge bound for two months.

See you later:)