As mum snoozed and Mr H watched a programme on the beauty of mathematics I relaxed with The Hamlyn Book Of Tea Time Baking. And others of that ilk.

Socked feet resting against Monty's warm fat back, I fingered the pages of the old book in the hope of finding the perfect roll.

Poppy Seed Knots, Kentish Huffkins, Wholemeal Breakfast Baps and Cheese and Celery Bread...All sounding divine.

The Huffkins I've made before, a long time ago, also played around with poppy seeds and sesame seeds, and did at one time, decorate a large white loaf with millions of sunflower seeds. Crunchy and dangerous.

I'm pleased to say that I'm developing a deep and doughy love affair with bread at the moment, and am enjoying fantasies way above my station.

Imagining delectable mixes. Brown and white. Wheatmeal and rye, white with dried onion.

However daunting bread making is, I think everyone with the merest scintilla of skill should have a go at bread, the very staff of life. If the top over browns so what....it can still be scoffed.

I made a lot of Irish Soda Rolls today. They didn't over brown. They emerged in a variety of shades of brown, some nutmeggy others caramelly, a few just suntanned. None though were burnt. In my dreams I have a fan oven...

Made more than usual and made them thicker than usual, so thick that, when baked, they resembled high and mighty Towers.

A few sloped, a couple split at their midriffs, not enough to look bad, or get scolded over, but just enough to look thoroughly home made.

I think that's why I make so many soups.

So I can make so many rolls.

YIPPEE!

I'm fluffed and chuffed because I'll soon be opening all my presents. (2)

I'm also feeling whizzo on account of watching Rocky V last night. What a fabtastic film that was. (not)
Old Rocky knocking every kind of bell out of young gun Tommy Gunn. Didn't like his hair anyway. Stinker. But the film aided my drooping spirits.. so bless you Sly.
And while I watched, mum swallowed a few Dolly Mixtures.
And Mr H. overdid it on the M & M's. His only pleasure.

And then BED. I hid under covers imagining I was tucked in a snow bound hut somewhere North of London. And a spitting fire warmed my small toes.And a man of unusually high height and breadth boomed over me waving a cat o' nine tails asking if I wanted to play...
Then...Monty jumped me, pressing so hard on my booboos I thought they'd explode. No silicone splash though. LOL! Just a few dents.
But bless his heart I suppose he just needed reassurance after all he's finding the 'extra' person in the bungalow a little difficult to deal with. So for comfort, he mugs his mum:)

Today, after I've packed Her safely in the settee, (don't want the old bonebag diving headlong into the coffee table) I'll grab a quick breakfast and do the one thing that pleasures me baby....Cooking!
Prob. make some pukka Irish Soda Bread, Apricot trifle for tomorrow and a few spicy fruity buns. Then prepare tonight's tea. For Mr H and I a Nasi Gorenge and for Mother...I don't know, probably a little chickeny thing.

So m'dears now I must fly. Have a whole lotta loving to do:)

By the way Mr H has just left the bungalow, he's off to town to buy stuff..Present no; 3 perhaps...