Let’s start with the bread. I’m not sure what came over me, but I thought, quite recently, that I should bake a sourdough loaf. I don’t know which neurons in my cerebral cortex might have mis-fired, causing this daft idea to spring up. I mean, this is summer. In the tropics! It’s hot. When the rain starts, the insect population explodes. And I have to muck about with gooey flour-and-water paste?
This was Attempt #1. It was fermenting very nicely and I was reducing/feeding it every day for about a week, then I put it in the fridge, only feeding it once a week. But when I came to proofing it (in readiness for actually baking a loaf) the hooch had built up to an alarming level! And it did smell more rancid than I thought was right. No reason to suspect contaminated flour, but I was not happy with my brew, so i ditched it. Just in case…
And I read even more recipes and suggestions.Blimey! The interwebs are full of advice, a lot of it conflicting! Finally, for my next attempt, I settled on Hugh Hyphenated -Wotsit, probably familiar to tv viewers in England. He has a televised growing-and-cooking show.
So far, so good. Although I have had to keep this batch in a glass bowl as I could see the monster escaping from the jar I’d been using. I’ll start reducing it when I feed it this evening. I think it will likely be early next week before I bake…
Now, tell me, do you think 12 years is old for a car? I certainly don’t. Hell’s teeth! The Man has two cars, each almost fifty years old. Granted, they’ve needed a little TLC, but they both go. My 12 year-old workhorse went back to the dealer yesterday for the third time in 3 weeks! Last Monday/Tuesday, the changed tappets (deemed to be the cause of a minor but messy oil drip). While doing that, they changed the timing belt. Fair enough, it was beginning to lose its grip. But oil was still marking the carport. Not quite a “spot” drip;more a “dribble” drip, if you see the difference.
So…yesterday morning I drove to my friend’s house, dumped my sports bag there, then took the car to Toyota again. Friend and I went to the pool and thrashed out a few laps. After our swim we had lunch at a fairly new cafe with drinkable coffee and went to see “The Butler.”
Good movie? Not really, in my opinion. Far too long and a rambling, clunky script.
And then I went to collect my car. They say this drip came from a leaking sump pan.A sump pan which sure as shooting was not leaking before they dealt with tappets and timing belts! But they sealed that leak ( band aid? bubble gum? weld? ) and said they’d also checked out “everything else” (which they should have done last week) and oh, dear! the power steering pump is about to go to that car yard in the sky. New part + labour will come to chump change from $1,000.00. I’m seriously considering getting a horse!
It was almost 5pm when I got home. I thought I’d better squirt some water on my newly-transplanted ferns. And pull a weedy plant that was likely to collapse on them. And in grasping the weedy stem…I didn’t notice this fellow. He/she objected to being squeezed and bit my finger.
It felt sharp, like a bee sting.I thought “Ice will be the best thing.” But I had no ice cubes in the freezer.Oops! So I toddled across to a neighbour. She has just bought a rather posh-looking new fridge/freezer and hasn’t quite got to grips with its workings…no ice cubes! But she did have one of those dinky little gel packs that you freeze to put in lunch boxes (presumably, kids know not to eat them!) The finger was throbbing by now and becoming very sausage-like. Kylie said “Call me if you get any worse!”
The thing is, after a long, hot day and the car drama, I was looking forward to a long cold glass of bubbles. Not sure alcohol was the best idea, but the ideas department tends to be pretty much depleted by 6pm when the digestive forces take over. Oh, bugger the spider! I thought and poured a glass of Prosecco and cut an apple and some sharp Cheddar. I say “cut” but it was more “hack” since I couldn’t hold a knife very well. And I thought I should take some photos…
The reason I switched from left-handed to right handed was because it’s a right-handed world. As a child, I found it so awkward to use can openers, sewing machines, clockwork toys, inkwells-in-desks…I became right-handed. And where, on any camera, is the shutter release? Yes! So using Rebel was no good, but I was able to take these wobbly snaps with the little Powershot. Of course, I have no problems drinking from my left. I’m ambivalent.