It was Sheila's turn to get all muffled up this morning and spend just under three hours on the tiller. No need for an early start; by leaving at eight we were arriving at Newbold just before eleven. It was a pretty uneventful trip, though the little swing bridge at Rose Narrowboats gets harder to swing every year, I swear.
I tried making up a slightly out of date bread kit (it's not that long after January, surely) and found it a bit of a struggle to knead it. Wretched meds...
I needn't have bothered. After ninety minutes first rising then proving in a gently warmed oven, the buns were no larger than when I'd started. I suppose I could have baked them anyway and used them to deter marauding swans, but I would probably have got into trouble with the RSPCA. Fortunately, I had some part baked petits pains in the cupboard and baked those instead.
Incidentally, why do the Americans call petits pains "subs"? Maybe they can't pronounce the French...
/wahaha.
Loads of room to tie here at Newbold, but the recycling bins have gone, boo hiss.
Just as we got back from a walk to the Quarry Nature Reserve, Andrew and Gina turned up on La Suvera. They've been in to us for a cup of tea already, and we're going to join them for a glass of something later.
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