We've experienced a range of weather in the north east this week, including a hammering of unseasonal hailstones. That was the day it seemed highly appropriate to bake a crumble (which I'd been craving for a while), made with a couple of Bramleys, a generous sprinkling of ground cloves and topped with a crunchy flour, oats and demerara mix. I kept it dairy-free by serving it with some soya cream which even the 'I'm not eating that vegan muck' mister lapped up.
When conditions outside were drier, it seemed opportune to set to with the brushes (again, get me) and tins of paint (not the Annie Sloan chalk stuff, can't say I'm too keen on that) to smarten up the little summer house at the bottom of the garden. Inside and out. Two colours. Clearly on a roll, a small table was also given a makeover......and then was promptly sat upon.
The town's annual literary festival launched recently and a couple of hours were very happily spent in the reference library for An Evening with Joanne Harris, who just happens to be one of my favourite contemporary writers. It was fitting that a local teashop provided plenty of sweet treats (a couple of cupcakes came home with me for the other two here) to nibble as we listened to the author of Chocolat talk about her early experiences as a library user, her latest novel and writing in her shed. She signed lots of books (I bought a copy of her chocolate recipe book) and answered lots of questions, none being asked by yours truly. I did think of one, belatedly, on the way home: Of all the novels you've read, which one do you wish you'd written?*
My local area now has it's own Rough Guide. A mini version, but still.
It's been a bit of a spendy week. In addition to treating myself to the recipe book, more plants for the garden have been ordered (I know I keep saying it but, with their insatiable appetites, those slugs and snails are costing a fortune), pretty bedding and yarn (for another blanket) have been purchased and a Parisian landmark has found its way into the bedroom.
*Actually, thinking about it, this is a rather difficult question and I'm not at all sure what my answer would be if I was asked. One of the classics that has stood the test of time? A book that's become an old friend and which I've enjoyed reading and re-reading? One with the most thrilling of storylines? One that made me cry? Or laugh? A book written for children? I've no idea. So, how would you answer?