Sunday 7th May 2023

Sunday.

And Jools is going to Valencia.

Again.

But just for a day.

You'll have to read the blog why, but it meant I was home alone for seventeen hours, and at no point did I come very close to burning the house down.

Which is nice.

The alarm went off at five, Jools got up and made coffee for herself, fed the cats, had a shower and so on. I lay in bed and dozed.

I'm off she announced at six, so she was.

I got up and made a coffee. The weather forecast had improved for the day, but I had no car, so other than going for a walk, not much I could do.

The cats were all asleep, so I put the radio on and pottered.

I pottered through Radcliff and Maconie, then to break the day up, I made a fresh batch of Boston Beans to put in the freezer, so the kitchen was full of the smells of sweet and smoky cooking.

That took and hour to get to the point to put the pan in the oven to cook on low for three hours.

I made a brew then decided I really should go out for a walk.

Nice day for it, and all that.

There's always the chance to see a butterfly or something, and a walk is never wasted. I have also started listening to podcasts as I walk too.

I walk the usual route, over the fields to Fleet House, then down past the farm and up the long slope to Windy Ridge, pausing at the bench for a look at the view and the golfers ruining their daily walk by hitting tiny balls.

Then along Green Lane, cutting through the wood as a fallen tree had blocked my way, before turning down the hill to Collingwood and home.

Nothing new seen, no butterflies snapped either, just a couple of Red Admirals fluttering about.

Back home I boil some pasta before warming up some chilli, and that was lunch sorted, only being on my own means its me who has to wash up. What with cooking in the morning and evening, I seemed to spend most of the day washing up.

There was football on at four, Toon v The Arse: a good game and Arsenal played well to win 2-0.

Deserved it.

Jools could have been home any time after eight, it seemed, so while I waited I cooked a pan of jambalaya, slurping from a bottomless glass of red wine as I do.

The wash up again.

And try the jambalaya.

With more wine.

At half eight, Jools texts to say she has landed, so I have at least 90 minutes before she got home, so Scully and I watched the last episode of Stanley Tucci on Italian food, this time in that London.

Jools came back at about half ten, with camera and a selection of cured meats.

Not a wasted trip.