Sunday 3rd December 2023

Sunday.

And, on the seventh day, the heavens did open, and rain fall forthwith and with great fury.

And below, on earth, in the Garden of England, the kettle was put on for a brew.

There isn't much to say about a day in which it rained from before dawn into the evening, so much so that leaving the house, other than to go to the pub, seemed pointless.

As we did not play cards on Friday night, we invited Jen to come over Sunday for lunch and to play cards. I would cook lamb chops, roast potatoes, mushrooms and the last of the fresh corn.

And wine.

So, after breakfast, I spent the morning peeling, chopping and boiling the potatoes before roasting them in duck fat. The rest took not so much time.

Jools went to collect Jen, so I steamed the corn, chopped the mushrooms then fried them in butter before griddling the lamb.

I popped a bottle of Delirium Christmas beer as I was cooking, and so maybe it was that that caused the roast potatoes to become lumps of coal.

Lumps of coal with fluffy potato middles, but needing some force to break through the crispy outsides. Seems roast potatoes can be too crispy, Heston.

But all was good, as was a bottle of fizz from the batch bought in France last week.

And after clearing up, we play cards, and I clean up winning the last three hands and the kitty with it. Richer by over 50 pence!

Then there was football, with the big match being Citeh v Spurs, which ended 3-3, and was as mad as it sounds, and the closing 30 seconds madder still.

Entertaining, mind.

And that was your weekend. More of the same next week, though with less rain, please.