I think I am in the middle of an awakening, quite a strong sentence considering my advancing middle aged years. But an awakening I am having. It all started with the sourdough, doesn’t everything start with sourdough these days, especially since Covid, but it did, truly it did. As I became a better baker and this evening I had some of the most delicious sourdough bread I think I have ever baked, and that I really wouldn’t buy shop bought bread again, except in a bread emergency or because I haven’t got the will to make something like tortillas as and when I want them. I came to realise that I am still buying commercial biscuits.

Now I am not a biscuit fiend, but as I explored these feelings more fully I realised that it is because I don’t like the biscuits on offer, with the exception of Hobnobs, but even they don’t seem to tick the boxes they once did when they came out 35 years ago. They seem sweeter, and have a less salty note these days, which is a shame because they were perfection.

To be honest I have been listening to this beat of the drum for a while, the call to make my own biscuits, but I know as an ‘O’ level student of Home Economics just how many batches of biscuits I burnt to a cinder as I was gaily ensconced in a side kitchen washing up, chatting and laughing with my lovely friend Jayne whilst smoke was billowing, yes black smoke billowing out of my oven. Along with the walk of shame home as to having to admit that I had burnt the biscuits… again.

The even sadder thing about it is the commercial biscuits sit around for months until they are taken up the allotment to either use as sustenance during heavy digging sessions or training aids for the dogs. That’s no way to treat a biscuit is it? It was time to tackle my demons and to master my disastrous teenage years biscuit time keeping, because the difference of two minutes can spell triumph or disaster depending on the heat of your oven, and explore the hidden delicious delicacies that may lie within the realms of the biscuit world.

I started with a Lemon Polenta biscuit, just from a recipe that I found online. The smell of the lemon as Son no.2 and I whisked the butter and sugar together into the whitest of clouds with the Kenwood was devine. We added egg yolks next and because we had whisked the butter so well, it gave not a hint of wanting to split. This was definitely a case of the student becoming the master as I would have stopped whisking at least 5 minutes before we did, but I was verbally whipped to carry on, and Son no.2 was right. Obviously cheffing in posh restaurants in the Cotswolds has had an effect.

After a good long rest they were cut out.

And baked. not too bad considering my past history! Then dusted with caster sugar.

And placed in a pretty glass biscuit barrel to enjoy looking at.

This new idea has gone down a treat with hubby and son no.2, who both murmured appreciatively as they sampled them.

Spotted on a walk the other day, I wonder if the person ever got their hat back.

All hail the young innovators, this breakfast is just the best.

A fried egg omelette attached to a tortilla by placing tortilla onto nearly cooked omelette and pressing down for thirty seconds and then flipping out of the pan and stuffing with veg of my choice and a little sriracha sauce to add a little spice to my life. Then folded into a wrap and munched.

Best Breakfast Ever!

Who knew I would buy into a trend. I’m not averse to the odd burger, there are times when a quick hot snack on the road is a perfectly acceptable solution to a problem of needing to feed, but not wanting to stop. Sometimes you hit gold, the burgers at Burger King at Euston Station are the best ever, seriously, I don’t know what it is but they are magnificent.

So on a rainy afternoon, with nothing to do and lunch having been delayed as we had been baking we noticed that our local Maccy D’s had just reopened that day. So just for shits and giggles we decided to play the game of hunt down the Maccy D. Call it lockdown madness if you will, but actually it was great fun. The finding out of the elusive reopen, the queuing, even the ordering was exciting – I don’t get out much, I can’t remember the last time I had a burger.

And then it came that big bag of warm savouriness swirling tempting smells as we parked the car. I mean to say taking a Maccy D home would not be an authentic experience!

And so we munched. And it was lovely.

Must do Lockdown experience, box ticked.

Recently I spent a delightful few moments at Hatton Locks watching a mother duck teach her babies where delicious treats were. It was pure refreshment to the soul.

I don’t know about you, but I find sleeping at the best of times difficult. And as the years progress and I get grumpier because of twinging hips or gritty knees, being too hot or too cold, spending too long on social media instead of a good book, it has all become a real drag to try and get even five hours of continuous sleep, I’ve long since given up on the elusive eight hours. Put that into the mix along with Lockdown and I have now ramped up my anxiety to previously unheard of levels along with dropping my activity level to getting on for zero. I was in trouble. Scratching along at three hours a night with a power nap in the day was doing no one any favours, I needed a solution.

Firstly there came beer and wine. A panacea that has been known for many a generation when tea won’t do, a night cap or two was often called for, and it had the additional effect of numbing the aches and pains. But in the long term we all know, that alcohol, is not the solution. So I looked for another aid that might help.

When I remembered that I had a silk eye mask from my advent calendar from Fortnum and Mason from a lovely company called Yolke, I rummaged through my cosmetic drawers and there it was, cast aside in the dark depths of winter but joyously found now it is bright as a summers day at 4.30 a.m.

And it really works, wearing this I can on a good day sleep through until 7.30 a.m. where as before I was waking at 5.00 a.m. even though I have heavy curtains, they still weren’t thick enough. And now I can leave them open a little bit to allow the refreshing morning breeze in, so important in the middle of our mini heat wave. The silk is supersoft on the eyes, the mask not too big that one feels claustrophobic in it, but big enough that it doesn’t slip off the eyes, its not too hot in the middle of the night and its not too tight. It feels like the most gentlest of security blankets, like a little silken hug, in the middle of the night. And my brain is becoming hard wired to doze of rapidly when I settle down to sleep and put it on, which is a plus I hadn’t thought off.

Along with that it really comes into its own if I need a power nap in the afternoon. Pop it on, the room goes dark, and I feel like a starlight from a 1950’s film but without the silk pyjamas and doze beautifully for an hour or so waking up wonderfully refreshed.

I shall definitely be renewing this when it becomes a little tired and it will become a permanent fixture of my night time apparel, much as cosy slippers and warm dressing gowns are. Try one, it might just change your life.

I popped around to Mum and Dad’s yesterday and sat in the garden with my Father for a few minutes. Yes I know technically we were still in lockdown but my Mother who was 83 a few days ago has not been doing so well and its just really difficult to get a true picture of what is really going on by standing at the doorstep. She did come downstairs from her bed and she looks a little stronger than she did the other day and had eaten a little breakfast and soup for lunch, so I am taking that as a sign of improvement.

Anyhoo, whilst chatting to Dad he reminded me it was White Rabbits tomorrow, still in the same excited tones that I remember so well from childhood. I remember being trained in the art of White Rabbits whilst a very young nipper and the frustrations that I had that I couldn’t remember to do it. Every month I’d ask my Dad when it was White Rabbits and he would dutifully remind me the night before. And I’d promise it would be the first thing that I would say. And of course I would forget and there would be a flash of disappointment across his face as the first thing he would ask as I entered the kitchen would be if I’d remembered to say White Rabbits and I would sulkily admit I had forgotten, but immediately promise I would remember next month, and so that continued much to my frustration for a couple of months.

Until one glorious sunny day that I woke up and remembered it was White Rabbits and said it out loud. I immediately jumped out of bed and raced down the stairs straight to the kitchen where my Dad was preparing breakfast and bubbling with happiness told him I had said White Rabbits. The joy in his face sparkled back at me.

This morning the first thing I said was White Rabbits, I shall ring him later and tell him, and I know he will be overjoyed just as he was some fifty years ago.