In more ways than one.
Absolutely the best pasty pie ever made … ever. Fankoo Cole.
Totally traditional in every way, except form … and better than any real pasty you can find anywhere.
I have been manfully putting this off for the last half hour but now …
I get to finish it off cold for lunch — even better.
Nom nom nom.
A delicate little diorama of the downs on the top of a gatepost.
Why the gate itself, and all its mates, had come nearly 650 miles from Forfar baffles me. They were functional but not exactly works of art.
Sorry … couldn’t resist.
Under a clear blue sky, amidst lush green grass, on a gentle slope above the Helford … in the midst of life I suppose.
And yet … what was so shocking? The kitchen surface next to the cooker can look so similar after a lovely dinner party. Weird world.
Why do farmers just let them lie? On one of those National Trusty, Waitrose-organic, ruminant-centered farms too … like I said.
Just a pebble in the brook … OK. Know how he feels.
Oh, to not live in interesting times.
Pareidolia: as in the Face on Mars or the Man in the Moon
While preparing dinner, N noticed the base of one of our pans: beautiful “damascing” apparently produced by long use rather than design. You can find beauty anywhere.
… wants a hug.
I have absolutely no idea.
The cat that killed it not the rat. Bad idea to bite back; should’ve run away.
And she’s curled up on a fleece, hard against my knee, purring in her sleep, like butter wouldn’t melt … couldn’t melt — she’s so cold — stone killer — bitter and so sweet.