Day two of my new regime.
So far so good.
It's still blisteringly cold but at last the house seems to have absorbed enough residual heat for us to stop shivering. In view of the Arctic temperatures I decided to have a bowl of porridge for breakfast to set me up for the day. Why is it that a modest amount of oats expand exponentially in the saucepan to provide enough porridge for a family of four?
PP disdains porridge. Even the stuff with chocolate in, which of course isn't real porridge at all.
Despite my Scottish roots I disdain porridge made with salt.
However, porridge made with milk, is creamy gorgeousness in a bowl. As a child my mother used to drizzle a few spoonfuls of condensed milk over the top, which instantly transformed the humble cereal into food of the gods. Naturally my new spartan regime (remember, it's NOT a resolution) forbids the use of condensed milk, so I had to slum it with a spoonful of evaporated milk (low fat naturally) instead, which performed as a satisfactory substitute.
Small Dog wandered into the kitchen as I was halfway through my bowl. She is always very interested in anything in a bowl, as she is eternally hopeful that it might be pudding. So I left her a tiny smidgen, which she initially viewed with a certain amount of suspicion, until she tentatively lapped a morsel, then rapidly dispatched the rest.
Thus fortified I set about a marathon casting session which has just been curtailed by the news that blizzards are due to hit the whole of Southern England tonight. So we're now having to do a quick dash out to the post office to send off orders, then a scoot round Tesco to reprovision as the cupboards are bare and anticipated snow drifts might render our road impassible for the rest of the week.
Actually I've just seen the first few tiny snowflakes floating down from a heavy grey sky so we'd best be off.
I may be gone for some time....