Fried egg

I'm afraid that's what I saw when I reviewed today's photos of desperation on the computer just now. Still struggling for blips. 

Even so, we had a busy day yesterday ... inviting guests for the first time since before lockdown in March. We scrutinised the weather forecast to ensure we could sit outside, making it lunch rather than dinner, and did most of the cooking the day before. Sod's law, it started to spit with rain as we started the cheese course, so the eight of us had to carry chairs, cutlery, crockery, and glasses inside. Whereupon it stopped raining. 

S was fed up of me always getting the credit for cooking, so he made the starter and the dessert, and I made the main course and the bread (focaccia to start, and a plain wholemeal loaf). Also unusually for me, I went for S's usual approach in the kitchen: look at a recipe for lamb tagine and then basically make up a similar one. First I roasted some chunks of butternut squash and added them, plus some of my home-made preserved lemons, and some small hard pears cored and quartered. It was lovely, though I was a bit peeved that V promptly launched into fulsome praise of my ability to prepare instant couscous (pour boiling water over it, add butter, break up with a fork). S's starter was that old faithful espinacas con garbanzos -- I've never met anyone who didn't like it -- and then tarte aux myrtilles to finish. So a multicultural meal!

Lunch lasted from 12:30 till about 6:30, and once we'd cleared up we felt at a bit of a loose end. So we watched a film for the first time in ages: Billy Wilder's The Front Page. We really enjoyed the fast and furious pace and witty dialogue and, of course, the perfect partnership of Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon. Also, the title sequence is ace. I hadn't realised it was based on the same play as His Girl Friday, so we'll have to watch that next.

RIP Ruth Bader Ginsburg. And how I hate those hypocritical Republicans. There is nothing they will not stoop to.