Low bridge

I went to Tesco later than usual today; I was too late to get the right brand of not-chicken breasts, so that means there will be no hunter’s chicken again this week.

When I came out, there was a lot of car-horn honking.

‘What else did you get for Christmas?’ I muttered at Henry. Henry bears the brunt of a lot of my road rage, but he agrees with me, so it’s ok.

I thought the honking was probably coming from the train station car park, next door to Tesco’s car park. However, there was the chance that people were honking their displeasure at yet another idiot.

If there had been an idiot, I’d have to go a different way home, so I went to check. The way under the bridge was clear, but there was a long line of taxis in the station car park; no doubt the culprits.


We had yesterday’s culinary creation for tea today. I served it with herby couscous with sultanas and rose petals.

The cous cous was quite dry. I normally add finely diced red pepper and cucumber – oh, and I remember now: I normally mix in some sort of tasty paste like harissa or zhoug or chermoula. I didn’t put any of those things in this time. It’s the paste that turns couscous from dry and dull to tasty and interesting. There’s plenty couscous left over – I’ll see if there’s a jar of something in the cupboard before we have any more.

The verdict on the creation itself was ‘odd’. It wasn’t unpleasant, though, and there was warming tingle from the zhoug. Not sure I’d make it again, although Mr Pandammonium said he’d probably have seconds if there were any. That’s a reasonable success in my book.


The biscuits I made yesterday are all gone. We had the second batch today. They had firmed up, so could be dunked with confidence.