Flower sprouts

Flower sprouts or sprout flowers - actually the latter, marketed as the former by Waitrose. Delicious and very useful - raw, juice, stir-fry, plain old vegetable. Pretty as a picture too. I've put a row of them in egg cups above the sink - sadly didn't look so good through the lens. Each one about the size of the last joint on your thumb.

What makes me smile is that in these 'times of austerity' our newish posh supermarket is selling plant tops that didn't quite make it to sprouts in time for Christmas as an exotic new veg. I could be wrong, folks may have been eating these for years, like the ubiquitous pea shoots (I'm sure you'll tell me if this is so). But they are new to me and I'll buy them again given the opportunity, I'm fond of pretty food.

All this because I've been housebound all day, waiting for plumbers to tweak a thing or two. They succeeded with one, failed at the other. So will be back next week. Truth is it's cold, wet and grey and I had no reason to leave the house. Why is waiting for workmen to arrive at some imprecise time so much less pleasurable than having the day entirely to yourself?

I came across this whilst looking for something else and saw for the first time that the internet is (just?) a giant Thesaurus whereby the universe can deliver you something you didn't know you needed.

Writing is a solitary occupation.
Family, friends, and society are the natural enemies of the writer.
He must be alone, uninterrupted, and slightly savage
if he is to sustain and complete an undertaking.
Jessamyn West

#am writing, am a little savage