It struck me; whilst sitting here munching on some lovely thick buttered toast with Blue Wensleydale on it, and sipping on one of Douwe Egbert’s new squeezy breast like coffee pod contraptions that much as I don’t like weblogs, I do tend to spend a lot of time talking about food. I am perfectly happy to talk to myself about food so by no means do I expect anyone else to read this. It’s here for me; for when I am hungry; for when I get the urge to go out and buy some more of these revolting coffee things and for me to type in whilst I am waiting for the Cornish Pastie in the oven that I mistimed the heating of. Since I only seem to be able to update it with comments, then it shall be so.

Eat, Drink and be Merry; for tomorrow I get bored of this blog!

I learned a useful thing this week when researching the origin of Quince Cheese. It all rests on the definition of the word cheese, which includes

Cheese:
A mass of pomace, or ground apples, pressed together in the form of a cheese.

From now on, every time I fuck up my jam making and make it so hard that you can barely stick a knife into it, I will declare it to be cheese. I have 5 kilogrammes of plum cheese in the cupboard, I am happy about this.

—————–

Apart from the rather cryptic “She made me tea.” posted at 06:43 on August the 18th, 2003 and a prior posting on March the 20th, 2002 at 01:29 which simply said “Poo” (my considered review of Livejournal, I believe) - This is the only thing I ever really wrote in my previous weblog. I figured I should move it over to here anyway.