Bloomers, Fifty-Five Thins and a Shed That Finally Got Its Windows
Right then. If you follow this blog for the quiet, restful bit where a man pokes about in a greenhouse muttering at slugs, you might want to skip this one and come back next time, because Saturday just gone was not that kind of day. It was the kind of day where the kitchen looked like a bakery had had an argument with a building site, Sara was up a stepladder with a paintbrush before I'd even had my first cup of tea, and somewhere around midday I genuinely lost track of how many things were happening under one roof at once. As most daft ideas in this family do, it started with me saying "how hard can it be" out loud, within earshot of my own family, which anyone who knows us will tell you is just asking for trouble. Fifty-Five Thins Later... You might remember, if you were paying attention a week or two back, that I'd had a trial run at sandwich thins instead of my usual cobs, purely to save room in the freezer, and I said I wouldn't really know if they'd...
