This week I’m away from Liverpool, at Laugharne in South Wales. A week on my own, away from my work and my laptop. To walk, read, maybe write and on the whole do not much of anything. A retreat. I’ve brought some music, some poetry, some t-shirts and not much else.
As the week goes by I’ll add some words and photos to this blog of my week.
Before I leave some time with my family at Africa Oyé in Sefton Park. Then I finish packing, and leave home early Monday morning.
In town today we had a lovely few hours with our friends from Homebaked at the Quaker Meeting House. Principally there to take part in the Christine Physick exhibition of Anfield Art that I wrote about last week, our conversations, in fact, rambled far and wide. Through life and the living of it and the wonders of monkey puzzle trees (Sarah was there with us after all).
One thing that didn’t get a mention all over the morning and the lunch that followed was Christmas. But as soon as we all emerged into the heaving Saturday streets, preparations for Christmas were in full swing and I suffered my first and traditional annual attack of nausea. Because I loathe Christmas. And I thought it might annoy you or amuse you if I were to tell you my 10 reasons why. Eight negative ones, ending on a bit of an upswing.
Yes, this is a post about bread and why it matters.
But first a bit of background about bread and me. You’d kind of expect that wouldn’t you, being my blog and all?
Come late summertime four years ago I was almost completely knackered. Three years of being Sarah’s principal carer as we both worried ourselves through the landscape of breast cancer, together with continuing to run our business on my own, had nearly wiped me out.
I badly needed a complete break. So with Sarah through the toughest of her treatments I took two months off working. And for the first week I went away. Continue reading “Real Bread Matters”