The bottle

I should watch more television. I see Blumenthal and Hugh battling it out in their new-format food shows, the former apparently trying but totally missing the mark with ludicrous recipes that we will never, ever follow. Ditto Fearnly-Twitteringshalll, and his attempt to get a load of ready-meal munching zombies from an estate up north to experience the flavour of fresh vegetables and happy chickens and to marvel over the spherical sight of one of Hugh’s plump and ripening apples hanging in his small but eclectic orchard. Whatever he’s feeding himself he’d doing a good job if it, that’s for sure.

Spending my time semi-engaging with these people on screen would also have been the perfect fodder to help down my tea of “leftover pasta”, basically some spaghetti tossed in an eggy, creamy sauce with bacon and cabbage and parsley. The weather has turned for sure, the evenings sparkling with a light frost and the air cold and chemical. It si the weather for smoking, for sure. The temperature to sooth the plumes of smoke impacting on the back of your throat for cool comfort. The climate for a dram, a bottle of which I just bought. It may be hard to avoid temptation but I do not feel as though my home is complete, particularly at this time of year, without a dram. You never know when you are going to need it. You must always have it to hand.