What to write on this, the last day of being 81 and the last post before my two-thousandth, when the weather outside is truly Autumnal, with heavy mist and damp air. The sun is just visible behind the cloud cover, so I have every hope that by the time I go to the hairdresser at 1pm., the sky will have cleared and we will be having a glorious sunny day like yesterday (ever the optimist). And after the hairdressers I shall be off to the last class on 'The Art and Literature of the British Countryside' - how I have enjoyed it, and how sad to see it over. In between, if I have time, I shall pop into the supermarket to buy some ingredients so that I can make today's Lindsay Bareham recipe at the week-end.
If you don't take the Times, do go to it on line and look at her recipe for Porky Pie - it sounds delightful - two layers of cheesy mashed potato and between them a layer of minced pork, apple, onion and herbs.
Yesterday's Poetry meeting was good, as usual. Eleven of us yesterday and with a really good selection of poetry being read aloud. How much better it sounds, and how much more understandable it is, when read aloud. Edward Thomas, Robert Frost, Roald Dahl, Carol Ann Duffy, John Betjamen, Edmund Blunden, and many more - something for everyone's taste.
Lunch calls -at least putting the jacket potatoes into the Aga calls - how I love them (and how the farmer doesn't) . Luckily there are enough new potatoes left from yesterday for him to have.
The sun has burst through and is flooding the hall as I write - can't be bad.