Sunday

Sunday. A lie in. A rare lie in. Reading in bed, not blogs. A proper book. Bliss. (No offence to all your blogs that I love but sometimes nothing can beat a good book and a lazy start to the day.)

Sunday. Some time with Emily. (Helen was away on a sleepover.) We baked. Emily doesn't get much chance now that Helen has become so profficient. She made Chocolate Flapjacks. These are the world's most addictive food. Too good for words. I set Emily up on the floor because when you are dealing with copious amounts of ingredient measuring, sometimes the floor is the best place to be.

And if you have never had a chocolate flapjack, the photo does not do it justice.

If you want to be as addicted as I am to these things, then the recipe link is here or on the lefthand side bar.

Sunday. Not rushing. Roast dinner. Crackling. Cauliflower cheese. That happy, relaxed, ooops I ate a little too much feeling. Love and laughter.

Sunday. A little bit of sewing. Not much, but enough to show some progress. I have started on a Christmas tablerunner for the swap. But still not sure if this is the one I am going to go ahead with for my partner. We shall see what she says. I am pleased with how flat my Drunkard's Path circles turned out though.

Sunday. I could do more on the runner tonight. But I'm not going too. Can't raise the energy after that roast dinner.

Sunday. Just the way a Sunday should be.

Susan