It will not be long before we are leaving Ireland again. If all goes well we will leave on February 8th (sorry Sheila it will not be February 1st) unless there is another gale storm warning. I will therefore make the booking as late as possible.
That leaves me with only 2 weeks, which is great because I am running out of bag making material. I have no interfacing left in any strength and there are a few other small things that need replenishing. I have finished two of my 'Tulip flap' bags and I will finish the outside of the third one but I do not have sufficient interfacing to finish off the lining and strap.
Therefore, with still two weeks on my hands and not wanting to be bored I decided that I could do some baking. I am not keen on cooking but I do like to bake every now and again. I did a scrumptious apple and pineapple cake last week and looking for some other recipes I came across this 'Arretjes cake' (Dutch) which my mother used to make when I was young.
We do not keep much chocolate at home because I cannot resist eating it, so when I read this recipe my mouth was watering just thinking about how this used to taste. I knew we had cocoa and butter, sugar and biscuits were no problem either. I made it and keep it in the fridge. The problem, however, is, that every time I open the fridge I see this very yummy chocolate and have to have a bit (just a small bit but every so often). This has been going on for 2 days now.
I used to suffer a lot from headaches but since I retired they have become less and less except when I drink too much wine but that is also not too often. The last two mornings I woke up with a splitting headache and Alan made the remark 'I wonder if this has anything to do with chocolate'. I never thought of this before but I will test this and not have any chocolate today. If I wake up tomorrow morning without a headache, I will have some chocolate again and see how I wake up on Monday morning.
Something else I did to fill the time - I washed one of Alan's working pullovers because it was full of plaster. Somehow, I must have pressed the wrong button on the washing machine but the temperature was only 30° (Celsius)! He now accuses me of wanting some felting material!