I'm concerned the extreme level of pleasure I get from spraying a hot electric (crap cheapo rental property with an unreliable/useless thermostat, to to say the least) oven with a Wilko £1 plastic garden mist spray thingy containing water which comes directly and mostly brownly out of a spring up the Welsh hill/mountain behind me Victorian Coach House far enough away and importantly lower altitude wise from the BIG house to not be upsetting the view of very very nearby Snowdon from the MBE mountaineer landlord and lady who are lovely it must be stated, when baking bread, sourdough or other wise, Makes my loaves and therefore life somewhow more enjoyable or just happier?
Obviously not at all worse than Madagascan children mining crystals so as to provide said rare crystals being fashioned into to vaginal eggs for wellnees insertionss? Re Gloop and a woman's multi million $ business with the surname Paltrow
The best bit about the water spray, is the final one some 10 minutes before the bread is cooked and crusting - it makes it lovely and shiny
Just sayin' like and always wondering how fuck anything makes sense in the way one would hope it could? Slope and Paltrow ain't ever going to be on level pegging
Love my bread though sourdough/ small bit of rye flour in the starter/ 50/50 strong white with eventually 50/50 stone ground brown + at least 100g each of sunflower seed + at least 100g of pumpkin seeds
Then thickly sliced and darkly but perfectly (burnt edged) toasted the next day, slathered with beurre doux and probably my hypertension abused with at LEAST 4mm of brown miso.
I make up but not eating lunch and greens for light suppers + loadsa cycling
I still don't get why anyone would take Paltrow seriously? Nor Trump? Nor more things than one could possibly post on here (including the dumbest puppet masters who pull our only opposition political 'leader's strings?
After 48 years of after taken LSD on Wittenham Clumps and thinking the construction of Didcot Power Station was so very weird but possibbly beautiful or just crazy (like Sir Stanley Spence's Trawsfynnyd Neuclera Power Sration), I've realised the world is odd and unreal and it's fingers' crossed from here on in?
Go Greta
MOVERS please see fit?
