Getting over blogging pressure and writing a few words about something I made that tasted good.

The time has come to stop dilly-dallying about, perceiving an invisible choice between a) long hours of procrastination spent trying to be witty and b) the inevitable descent into regretful, work-induced, unmitigated blogging silence.

So here is a photo of a yummy thing I made – a strawberry tart, courtesy of the wonderful Dan Lepard, with short sweet pastry whose hints of almond and brandy perfectly accompany ripe juicy strawberries and vanilla cream filling.

And here are a few undemanding, un-witty words to complement said photo…On a summer’s day in what I always thought was a perpetually rainy Manchester, Andy Murray, who I refused to like until he cried at last year’s final, bounces around on the television, preparing to win Wimbledon 2013. In parallel I prepare a table in front of the telly at which I sit rubbing butter into flour. A strawberry tart – what better way to keep nerves at bay during a potential “first British win at Wimbledon in 77 years” (first, that is, if you ignore, as most commentators have, 1977 ladies champion Virginia Wade).

I’ve almost written enough words to start feeling the blogging pressure return: so I’ll end by saying that we ate the tart sitting on the balcony with prosecco.

It tasted jolly good.


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    Writing a PhD. Watching DVDs on a crappy TV with bad sound. Climbing a step ladder to reach my book collection. Baking delicious goodies in an oven the size of a large loaf of bread. All in the same room. This is art meets work meets life meets food. But, as Queen Victoria once said (strangely enough), things taste better in small houses.
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