Not complaining, mind. Nothing makes me feel more myself than the grey pseudo-November briskness and purpose of the whorled clouds moving in with the cold front. Equally, nothing conduces to fantods and wanhope like the heavy air and ozone stink of a too-warm night like yesterday's. Windows open and the outside pouring in, after the snug cleanness (not to mention silence) of windows locked tight all winter.
In other matters, roast veg are improved by doubling the amount of bouillon and adding a couple of onions. 2003 was the year of the strawberry; 2013 is the year of the roast root vegetable. Alas that roasting season draws near its end.
