In which I compare spam commenters to Joyce, Nigella Lawson to Hamlet, and assert that Graham The Nasty Commenter eats flies. And in which I make vast quantities of pasta.
Here is a secret: it gets better. It always gets better, or at the very least it gets easier, and it is getting easier for me, thanks to the endless bounty and kindness of the NHS. It gets better, and I am getting better, and to celebrate I made these brownies.
It’s cold outside, and the evenings are drawing dark hard on the heels of four o’clock, and inside there are blankets, and fat warm candles, and a big bit of pig, and heart attack mash.