Politicised Flapjacks

With a parental state visit occurring last week, we were prepping hard to pretend that we live like human beings. We did the hoovering, watered the houseplants, wiped and/or dusted all surfaces, and the plants on the balcony were either replaced or pruned to within an inch of their lives. The flat was sparkling but I wasn’t finished- what about food? My dad’s a coeliac, which means he can’t eat wheat. Now here’s where I get political: the government has decided to stop funding the special bread that my dad and countless others get on prescription from the pharmacy.

Fresh Ginger Biscuits

I think I’m allergic to history. I went to the National Archives for the first time a few weeks ago and caught a cold. Then last week, I went to the National Maritime Museum and now I have the flu. See what I mean? I’ll admit that both times I was more nervous than I should have been, which resulted in me being able to eat only a pear for lunch on one occasion. But still. It’s got to be all that history. Or maybe it’s the fact that I feel that I shouldn’t sneeze near archival materials, which inevitably makes me need to sneeze so badly!