Breakfast the Three-Hundred-and-Thirty-Second

Banana bread and apple puree again.

Well, we survived Hurricane Bawbag largely unscathed here. Had to put a rock on the lid of the compost bin and a bird feeder blew off its peg. Other than that, all is well. It was wild though. I'm amazed no trees have come down. Perhaps I'll find one yet. I hope not though. I don't like it when my favourite trees come down.

I still haven't entirely got over the loss of the Scots Pine that hosted our twig swing. That was a great swing, right out over a steep bank. When my sister and I were little, if we didn't maintain our momentum, we'd get stuck hanging out over the abyss (it felt abyss-like to a small person). Then we had two choices -- jump from a height into the brambles, or hope the other would fetch a parent...

Breakfast the Three-Hundred-and-Thirty-First

Banana bread and apple puree.

I must say, all this breakfast numbering business is getting to be tedious. Pretty soon I'm going to exceed my numerical range. I think I may have to resort to a new titling system soon. Perhaps at the end of a year, which is coming around startlingly fast.

I'm entirely depressed after watching the last episode of Frozen Planet. And not just because I'll miss my weekly David Attenborough dates. The satellite images of the rate at which the ice caps are melting were just staggering. It's also deeply disturbing to think about the many countries clamouring to secure their claim on the Arctic while they wait for the ice to melt enough to permit the extraction of oil and gas. I think I ought to rig myself up to a giant hamster wheel and generate my own energy from now on.