Sun rises, sun sets | Music

Only in the last couple of days have I beared any resemblance to a human being. The past few weeks have been an absolute whirlwind of travelling (I can still see my unpacked suitcase sitting at the bottom of my bed, sending out disapproving vibes), baking, working, commuting, and then working some more. In 7 days I worked and travelled for more than 95 hours, and when I calculated that I wanted to die a little bit inside.

But, when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade. Really fancy lemonade. And so I found myself hopping into my car early (early!!) on a weekday morning to take photos of the sun rising over the Clyde. I felt like some sort of intrepid adventurer, as I hopped over the 'WARNING KEEP OFF' barrier to the pier, and set up my tripod.
Admittedly, I didn't venture to far out onto the pier - I mean, there was a keep off sign! I'm a cautious rule breaker. Plus, I forgot my gloves, and I was beginning to fear that there was a genuine chance of frostbite. I've already damaged one thumb in a rogue can opener incident, so I feel very protective about the rest of the bunch.

In other news, I have finally used one of the many, many cookbooks that I bought in the past month. Cookbooks are my vice. The more obscure and unrealistic, the better. I even have the Heston Blumenthal 'home cook' one, where he laughingly advises you to roast about 20 chicken wings in order to make the 'perfect' stock. Sure thing, Heston. I'll get right on that, just as soon as I track down that airbrush machine to spray chocolate in a perfect layer. (Oh God that does sound really good, excuse me while I go search 'chocolate air brusher' on Amazon).
Such is my love for cookbooks, and the gadgets that of course go alongside them (Giant blender? Mini food processor? Juicer? Pasta machine? Pasta drying rack? My personal favourite, the hand-powered nut grinder?), that the poor guys at the local shop where I pick up my packages no longer ask me for my name or ID, which could prove problematic if I have any doppelgängers out there. If they ever ask me what exactly I get delivered all the time, I'm going to raise my eyebrows mysteriously and mutter "business items".

But it's now the end of the weekend and I'm feeling a bit more in charge of life. I've got fresh sheets on my bed, clean clothes in my drawers, an entire chicken's worth of crispy chicken skin in my belly, and the rest of said chicken stored away for weekday lunches. My Sundays always consist of pottering about the kitchen baking bits and pieces, prepping meals for the week ahead, and drinking pots of coffee while watching morning TV. Plus I've managed to go the whole day without putting on a bra, which as all girls will tell you, is girl-jackpot.

How do you spend your Sundays?
Bipolar Sunshine - Daydreamer
Priory - Weekend
Folly & The Hunter - Ghost
Faded Paper Figures - Not The End Of The World (Not Even As We Know It)
Sir Sly - You Haunt Me

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