Sausage and apple traybake

Today mum received a letter from the local council which left her rather confused. Having read it, I was rather confused, too, as its contents seemed to reflect our situation as it was at the start of the year, not as it is now. Then I noticed the date on the letter: 13th January. I don’t know where the letter has been over the intervening weeks, but I hope it had a good time.

Apart from that bit of oddness, today is one of those days where I have ended up exhausted but without much to show for it: I deadheaded the amaryllis and took the flower stalk out to the garden waste bin, spoke to the GP’s pharmacist to arrange for all my meds to be set for renewal at the same time, so I don’t keep finding I’ve run out of one or other of the 12 different varieties I take, put away some more shopping, and agreed with the local employment for disabled people charity that I have enough on my plate atm and don’t need more.

Talking of plates, the other thing I did was, of course, cook dinner. It’s a really easy one, another likely inclusion in my future cookbook: just veg cooked in the oven with a bit of stock, then sausages wrapped in bacon and eighths of apple put on top and cooked until browned. It got two Mum-chelin stars (an unprompted “that was good”), despite mum and I agreeing that the chipolatas were very heavy on the black pepper: they made mum cough quite a lot, which needless to say is not what I intended!

Then, as I was still hungry, I had a couple of slices of seedy bread which I used to mop up the remaining gravy / stock, then the rest of the caramel ice cream, which my lactose-intolerant insides will doubtless soon protest, but tasted so good I can’t bring myself to care.

On Saturday, a group of mum’s friends are taking her out to celebrate her birthday, with me tagging along as I have inadvertently become mum’s emotional support human and she doesn’t like going anywhere without me, and I might ask the person giving us a lift if we can stop at Tesco on the way back so mum can get some stamps from the instore Post Office, and I can drop off the bags we’re donating to the local food bank, then sneak off and get some more caramel ice cream. I’m sure mum will forgive me as long as I get her some coffee ice cream.

And that’s about all I have to report. It doesn’t seem too much like not enough (if you see what I mean) when written down, so I don’t feel as bad about feeling tired now. Not that I did in the first place, mind you!