When I grew up my mum always made her own bread. I remember the smell of the newly baked loaves spreading from the kitchen and how great that first slice straight out of the oven tasted. Yesterday I baked a loaf so that there would be fresh bread for our breakfast.
D had to get up and leave at the crack of dawn this morning for a shoot in Pinewood Studios. I was woken up by kitty racing backwards and forwards through the bedroom and finally jumping on me telling me it was time to get up. It was 5.45am. D’s side of the bed was empty and cold and the house quiet. Though I’d already planned to get up a bit earlier than normal this was a bit too early. For 20 minutes I laid there in bed while Nala kept racing backwards and forwards. Eventually she tired herself and jumped onto the duvet and laid down next to me. Funny how she now needed a rest and I was wide awake.
It was getting light outside as I made my morning coffee and cut the first slice of the bread I made the night before. The street was quiet. Nala was lying tired on the couch and I sat down in front of the computer enjoying some me time over a cup of my favourite coffee brought back from Sweden and that fresh slice of home made bread. A treat in the early start of the week that filled me with happy memories of growing up in a large family where we often got to enjoy the smell and taste of something so simple and yet so valuable as a loaf of bread made from scratch.
Tomorrow – Day 263 | A comment from a fellow cyclist
Image source: www.flickr.com/photos/sonicwalker/383809683
