I’m so proud of this bread & butter pudding  I made while J and C were at rugby with their dad.  Not that it was in any way difficult, just that feeling of whipping something up in my lovely new kitchen really gets me into wellbeing.

For years I’ve looked whistfully at the recipe pages in magazines, fondly imagining a time when I’ll float around a clutter-free kitchen in a Cath Kidston pinny mixing a splash of this and a pinch of that into something wonderful.  Not too long ago I began to suspect that if the me in that vision hadn’t materialised yet, she probably never would – that there’d always be something I’d rather be doing than being her.  But today I think I stepped into that dream.  It tasted good.