I could knit another decrease or two on the circs but it is now affecting my tension rather badly and I do not want a baggy section in the middle.
Today I will work on the Spring cap with the aim of freeing my needles. That’s in between cooking up a proper Sunday Roast dinner. Roasts have been infrequent in my life, at least since I grew up, so dinner today is something of a big deal. I am doing it properly – there will be an excess of potatoes and cabbage so that we can have cold roast with bubble and squeak on Monday or Tuesday.
We are having roast pork with sage and onion, roasties, mashed parsnips, cabbage, and onion gravy. Rhubarb sponge and custard for pudding. It takes me right back to childhood.
Meat was never a large feature at home. Poverty played its part, I guess. What we did have was pretty gruesome – I recall being force-fed fatty cuts like beef brisket. Bleuk! But my twin and I would go to visit our grandparents on Sundays sometimes. We would catch a bus into Sheffield, then another one out to Eckington, where we would be greeted by Dad’s parents and the smell of a ginormous joint of pork cooking. While dinner was cooking we would be allowed to play with the toys from the toy cupboard – I particularly loved the big red die cast fire engine, with the ladder on top. We would go visit Mrs Lockett next door, and see if the hen had laid an egg. Then the lunch – Yorkshires were always served as a first course, naturally, swimming in the most savoury gravy imaginable. Then huge slabs of pork, with all the trimmings, to follow. Apple pie and custard for afters, of course.
Times long gone.