We cooked dinner, the Resident IT Consultant and I. A bit of Indian, because in Sweden no one knows whether you’ve done a good job or not, if they don’t already know the food. And summer pudding for pudding. It was one of my better ones. Presumably because the bread I used was not only unusual, but actually good. And I stopped whipping the cream before its butter stage.
Our guests came bearing far too many gifts. Below are two of them. The literary ones.
Well, one is a book, so it’d be odd if it wasn’t literary. It’s Ursula Le Guin’s The Word for World is Forest, except here it’s called Där världen heter skog. When Ursula died, I remember asking my friend who was at school with me, and thus the same age, whether she had read any Le Guin books back then. I was after confirmation I’d not been weird.
She reckoned she hadn’t, but then a couple of months later when she was clearing out the books in her garage she came upon this one, which might have been her daughter’s. So she read it, and now it’s been passed to me, and I’m reading it. My first Ursula Le Guin. And hers.
And the lavender crisprolls are the ones that feature in Den hemlighetsfulla grottan, recipe and all. Now I don’t have to bake!
(There were flowers as well; just not in this photo.)