What the bread in the last post “Retirement” means to me is (1) a new waterproof jacket to take to the storm-prone Bay of Biscay tomorrow; (2) a steak dinner from M&S to celebrate the start of the holiday; (3) a little in the bank because the Laputabrot will be paid by invoice.
One of the very few advantages of living on a pension is the bus pass which no doubt the government will shortly withdraw because “there is no alternative” and “we are all in this together” and, as we have been told, all sections of society must contribute to “rebalancing the economy”.
Round here, bus pass or no bus pass, you have to be a bit intrepid for even short journeys. Buying the jacket involved a trip to the tourist-coach-centre-of-the-universe, Betws-y-Coed, where all the outdoor shops live, a mere 12 miles east up the main A5, a 30 minute journey at 10.15 a.m. But the bus back isn’t ’til 5.00 p.m.
15 minute after I arrive at Betws I’m on another bus north up the Conwy Valley through Llanrwst up to Llandudno Junction. Then onto a third bus west along the coast to Bangor. Into Marks for a bottle of wine and the ingredients of a spinach salad and steak frites. Then onto the fourth bus east again to Bethesda. Finally home by 1.15 p.m. Electricity bill waiting on the doormat. That’s about another three bakes worth.
Never mind. Next week we swap the spinach for frisee and the steak for onglet and the asparagus should still be around and the gariguettes coming in ….
The PArtisan Baker 