It’s a Sunday afternoon, the remains of breakfast plates scattered on the table and Marr rumbling in the background on the television. Eggs were scrambled with far too much butter and salty smoked bacon grilled to a crisp. My avocado was a little disappointing, a murky pond water green but I drowned it in lime…
What colour is autumn? It’s often depicted in burnt orange, leaves tumbling crisp underfoot onto waiting pavements, bursting brambles growing wild in the woods staining fingers and lips a plummy purple. It’s a flickering red brown flame from a candle lit to ward off the ever longer nights, thick with grey clouds, flecks of silvery…
If my hands, stained reddish purple from pitting cherries and streaked with Swiss meringue buttercream appear shaky, it is because I don’t own a tripod. As I picked up each one of these almond rice flour cupcakes and smeared vanilla cherry buttercream on top, I kept an ever watchful eye on my camera, perched precariously…
Baby don’t you cry Gonna make a pie Gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle Baby don’t be blue Gonna make for you Gonna make a pie with a heart in the middle. Gonna be a pie from heaven above Gonna be filled with strawberry love Baby don’t you cry Gonna make…