Four years ago today, I mixed equal parts flour and water in an attempt to make my own sourdough starter. It wasn’t my first foray into sourdough, or bread for that matter. Ed and I have made bread for years. Mum taught me how to make bread when I was a child, and Ed and I have always made quick rise loaves using instant yeast. They’re much tastier than supermarket bread, and they are quick and easy to make. The bread you get from throwing ingredients in the mixer and leaving the dough to rise just once in tins is perfectly adequate for toast and sandwiches, but it’s nothing spectacular.
All the birds are singing as I weave my way through bumper to bumper traffic on the Middleway, ignoring irate drivers who gesticulate wildly at me for having the audacity to walk on a pedestrian green, leaving them stranded in the box junction they impatiently straddled in heavy, slow moving traffic. Despite fuel nudging £1.70 a litre with the war in Ukraine, there are few signs that Brummies intend to give up their cars any time soon.
My hoya kerrii grew lanky towards late summer. It put out some new leaves, but then aborted them, and I was left with a long stem with some leaves on the end. With the sun returning and spring on its way, I got snip happy with my secateurs and chopped it back to the main growth. It’ll grow a new vine from the same node and the cutting will be rooted and popped back in the same pot for a fuller plant later in the season. I think I underwaterered it hence the aborted leaves. I’m still learning, and so fearful of overwatering that sometimes I’m too cautious.
