On Saturday Tom and I both sort of had hangovers. Went to see
again on Friday night (they're good enough to see twice in a month, obviously). Since you can't make your own lunch when you have a hangover, we had to go to the Farmer's Market on Castle Terrace (poor us) for hog roast and sausage rolls. For anyone who hasn't been, it's on Saturdays from 9am-2pm and everything there is delicious. And the castle looks lovely in the sunshine.
After that we had loads of energy so we went to Ikea and messed with their visual merchandising:
Then Tom made chicken, sweet potato and coconut curry, and
AND we found yoghurt, almonds and mango chutney to chuck in, yaaas.
In a classic reversal of gender roles, I built the shelf we got from Ikea while Tom made dinner, and finally planted the herbs we got ages ago. They'll probably die because I usually manage to kill all my plants. I won't even be that gutted, I just like the pots.
(p.s. how ugly is our watering can? It has a ridiculous gormless expression too. Unfortunately it was the only small-ish cheap watering can I could find).
Then tonight when we got back I made
This is the third attempt, and I'm glad I persevered because it's really yummy. However, I feel like I have to clear up something my Dad believes. He always says a bad workman blames his tools, but in this case, if you use a pot that is too thin, and your sugar thermometer doesn't really tell you the temperature of molten crystals, then you would be justified in blaming your equipment. So I got a new pot and ignored the thermometer, and voila, salty-chocolate-almond-hazelnut-buttercrunch toffee. HA, Dad.