Meat, meat and more meat. Oh, and some asparagus too.

Today was a fantastic day.
We went to Loch Lomond and frolicked on the beach and climbed trees and threw rocks into the water and clambered along rocky paths and climbed a small hill and smelled some wild mint and then stole some of said wild mint to plant in a pot and had a pub lunch and laughed when sibling no.2 fell down twice in a row and attempted to skim stones and sat in the sand and fell asleep in the car on the way home. It was fun.
It was also sunny and warm so we broke out the barbeque and had a protein-fest consisting of burgers, chicken and sausages. Along with that there were little pastry half-moons filled with feta cheese (M&S I'm afraid), asparagus with olive oil and chorizo, salad and olives. There were a few leftover baked potatoes from the other night (I was telling the truth when I said I hadn't eaten anything interesting recently), and the flesh was scooped out and mixed with spring onion and cheddar, and then baked in the skins. There were two profiteroles each for dessert.


Everyone was thoroughly confused as to why we had such a feast today. Mother basically read me her will as half of the family is travelling to England tomorrow and told me it was a possibility that they may die a horrific and fiery death on the motorway. So I am now doubly confused. Why the sudden paranoia?

I despise it when people pronounce chorizo as 'cho-RITZ-oh'. It drives me bloody insane.