So, I baked cookies in Belfast. But they weren't quite as good as I'd hoped. They were yummy, don't get me wrong. But I felt compelled to improve. I'm my own harshest critic. And if you'd ever met my mother, you'd know that's saying something. Anyway, I baked another batch tonight. And they were really good. Too good. I ate lots. So I'm still in the midst of a sugar rush, trying to sort through bank statements and attempting to resurrect a long-dead PowerBook G3 for a dear friend in need of a computer that doesn't crash when breathing on it.
Here's a philosophical question - if one travels far for a certain purpose, say to host a wine tasting and doesn't, in fact, host a wine tasting, but still has, as does everyone else, a fantastic time, is that a failure? Answers in comments.
And yes, I know I'm deluding myself, as comments are so rare, but go on, leave a comment. I don't bite.
Unless it's a cookie.