Chester, Chester, I love Chester.

DH has taken a day off work today and we went out.

Chester is a lovely old city near to us. It has half-timbered shops and roman ruins. It has lovely shops, a park that has clean benches and a definite feel of respectable gentility about it. I'd love to show you a load of photos but I didn't take any. Just google Chester, UK and you get the picture.

And it has a pasty shop.

I love pasties. My childhood is full of memories of eating cornish pasties at the side of tourist attractions in Devon and Cornwall and drinking milk straight from the bottle with my brothers. I think my Mum even has photos of us sat in a row, with bottles and half-dead pasties really clearly visible.

I love pasties as a food memory, and today as I counted up the points (about 8 to 10) and ate on regardless (no points on chocolate today) it occurred to me that I have never tried to recreate a pasty in my own kitchen. They are, like a lot of things, something which every self-respecting wife could make at one time and we have delegated responsibility for to a professional. Baby care being another.

I think part of the reason I like the blogging world is because I read about people who have claimed their skills back. Crochet, knitting, sewing, gardening, decorating, childcare, animal husbandry, forestry, there is an army of bloggers out there who can do all these things.... and I love that. I am not green fingered. I will never knit a sock. But I know that I can do things and that I don't need to automatically look for the professional to do it for me.
That I don't need to spend £20 on a new Filofax, thank you very much, especially since the old one has LITERALLY fallen apart, leaving me with a ring-binder middle that I can.... hopefully.... fit into a new cover. A Polka dot red cover. A unique cover. My filofax. My way.

And no professional in sight.

Pictures to follow later this week.


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