Lately, I have dreamt in custard. Lying in bed last night, I could have sworn I could smell the faint boozy hum of vanilla, the richness of eggs and cream. It’s not surprising. Over the last month, custard and I have become pretty well – if reluctantly – acquainted.
We have been making the most of the heatwave this week, if you can call the sun deigning to appear and not give way to hailstorms for three days straight a ‘heatwave’. Having spent a weekend in Holland where it was so bitterly cold we were forced to buy chips for warmth (or so we justified it), it seemed an absolute coup to come home to brilliant bright sunshine.