Yesterday was National Sickie Day. The first Monday in February is the day when people are most likely to phone in sick, which must have been why I felt so totally disinclined to do anything much.
A grey sort of misery had descended. A misery without any cause, which is sometime the hardest to dispel. I knew that if I did something: started on my editing tasks, went for a brisk walk, hoovered the living room carpet, I would feel better. But hey it was National Sickie Day and I didn’t do any of those things. I didn’t even go back to bed and hide my head under the duvet.
Instead I just mooched along, a little editing here, a bit of social media there and an evening in front of the TV.
This morning, feeling better, I was seized by an overwhelming desire to bake scones. This is my default position when in need of comfort food. There is something so soothing about the weighing of ingredients, the rubbing in of the butter, the swirling in of the egg and milk mix, the gentle kneading, then mixing in the sultans. And then there is the cutting out of the round shapes and watching as the scones rise golden and brown in the oven.
What is especially joyful is that I’ve only recently mastered the art. My first attempt resulted in something akin to rock cakes and I didn’t try again for years. Then I came across Mary Berry’s recipe.
She said it was fool proof and it is.
Fortified by warm scones, butter and raspberry jam, I returned to my desk full of energy and ideas.