Smug

I like that word. And the way it feels. Especially when you think you can legitimately have a quiet bit of smugness for five or six minutes. I reckon that today I've cracked it, given that I've

• made cheese, leek and potato pies for tea
• done 8 months-worth of filing which had been hiding under the bed (why on earth do I have SO MANY PIECES OF PAPER???)
• finally got round to dyeing my hair blonde again (boy, those roots were bad)
• and read 'Hippos Go Berserk' and 'Dear Zoo' about 97 times (can you tell we're on an animal-fixation at the moment?)

Mind, I haven't managed to clean the kitchen floor, but you can't have everything. And anyway, that's just too frighteningly domestic, and making pie is Nigella-ish enough for one day.

Pies (mince)

Here are the fabled pies that M and I made last week. They look quite fancy, don't they? There were a lot more of them originally. And no, I haven't eaten them all.