There is something thoroughly satisfying about kneading bread and watching the sun clear the smog over St Paul's. And now my flat smells like Italy (I made a ciabatta-style bread with black olives and garlic).
It's only 8.00am and I already have two enormous loaves and a small (blueberry and cinnamon) cake to show for my efforts, and I feel happily productive. It is so satisfying to do something with an immediate, tangible result.
I think I need to bake more bread, and spend less time whinging morbidly about the past on livejournal.