Happy New Year's Mash.

 And so we arrive at New Year's Day, crashing onto its smooth glistening shores like a fifteenth-century barque thrown from a savage 2022 sea onto some unknown and unexplored island off Venezuela. Except we have social media such as Twitter, of which the least said the better*. I'd prefer a quill and ink; or a talking parrot named Poll, a dog and a goat. And friendly natives. The twitter-sphere is not a friendly place: take it back five hundred years and it would be a world of cannibals.

It is deadly quiet here; even the usual traffic snarl from Sydney Road is muted. I spent the morning pruning in the hot silent mid-morning sunshine. The Queen Elizabeths are ten feet of rioting pink; the two Peace climbers are competing for height; and Just Joey, Gold Bunny and the three Lorraine Lees are all happily flowering, although rust has badly affected some of them this summer - no wonder with the sodden 2023. John F. Kennedy has not yet taken off since being planted two years ago, and Mr Lincoln might be in the wrong spot. 

Mashed potato with spinach and cheese.

Last night's dinner was accompanied by this take on mash; an ideal variation when you've gazed at the plain version once too often on your plate.

Boil a bunch of spinach for a minute or so; drain and squeeze out excess water.

Boil four or five large chopped potatoes in salted water until soft. Drain and mash with a tablespoonful of butter and a dash of milk until smooth.

Add a generous cup of Gruyère cheese and the cooked spinach and fold through until combined. Season to taste - I like plenty of salt and pepper.

Happy new year. 

*

*I once calculated that mankind spends a combined 2300 years daily on Twitter.