It is impossible not to love someone who makes toast for you.

Fallen leaves make me think 'baked apples'.

No one wants to be tied to the kitchen on a day when the sun is beaming down and there are friends to spend time with.

Welsh Rarebit. Nothing pleases me more than finding those two words on a restaurant menu. It is proof that the world has not quite lost its senses.

There is no guest more welcome than one who arrives with a homemade treat in hand.

When mayonnaise is to play a starring role, I make it myself.

There is something about baking a pastry case and filling it with something good that appeals to me as much as making any cake or tray of biscuits.

Eating outside is the best seasoning.

The handwritten card says you care. The e-card says you don't. Cold, efficient and a wee bit too business-like. If you are going to send an electronic Christmas greeting, I'd rather you didn't, thank you. If you can't be arsed to put pen to paper, then don't bother.

I sweep up the leaves, most of which I recognise.

I miss the original Walnut Whips. Vanilla or coffee. The chocolate case piped rather than smooth. A walnut waiting for you at the bottom.

From time to time I find myself with a bag of curry leaves.

I'm going to make a great big beautiful sandwich.

I like the thought that whilst baking or roasting no flavour has the chance to escape, every bit of it trapped by the walls of the oven.

A halved watermelon becomes a fixture in the fridge from now till early autumn.

I have a fondness for the fishcake that goes beyond fashion or fad.

The joy of a Jaffa cake.

There is more of a spring in my step now than at any other time of year.

I seem to have started and ended each day’s eating with a bowl of yoghurt for as long as I can remember.

This year, the blossom's arrival feels more welcome than ever.

As much as I am looking forward to getting out of the house again, there is something rather special about getting parcels of delicious things delivered to your door.