But last Sunday I had it in my head to take an early morning walk along the waterfront with a good classical radio station playing. I meant to head out for half an hour, but instead, I meandered about for almost three times that, weaving amidst families and dogs and couples and runners and toddlers while listening to Chopin's Mazurkas and Mozart's Rondeaus.
Before we went to sleep he said, "really, no potatoes?". I stood firm.
But of course before I made my way home Sunday morning I took a loop by the market and picked some up. Although, if potatoes had to be had, they'd be done my way, so I also scooped up some sweet potatoes and parsnips to combine with the carrots and onion wedges at home. Altogether I had a nice little bed for my chickadee to roast over.
The mister was delighted to see some crispy-skinned potatoes and I was delighted that he let me have all the best bits of the chicken, including the parson's nose, as he was too busy spearing his tubers to notice me taking it all for myself. Turns out a little break from the weekend cocoon is a good thing.