It's telling you that the brain is need of something when you find yourself looking in the fridge for porridge. I'd like to claim it was a lack of the good things, diving and fishing and maybe bringing home the odd pheasant or making the exotic dish or two. But I'd be lying. Yesterday I caught whitebait - well, not whitebait, but little engraulids of some sort), collected oysters, cockles, had a dive at red bluff (not worth it very scoured) caught a couple of Aussie salmon and Norman (my neighbor) and I made some goose sausages (I also had my first whitebait fritter. crunchy.) and shot a pheasant. Which I hung up to talk to my boy James in Zimbabwe... and blasted Wednesday pulled down and ate. Not a popular labrador.
Anyway, so maybe it's writing I ought to do.