Ah, the final summer bank holiday. When I first moved to the UK, I couldn't get used to the idea of having so many random days off (well, random to me - May Day? Really? Okay, awesome). "What? Another bank holiday?" I'd say in disbelief to my amused co-workers. The best is when you're completely oblivious to when one's coming up and you overhear (as I did once, on the tube) someone talking about it. Bonus.
To celebrate this one, I made blueberry pancakes for breakfast, much to John's delight and my ever-expanding waistline. I've come to depend on this recipe (even though I should have it memorized by now) and add to it what I feel like. Seems like I wasn't the only who had dreams of pancakes in my head last night, as Magda confided she had also made them this morning, in the opposite end of London.
It's funny, as I've never been a pancake fan until I moved here. Always was more of a waffle person.
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