However, this time I ended up buying a new shaker bottle in the supermarket. It appeared to be good value. When I got home however I compared the old and the new. No wonder it seemed good value - the new one holds considerably less than the old. 
I said I thought it was pickling vinegar and he went off to find out. Yes, it was!
From flint-clad cottages and Scottish baronial villas to Palladian mansions and miniature pink gothic castles, Poundbury is a merry riot of porticoes and pilasters, mansards and mouldings, sampling from the rich history of architectural pattern books with promiscuous glee. The Butter Cross bakery is dressed as an early 19th-century brick gazebo, crowned with a gilded orb. It looks on to a little market square, where cast-iron verandahs face off against a creamy rendered terrace, watched over by a neoclassical office block that is raised on an arcaded plinth. It seems grand for a village square.
The first phase, built in the early 90s, was based on a villagey “Dorset vernacular”, the latest piazza has cranked up the dial to full Greco-Roman. A doric colonnade marches along the front of a new Waitrose…Across the square. Strathmore House, a palatial pile that could have been airlifted in from St Petersburg, contains eight luxury apartments beneath its royal-crested pediment. Next door stands the white stone heft of the Duchess of Cornwall, Poundbury’s first hotel, based on Palladio’s Convento della Carità in Venice.
I do love looking at the skilled work of miniaturists - and have just discovered a new one; Matteo Strucci, a young Italian in his twenties makes delightful compositions using model people and cake! I listened recently on Radio 4 Extra, to a dramatisation of Gulliver's travels and his Lilliputian Adventures. Matteo calls his work "I Dolci di Gulliver" - the desserts of Gulliver. You can read about this here, but I have selected some of his creations [he puts them on Instagram regularly] to whet your appetite.
The noise was the worst. Not the crackling of the flames,
not the explosions and the clatter of falling buildings, not the shouting and
the endless beating of drums and the groans and cries of the crowd: it was the
howling of the fire. It was the voice of The Great Beast itself.
The son of a traitor, James Marwood is a reluctant government informer, forced to hunt the killer through the city's devastated streets. #A killer seeking revenge…
When a second murder victim is discovered in the Fleet Ditch, Marwood is drawn into the political and religious intrigue of Westminster. At a time of dangerous internal dissent, Marwood’s investigation will lead him into treacherous waters – and across the path of a determined and vengeful woman.
That is definitely my preferred indulgence, especially if I can find the Dark Chocolate ones. But the teacake has such potential - especially at Christmas, when it can be turned into a reindeer or a Christmas pudding.
I was incredibly brave and managed to keep a Madagascan Cockroach in my hands for a couple of minutes. He was huge!
The only downside to the weekend was being bitten [on the back of my right calf] by something on Saturday evening in the brief time we were outside on The Terrace at Bawburgh . What started as a tiny red mark was the size of a 2p coin at bedtime, and fist sized at breakfast. I changed into loose trousers straight after church- and once all the family had left at 3pm, I checked again, and the redness was tea-plate sized, and spreading, and my leg was very painful and swollen. Off to A&E in Norwich to collect antibiotics. It is healing well now, but I am annoyed that I forgot to put on insect repellant. I did not take pictures! Unfortunately it meant Bob had to do all the 5 hour drive back and I couldn't take my turn at the wheel. 
