Week 242: apple cake
Some work. I have a thing where people can type in a (UK) postcode to see what bus stops etc are near it. And it annoys me when those things demand an entire postcode, when the first few characters are sufficient to give a general gist of my location. But my own thing was guilty of the very thing I’m so annoyed by. Well, not anymore; adding the ability to search by just an “outcode”, as those prefixes are called, was pleasingly nice.
(Remember a quirk of the NHS COVID-19 app … if your postcode was “XX1 1XX”, it used to say you were in the “XX11” postcode district.)
A slight complication I discovered a bit later: turns out some strings like E2 and PE1 are both valid postcode outcodes and bus route numbers.
(Is that all this week? Pathetic.)
My recflective bicycling jacket is so good at reflecting light that it activates those infrared sensors from a great distance – you know, the “touch free exit” buttons some buildings have, and the flushes of posh public toilets. I can tell you it’s annoying when a toilet flushes when you don’t want it to. In the loos at Waitrose, I stood at a urinal and my shiny coat turned on the taps across the room like there was a poltergeist about. (The sound of running water can make you want to pee, and what better place for it?)
But only certain parts of the lurid blouson are mirror-like enough; I need to work on the choreography of exiting this building so the door appears to open itself without my so much as looking at the door release button.
Out to RHLSTP two evenings on the trot. As expected, the Joe Pasquale episode was remarkable, will go down in history, etc. Another highlight was leaving the room for a wee – partly thanks to the sound of rain on the theatre’s roof – and returning just as everyone was applauding the end of the first half.
🍞 A few loaves have had an amusing air bubble in their crust, bulgy like a snake who’s swallowed a golf ball. (Pictured, with some damage from being extracted from the tin.) It’s unusual and I like it, but it’s really a sign of under-worked/under-proven dough, so I must do better.
This week I made an apple cake, the sort of cake that’s better the next day. And in the process I dropped my telephone on the floor and cracked the screen, which was unfortunate, but still I had an apple cake.