I am an early riser, and before I take our dog out, I set the wholemeal bread to rise, after giving it a thorough kneading. On my return from the walk, I allow myself time to have coffee in the garden with my husband Phil and we plan our day. I go next door to our allotment, and I pluck the warm elderflower blossoms from the tree, as the sun is at its height, in an endless blue sky. I had already dissolved the sugar in hot water in a large pan, added the zest and juice of four lemons and, after gently rinsing these delicate blossoms, I add them to my mixture. The muslin cloth is next, and the pan is ready to leave for a couple of days. Hopefully the froth will form but if not, I will add a pinch or so of yeast, to help the fermentation on its way. In four days it should be ready to decant into clean bottles, although it will be another week before the elderflower champagne is ready to drink – provided the bottles don’t explode in the fermentation process. That has happened before, which is why I always put them in the Hobby House until they are ready. Well chilled, it will make a refreshing drink, if this hot weather continues.

I knock the bread back, and this time put in four or five tablespoonfuls of mixed seeds, shape it into the loaf tin, and leave it to rise again for another hour or so, before putting it into a very hot, steam filled oven. Today the kitchen is filled with the yeasty smell of the bread, and like the Bisto Boy, Phil wanders in from his workshop in the garden. Bread for Phil is like a truffle for a pig, and he raises his eyebrows in gentle enquiry. I nod, he smiles, we are both looking forward to a lunch of warm bread and homemade wild garlic pesto. Completing these ordinary domestic tasks, restores my equilibrium. I am at peace in this strange socially isolated world: I am in my kitchen, my haven.