My favourite sort of souvenir is the edible sort.
Though I'd make an exception for the bag of Camargue red rice that someone gave me a couple of years ago, which sat quietly on the top shelf for ages before suddenly bursting open with weevils and creating an infestation.
Crikey, that could have given Alien a run for its money.
So anyway, I brought back a bag of unbleached white flour from Pembrokeshire. It had been stone-ground in a watermill at St Dogmaels. I made a loaf with it yesterday.
Bloody disaster. It sank in the middle. Reminded me of that dispiritingly worthy bread that there was far too much of in the 70s and 80s.
This is what my bread usually turns out like. It's got some malt extract and some rye flour in it.
Oh well. Looking on the bright side, I popped into Howells in Cardiff and got some Marshmallow Fluff. And look, it's Malteser instant hot choc. Yay!