... I have honest-to-goodness chilblains.

I thought you weren't supposed to get those unless you were, like, a servant in a Victorian novel. Body, no.

Also if anyone has any bright ideas about the intersection of "Reynaud's" and "sensory processing disorder" with respect to "slippers" or otherwise keeping my feet warm, that'd be great, bearing in mind that the main thing that sets the Reynaud's off is my extremities having even the vaguest inkling that they might have ever met the concept of cold. (I am currently trying to work out if there are a pair of sufficiently bulky non-allergenic socks around that I can just wear those as a second layer.)

(no subject)

I can't for the life of me remember which of you it was that linked me to this frankly glorious restaurant review, but thank you.

The Hudson Valley Foie Gras (“Seared with Brussels Sprouts and Smoked Eel”) is divine; the Widow’s Hole Oysters (“Hot and Cold with Apple and Black Chestnuts”) are excellent if weirdly capitalized; but the remarkable thing is the turnip course. A turnip, as you know, should be allowed to be a turnip; that is for the best.

(Meanwhile A is quoting an article about the Tube back at me, and I continue desperately enamored of the concept of rose-and-vanilla or chamomile battenberg, which latter was brought to my attention by aella_irene.)