Baking, baking, baking...

OK so I didn't do any baking last night I just vegged on the sofa. I was definitely asleep before MrT got home from work and I remember trying to tell him something about midnight when I came to bed. All I remember is that I knew exactly what I wanted to say but all the words coming out of my mouth weren't the ones in my head and it didn't make sense. I remember thinking that this must be how small children feel when they get frustrated when you don't understand. I was informed by text today that I was talking about house keys?!?!?!

After a crappy day in London (it's London and our London office is mean and miserable) I had a cheating curry from the supermarket and vegged for a few hours. I've now made a batch of ginger snaps (and eaten quite a few of the squished ones!). There's some chocolate buns in the oven and a load of biscuit dough waiting in the fridge for the oven to be free. We're having loads of folk over for a bbq on Sat so it's not like I'm just baking for the sake of it. Should baking make me this happy?

EDIT: All done and I have biscuit cutter hand (trouble with double sided cutters they're a bit sharp).