Sunday, December 6

At least we’re not in Cumbria

The neighbour’s daughters rode past on their mounts this morning, ponies shouldering their way through the driving rain – a scene from a western?

There is a surge of older men attending bread-making courses and learning how to cook. Half are widowed or divorced, and have never peeled a spud or brandished a wooden spoon in anger.

The evolutionary progress of Mrs G’s Salade Niçoise continues apace, lettuce, tuna loin and olives augmented with sliced pink firs, crumbled morcilla – black pudding, and pancetta.

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