Hello again, all of you.
Sorry this has taken so long, but we've been rather busy what with one thing and another: nothing particularly time-consuming in itself but when you add up all the little things the weeks just fly past. And on top of that it's getting hotter so the rosé consumption goes up, and quite frankly after a half-bottle you don't really feel like doing much apart from lying out on the lawn soaking up the sun. Which is what I usually try to do on a Sunday afternoon, after time up at the office trying to keep the paperwork up to date.
On the upside, although the asparagus, strawberries and cherries are about finished, now is the time for peaches, nectarines and apricots. So I go to the market and fill my bag up with these - along with a rougette lettuce or two, and some baby new potatoes, and beans or whatever else takes my fancy - before scowling my way through the assembled hordes of little old ladies with their frikkin trolleys, hoping to get back to the car with the fruit more or less intact.
So far it's worked, I've not yet been obliged to make jam when I get home.
We've a social summer lined up: Janet and Kevin have already passed through (on the way down to, and then on the way back from, Corsica), David turns up (supposedly) on or about the 15th of July, last week of July we head off to Pesselière with Karen and sprogs for a week of doing absolutely nothing (apart from drinking rosé), then on the 31st I need to be at Geneva to pick up Ross & Madeleine before Julianne and Graeme turn up the next day.
Jeremy of course has his brevet to sit:the equivalent of what used to be school certificate, back in the faraway days when I knew anything about the NZ education system. Unless he does domething particularly stupid he should not actually be able to fail, given the points he has from internal assessment. After which, next year it's off to Challes-les-Eaux to learn about cooking. Hopefully.
Malyon is, apparently, fine - was planing on ringing her tonight but when I sent her an SMS to suggest this she sent back to say that she was off to Edinburgh for the night, so we could forget about that. The latest news I have is that she gave up her office job, is working full-time (nights) in a classy bar (had to dye her hair black from blue, apparently that didn't fit in with the image) and has modelled socks. Could be worse.
Otherwise we still seem to be alive: suffering through long hot muggy days, but at least the lawn isn't growing too furiously so Saturday afternoons are not always filled with the angry buzzing of the lawnmower. Which is doubtless a relief to the neighbours. And certainly is to me, even if it does mean that I'm not working as hard as I could be on my tan.
Work goes on - not as easy as it could be, but it's not yet disastrous. Don't know what it's like on your side of the pond. Whatever, we'll get by. But I really do hate having to talk to bankers. Even though ours is rather good-looking.
Next weekend we've a Bar Mitzvah to attend: I rather skimmed over the invitation and thought "hey, I can go to the market and then turn up for the skullcap biz ..." - I should be so lucky, we have to be there at 9am. Followed by a long lunch (if I'm any judge) at midday: don't plan on being back home much before 17:00. Another Saturday to be spent getting elegantly wasted.
This is, I know, rather a short effort - not at all up to my usual standards - and I apologise unreservedly, fulsomely, and doubtless fruitily. (Anyone remember "Beer" from Blackadder?) Whatever, it's this or nowt, so live with it. You could always try sending back a big chatty reply; who knows, I might even answer.
Trevor
Sorry this has taken so long, but we've been rather busy what with one thing and another: nothing particularly time-consuming in itself but when you add up all the little things the weeks just fly past. And on top of that it's getting hotter so the rosé consumption goes up, and quite frankly after a half-bottle you don't really feel like doing much apart from lying out on the lawn soaking up the sun. Which is what I usually try to do on a Sunday afternoon, after time up at the office trying to keep the paperwork up to date.
On the upside, although the asparagus, strawberries and cherries are about finished, now is the time for peaches, nectarines and apricots. So I go to the market and fill my bag up with these - along with a rougette lettuce or two, and some baby new potatoes, and beans or whatever else takes my fancy - before scowling my way through the assembled hordes of little old ladies with their frikkin trolleys, hoping to get back to the car with the fruit more or less intact.
So far it's worked, I've not yet been obliged to make jam when I get home.
We've a social summer lined up: Janet and Kevin have already passed through (on the way down to, and then on the way back from, Corsica), David turns up (supposedly) on or about the 15th of July, last week of July we head off to Pesselière with Karen and sprogs for a week of doing absolutely nothing (apart from drinking rosé), then on the 31st I need to be at Geneva to pick up Ross & Madeleine before Julianne and Graeme turn up the next day.
Jeremy of course has his brevet to sit:the equivalent of what used to be school certificate, back in the faraway days when I knew anything about the NZ education system. Unless he does domething particularly stupid he should not actually be able to fail, given the points he has from internal assessment. After which, next year it's off to Challes-les-Eaux to learn about cooking. Hopefully.
Malyon is, apparently, fine - was planing on ringing her tonight but when I sent her an SMS to suggest this she sent back to say that she was off to Edinburgh for the night, so we could forget about that. The latest news I have is that she gave up her office job, is working full-time (nights) in a classy bar (had to dye her hair black from blue, apparently that didn't fit in with the image) and has modelled socks. Could be worse.
Otherwise we still seem to be alive: suffering through long hot muggy days, but at least the lawn isn't growing too furiously so Saturday afternoons are not always filled with the angry buzzing of the lawnmower. Which is doubtless a relief to the neighbours. And certainly is to me, even if it does mean that I'm not working as hard as I could be on my tan.
Work goes on - not as easy as it could be, but it's not yet disastrous. Don't know what it's like on your side of the pond. Whatever, we'll get by. But I really do hate having to talk to bankers. Even though ours is rather good-looking.
Next weekend we've a Bar Mitzvah to attend: I rather skimmed over the invitation and thought "hey, I can go to the market and then turn up for the skullcap biz ..." - I should be so lucky, we have to be there at 9am. Followed by a long lunch (if I'm any judge) at midday: don't plan on being back home much before 17:00. Another Saturday to be spent getting elegantly wasted.
This is, I know, rather a short effort - not at all up to my usual standards - and I apologise unreservedly, fulsomely, and doubtless fruitily. (Anyone remember "Beer" from Blackadder?) Whatever, it's this or nowt, so live with it. You could always try sending back a big chatty reply; who knows, I might even answer.
Trevor
