Al and Dilly and the children had a lovely time in North Norfolk. When they left on Thursday, it was extremely windy and they had a lot of difficulty putting up their tent, which rather worried Pugsley, who imagined losing it in the Wash, like an odd sock or the Crown Jewels. However, after a day or so things improved and they've had fine weather. Al said that he never remembers being on Holkham beach in such perfect sunshine before.
It's been even hotter today. Still is. People have started picking the sloes on our hedge by the road, which is good to see. I like to think of the quantities of sloe gin being made in the village. There's not a lot else you can do with sloes, after all, because they're splendidly astringent. Al shut up shop early and was home by 4 o'clock, having been shut altogether yesterday; that having been his summer holiday. The Sage was in town when someone stopped and looked at the closed door in dismay. "He's not closed down for good, has he?" Not having just spent several thousand pounds on doing the outside of the shop up, he hasn't. I've put - just this moment - my camera in my bag and will take a photo if I'm in town tomorrow.
Tomorrow, the Sage is going to an auction in London so I'll do ... well, probably not a lot. Not if it's sunny. I'll pretend it's still the summer holidays and lounge around, once I've done essentials. Essentials don't comprise a lot, if I'm honest.
Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)
Two words: sloe wine. Better than gin, and rather cheaper, albeit more long-winded. We have three gallons on the go this year...
It's a shaming admission for a country-living woman, but I have never made wine. I've always felt I should get to grips with it some time, but the potential for complete cock-up seems quite high.
Post a Comment