The first swallow was twittering on a phone line today and the field where I potter the dog had dozens of little white butterflies wooing and winning each other. The nuke was towering two great solid columns into the blue sky. Later in the afternoon they disappeared bar the occasional cotton wool puff high above them. It’s a shame that I don’t understand quite why they come and go. When the reactors explode it’ll be bad luck if the fall out comes this way since a north wind is not common here. If I ran the industry, I’d triple the salaries earned by the guys in charge of safety. I’d also write into their contracts that they faced summary execution should their safety measures prove inadequate.
My standard dish is chicken, onions and anything else that I can find kicking about. I was delighted to see that my neighbour last night had precisely the same concoction simmering away in the frying pan. It may be that I am a French chef manqué.
I lived and worked once in a house with a babbling river frontage. When I felt like a couple of minutes break I would pick a rod off the wall and throw a few casts into the water. The two little trout I would catch – William and Henry – I would return for next time. A similar brain clearer may well operate here. Pop out the door and prise from the clutch of the clay a couple of weeds from the lawn. It should keep me occupied most of the summer. Clover doesn’t count because something green has to be left behind.