For the first time in days I can finally feel some heat from the sun seeping through to my bones. I've been swaddled up like some old dear from Tibet, minus the cut off mittens. I drew the line at the woolley hat, that's for seriously old people surely ?
I've just snatched a quick bite to eat. The in-house chef, His Lordship was on good form today. Sporting a rather dashing deer stalker hat (a universal look for ANY AGE whatever the weather) he knocked up Parfait de foie de Volaille. That's warm slices of apple caramalized, duck confit, chicken liver pate with cream, egg yolks and a touch of madeira. Following that we had a bowl of warming celery soup accompanied by some crunchy baguette. I opted for a small glass of local red from the Malpere which is allowed because :-
1. It is France
2. It is lunchtime
3. It is Friday
I sat back mostly satisfied and cast a furtive glance around the kitchen. "Creme Brulee in the fridge" ? I lightly enquired.
I received a look that would freeze even the most hardy of souls and sort of wished I had kept quiet.
Meanwhile I've slunk shamefaced into my warm spot in the library, south facing, seat full in the glare of the afternoon sun. Not only do I have to contemplate work but I must face up to the awful truth sooner or later that my bikini may well have shrunk in the wash.