So far Granny has made a fig and orange compote, fig preserve with star anis, fig jam with cardomum and rose water - odd but interesting. She has also made passion fruit ice cream, fig icecream, and ironed linen for up to five beds, on behalf of the scientists coming in September - she never irons them for herself and Beloved. She hopes the scientists will appreciate the extent to which the latter at least is against her principles. She hopes they will also appreciate the figs. The passion fruit icecream she will not be modest about. It is delectable.
And then there's the ongoing chicken watch. Each morning, each evening, the procession goes down. Beautiful Wimp, Tiresome Terrier, Granny, Beloved, both bearing bowls with the remains of lettuces, water melon and so forth, all of which they devour eagerly. (They are jungle fowl and like green shoots. There are no green shoots here. Beloved has to provide them.) Feline Houdini also skulks along as above, unless prevented on behalf of trapped birds; 3 turtle doves this morning. Fortunately FH for once was too interested in his breakfast to follow.
Another chicken has started laying. White eggs this time.
You can see this is not a literary week. But all of it stops Granny brooding on London, to which she is bound next week; various London friends have said 'Stay out.' But she won't.
She'll try and write about all that tomorrow. Figs, hollow men and chickens will do for now.
But you could try Tariq Ramadan's site if you you want some qood sense in the meantime
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