Fur

Granny's chief concern in London at the moment is keeping warm; outside. Inside her flat it's warm, no problem. On her island it is the other way about - as in all places considered to have a Mediterranean or quasi Mediterranean climate, as soon as the temperature drops such heating arrangements as exist are quite inadequate, especially when sitting still, writing or reading. Beloved Daughter has given Granny a pair of black sheepskin slippers; not the kind of thing she has owned in her life before. Now, how she loves them; regrets that she cannot wear them around London streets as well. On the other hand she thinks they may be perfect for when she is at her desk in her cold house on her island. (In London she would prefer a sheepskin coat; dream on, Granny).

But oh the pleasure of the wool against her feet. The rise, the glow of delicious warmth. Sheep, skin inside, wool out, have it the wrong way round, poor things. Shouldn't someone tell them?