Pollen - the snows of summer.

Dusky may well be the tendrils of the vine, but dusty, bien sûr, are the mandibles of the bee.

Summer has installed itself and the world has come to gawp. Except, that is Minou the famous cow cat who is more intent in becoming a threadbare rug.


Ponder for a moment the souls of myriads of insects humming along to the sounds of eternity in their short lived lives.


What music compared to the cacophony of human existence. Man that bloated, bleating megaphone of destruction.


There, I'm feeling better already. More mopané worm vicar?

The thorny question of the last bean ..

Summer may well be here but I have that feeling that Spring has only just finished as I have just podded and cooked the last broad bean. Afflicted by a plague of blackfly and stunted by a rather cold winter they performed rather well really.



Blend them in with a squirt of olive oil, garlic, onions, courgettes and tomatoes from the garden and voila ! Not quite, don't forget the essential chilli, fresh coriander, curcuma and cumin. Well, I'm going to eat this with a fine, if left over, "rougail tomate" from Saturday night's epicurean boucané.


Why should I mention this ? No idea, better get back out into the garden before I miss the Summer ...