Helen came this morning and drove me up to the fishmonger. I hadn’t been there for a long time, and had picked the right moment for a gastronomic adventure: he had wild sea trout! It’s a family business which has been on the same spot for several generations. It was the present man’s father who taught me that sea trout was to be preferred even to wild salmon.

(He had a couple of shiny black lobsters, too – but I couldn’t deal with such a thing on my own, and, anyway, Ketki and I agree, when the others aren’t listening, that New England lobsters are better and sweeter.)

Then we walked home – it’s about half a mile, downhill. As we passed the corner shop, the man-behind-the-counter (a faithful retainer, I think, rather than a family member) came running after us to say, We have mangoes! He knew my liking for them. That’s another seasonal treat, the Pakistani mangoes. They don’t often turn up in supermarkets – you need to watch the corner shops. They are late this year, he thought because so few flights from Pakistan were available.

I have been not so much droopy as prostrate ever since, but it was worth it.

So, no knitting. But tomorrow is Sunday, and  things should advance.

Comments

Chloe, yes, I have one of those electric grinders, meant for coffee but I reserve it for spices. I hope I can find it. The perfect answer for my question of how to get rosemary into my next sourdough loaf. And, Jean, yes, I have a mezzaluna, and I know where it is, so I’m covered both ways.

Shandy, perhaps Doctor Thorne on the screen would be just the thing for an evening of prostration. I'm also told, both by the newspaper and by a friend, that the new documentary about Mrs Clinton is very good. Maybe I could find that on catch-up. Or maybe just go to bed.