At the End of the Day

With every fruit tree ahead of itself here (and the branches practically breaking with the weight of fruit) today has been very much a time for gathering. Most of the eating apples are in, peeled, chopped and frozen – it’s really all they’re good for, as the tree is well past its sell-by date: but they make excellent pie fillings for those winter Sunday lunches.

Tomorrow I shall fill another freezer with mirabelles, greengages and prunes. The prunes are not yet what the French consider ripe, but this is the right time for me to crop them, as once really ripe they become too sickly to use with onions as an accompaniment to duck in particular, and cassoulet in general. This is only my view: others would say that I’m talking out of my backside.

Later come the sloes, pears and then walnuts. The last two of these make wonderful Autumn starters with blue cheese and salad. But the seasons are becoming less and less marked: this year we had a mini-August in May, now we are having a spell of April in July. Nature is all over the place….and the same applies to its fecundity.

As I write tonight, the deepening red of a setting sun is bathing the kitchen in a bloody glow. The Meteo says tomorrow will be a cloudless day of 29 degrees, but then it said today would be cloudy – and it was wrong. It really doesn’t matter: life will go on, as yet unaffected by lunacies beyond the lives of those still in touch with reality.

Earlier at The Slog: The odd life and times of Ronnie Raygun