The Quiet American promises home-made trout paté (with a deliciously softened t and a nicely accented e-acute) when we come tomorrow evening, and I promise the tarte tatin we didn't have the other night when dinner was cancelled owing to bad news. We feel cheered and a little defiant, but not inappropriately.
(Now there's a mish-mash, tarte tatin italicised, 'paté' not, at what point can Anglicisation be said to have taken place, I wonder?)
I have cut the grass, which makes everything in the garden look better, and puts a layer of cuttings over the apple waste on the compost heap that was drawing the wasps.
Photo: Sun through sumac.