F7 refers to the facility in Microsoft word to spell check, however you still need to be sure that the result is the appropriate correctly spelt word.
Signs I have seen locally this summer,
Rashes of Bacon,
Place and Chips.
Not to mention a letter I got after a complaint to a well-known supermarket chain, containing the classic “We would like to apologise for any Incontinence this may have caused”.
Pink Gin refers to the Yacht of that name that I piloted out of London on Monday. We left the West India Dock (By Canary Wharf)
and passed under the new Cable Car, through the Thames Barrier and outwards. We had about 3m clearance at the Dartford Bridge, but looking up from the deck it never seemed that much. I found a picture taken on the bridge of a ship that I did a while back, passing Tilbury.
My wines are now selling well, I used to sell Bread at work, but now living so far away and only working a bit it's impractical, so I concentrate on Jam, Mint sauce and now Home-made wine. It’s all snowballed from my talking about what I was doing with my time after I semi-retired and people asking for samples when I would tell them what I had made. So we started off with Mint Sauce, and moved on to Jam and Marmalade, then whilst talking about wine I was asked for a sample and the person wasn’t at work when I took it in. So someone else tried it and asked for more, and so we go on. I was asked for a Sourdough loaf as well, I guess that’s the one thing that will cope with travel and being made early. The trouble is, whilst I enjoy making the stuff, as soon as it feels like a chore, or there’s pressure to deliver, I start to lose interest.
This time home, we are having a slow roast brisket in the Jamie style amongst other things, and I need to use up some flour that’s nearly out of date. I also want to pick some more Blackberries for winter use and the last of this year’s mint. If I can get another jug of rose petals I can make my third batch of wine, considering its selling well I need to replenish stocks and have some for myself.
I’m also buzzing with ideas for the book, I’ve now got the ending sorted and know what's going to happen, it's just a case of filling in the gaps, and getting all my surviving characters to the end. By the way, it's a very emotional thing, killing off one of your characters, I thought it would be easy, but having created the person and seen them come alive under my pen (so to speak) ending their existence is tantamount to murder. I agonised over it for a while, but it's kind of essential to the story, and motivates another character to …..Well enough, I’ll give it all away; you’ll just have to wait.
But first, we will have a trip to Tavistock to see some friends and have a day out. The best bit for me is still the trip across Dartmoor. It's always different, in all its moods beautiful and ever changing. There are usually various animals to dodge on the road, the shadows of the clouds scudding across the gorse and heather and the wild freedom of the place. As you can probably tell I love the moor, and have been lucky enough to have spent time on it all my life. My parents and I used to go out for long walks on the moor when I was growing up, and with my Grandmother they introduced me to it. My Grandmothers sister and her husband lived on it's edge, and had a lot of stories, unfortunately I never listened enough.
But first: at half past 6 in the dawns first light, I went to Sharkham to pick more blackberries,
this time for winter crumbles and pies, so that in deepest winter you can sit in a warm room, whilst it's cold outside and taste the summer. Preferably with lashings of custard. Anyway I found about half a kilo of berries, with more to come in a few days.
But as usual the best ones are just out of reach, and my arms are lacerated from trying. I also fell into the brambles in my excitement, good job nobody was watching.