There are times it strikes you just how
good it is to be home. I seem to have been writing about France so much
of late. Much as I love France,
England, particularly Lancashire, remains home.
This thought struck me over dinner. We
had a Ham & Egg Flan, made with an old Mrs Beeton recipe. The clean fresh
taste of the simple egg custard made the flan. It had no fancy spicing or
herbs, no cheese, nothing but egg & milk with a bit of salt & pepper.
It seemed so English, so unspoilt.
We’d had a pleasant afternoon at our
village pub, talking to the new barmaid. She’s a recent graduate, working part
time at the pub. Her main job is in the management of the local council fitness
centre, but she needs the extra money to pay off some of her student debts. She’s
not unduly worried about the student loan. That she accepts will, or will not,
be paid off over the course of her career. It’s the credit cards &
overdraft she’s more concerned about.
It was lovely to see her enthusiasm for
life. It’s the first time I’ve really regarded sport as a degree course, yet
that was what she had a degree in. She certainly had the intelligence &
intellectual rigour of anyone who has gained a more orthodox degree.
Today I was pleased to see a letter from
the hospital arrive. It’s my appointment for another ultrasound scan. This
should reveal whether my pancreas is once more down to more normal size & I
can start to have a little bit of alcohol again.
It’s not that I’ve ever drunk much alcohol,
but I do miss my glass of wine with dinner. I resent having a range of
experience & a chance of discovering new tastes denied me. It also makes
such things as communion wine forbidden, not to mention some fabulous desserts
& chocolates. I don’t want a lot. I just want to be free to have the choice
again.
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