There is a certain beauty to winter sun. Not the winter sun discovered by hopping on a plane and seeking out sunny beaches when the cold comes here. No, that pale, ethereal light on bitterly cold clear days that brings joy to my eyes and soul. I'm appreciating nature in a way that has changed in recent years. Is it a sign of middle age? I prefer to call it distinguished.
On Sunday afternoon Miriam and I set out for Wicken Fen and did a short walk around the nature reserve. The National Trust is a magnificent entity that belongs to our nation. Through reeds and fen we walked as that beautiful light bathed a Sunday afternoon. Glorious.
Back at the visitor centre and ticket office they had fine things for sale. I bought some local Cambridgeshire honey and some horseradish and cider mustard. Armed with these and some home made plum chutney I made my way home through the wet grey day that was Monday in the disappointment of the Rams defeat. But I had fine things to try.
Today was a little mixed. People didn't turn up. I had no time for lunch. I sat on a stall at an open day and saw a grand today of six people in three hours. Then I came home. Then life brightened up. I marinated a chicken leg in a mix of the honey and mustard, added some fresh thyme, salt, pepper and rapeseed oil. Baked for thirty minutes the result was sublime. How much better is food when one sources the best ingredients?
Content and full I'm listening to Maria Callas singing Verdi and sipping a chilled glass of white Rioja. My unwinding time is so precious to me. Without it I fear I would never have climbed out of the black hole I inhabited a year ago.
After this I will immerse myself in E M Forster. Enjoying Howards End but only make slow progress. See you all again at the weekend.
I Heard a Voice.
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