M'aidez May Day

It gets worse. My Sunday lunch guest and Quint the pot deliverer arrived at exactly the same time, on the dot of 1pm. Of course they did. Which is how I came to forget that that was also the moment to take the food out of the oven. An hour later, pots safely positioned, Quint despatched with £25 in his pocket, and we two comfortably seated on the bench by the pond looking up into the garden and the hot sun, glass of chilled Pouilly Fuisse in our hands, I suddenly remembered. It wasn't ruined, but it didn't come out as it was meant to. Really, you have to laugh. A sense of humour is everything in situations like these. There were meant to be very strong winds and grey skies so I'd layed a fire. In the event it was a beautiful day, the more enjoyable for being unexpected.

Now you're talking. New pots. Taking shape

This morning I arrived at Ruth's house for our planned lunch at Orford and walk at Shingle Street. As we prepared to get into her car with the dog she said, "Just look at the two of us!" I looked, and saw nothing strange, but she pointed out that we were both wearing jeans, Guernseys and navy gilets. If I'd worn the shoes that she helped me choose a few weeks ago and then bought a near-identical copy of herself we'd have looked even odder. "We can't go out looking like that!" We did though, and nobody laughed or looked shocked. Well, no more than usual. I've wanted to see Shingle Street since moving to Suffolk. I liked the sound of its remoteness, its proximity to the emptiness and greyness that is the North Sea, and its vulnerability to the elements. I wasn't disappointed. All the promised wind of yesterday hit us as we got out of the car, and Hugo looked dazed. Still, we walked as far as the Martello tower, marvelling at how people could live in such an exposed place. Most of the old properties, including the coastguard's cottages, have been turned into holiday homes and some of them are beautiful. As we walked past one with a side door out of the wind Hugo rushed up to it and tried to get inside. Poor little boy, he couldn't believe how cruel we were being.

As evening settled down calmly, the scudding clouds of earlier giving way to a pure blue sky, we stopped off at Pount Farm for our evening walk. The intense scent of hawthorn blossom fills the air at the moment, and with it the pungent odour of young nettles which I find completely delicious. Touch them at this time of the year and you'll regret it, but take the leaves away from the hairy, lethal stems, and you have a substitute for fennel and a tasty basis for soup. Hugo tore all over the place, relieved to be in a more temperate spot, and I took him the long way round, happy to see his joy.