The local farm shop plus café has been offering Friday night takeaways for the last year. Normally, they’re open for breakfast through to afternoon tea and the shop itself stays open until six o’clock. It’s a lovely farm, with Jersey cows – the calves stay with their mothers – and pigs, goats, guinea fowl, peacocks and so on. The rare breed pigs are raised for meat and so are the male cattle, though they’ve never had goat meat for sale, so I think they must just be pets. Anyway, it’s one of our favourite lunch places when allowed, and we usually have the takeaway as a substitute. Portions are huge, however. Tonight, unable to choose – well, we could have, so I suppose that unwilling is the word – between a chicken and mushroom pie for two or a Goan pork curry, we decided to have both. A single helping of curry would feed two of us – and it turned out that the pie would have fed four. And there were twelve new potatoes, plus vegetables. I know that Rebecca, the farmer, works hard and must have an appetite to go with that, but frankly we don’t. So we’ll be eating all that for the rest of the weekend.

Wink is away for a few days, back to where she used to live, for various appointments and so it’s Derby and Joan at the Zedery. I’m happy to say that I have no plans. I have ordered a new drawing-tuition book, as the one I have has jumped too far ahead for me – as Tim pointed out, it’s based on a week’s intensive tuition in person at the writer’s studio, so she’d be there to ask for help. In short, I don’t find drawing my hand or a chair interesting enough to keep doing, the next chapter is too much and the one after is *really* too much. I’ve done a few sketches, but nothing worth showing anyone and I need to re-engage. At least I’m keeping up my daily guitar practice. My ambition is way ahead of my abilities, but if that means it’s painful for Tim to listen to, then he’s too polite to say. He’s going shopping at the Co op tomorrow – can’t remember what the vital things are, but there are some – so I’ll make a hash of it while he’s out.