Pierre walked stiffy up and down a couple of times so that I could do this sketch. He took it all incredibly seriously and had doubtless had a bath especially. Certainly, he had had a good shave.
Shotgun in hand, these hunters set off every Sunday morning once La Chasse has started in September, right through to when the chassing season (so to speak) ends in March. Read more
Wine Festival in the Medoc
By Catherine Broughton
written for “Food and Drink” magazine 1997.
On a swelteringly hot August day Bruce and I, accompanied by George, our Great Dane, left the cool refuge of our campsite under the tall seaside pines, and made our way to a wine festival at Lesparre. Read more
Sometimes I wonder if I unwittingly contributed to his death.
It is possible, even likely, that he died. I’ll never know, of course, but if I lived nearer I’d probably go to the factory and see what I could find out. Read more
Klara carried the pail of milk across the yard and in to the kitchen. Her steps were heavy. The creamy white liquid swirled around in the timber bucket. The smell made her nauseous, but then throughout all her pregnancies, everything seemed to make her nauseous. Read more