Yesterday, Bridget and I went to the fishmonger to buy prawns. We are on an island surrounded by prime prawn-fishing seas. In the past, we have rung the fisherman to ask for prawns, and then fetched them in a big plastic bag. This time, they came in a box, packaged individually for travel, some of them quite keen to escape.
It's quite hard to buy prawns here. Those of you that are on holiday in Spain will be eating prawns fished in these waters. And this is how they get there, the boxes packed onto refrigerated lorries:
We bought kippers for lunch.
A grave matter - Reading Roger Lancelyn Green's Tellers of Tales* a few months ago piqued a latent interest in Andrew Lang, and discovering that he was buried in the ground...
1 day ago