With cream . . .

My mother’s family made – and lost – a fortune through marmalade. My father’s family, whisky smugglers, went on to become bankers. [This photograph features our cat Domino sleeping beside … Continue reading With cream . . .

The birds are singing in the orchard

I have just read The Cherry Orchard, a play by Anton Chekhov. I was moved by it. My mind was taken back to my childhood: to Drumdruills and the orchards … Continue reading The birds are singing in the orchard