A Wet Walk

I've shaken off my winter languor at last and today was my fourth day in a row out walking. It rained heavily yesterday so the Maine was high and parts of the path were flooded. But this was no problem to a woman in wellies. The dogs get to have legitimate scunging and we all three get a break from the noise of Bert's infernal peeping on the tin whistle.

I need a new oven. I'm bound to be the only woman in Cully who cooks on a South African six-ring gas oven. They are not designed for fairy cakes and pizza - they're for simmering a nice stewed goat or haunch of buck. I suppose I'll have to wait until we move.

Bert and I are having a big dispute about fireplaces. Because the house originally had four fireplaces he wants a fireplace in the kitchen. And the sitting room. And in a conservatory. I don't really want a fireplace in the kitchen but have said yes on condition it is one of those stand-alone closed in stoves. Now we are arguing about the size of the hole that is to be built to accommodate this. We decided on 4 x 4 foot now we're arguing about the depth. I say 22 inches, he says less than this so that we can build a fireplace surrounding it. Oh get me a puke bucket quick. The reason I want one of those stoves is that the whole thing can be as unobtrusive as possible. I just know it will be rarely lit. The last thing I need is an empty grate full of orange peel and cigarette butts.

Now I'm nearly as old as Queen Camilla and I have some very old-fashioned ideas. I don't think men should be allowed in my kitchen at all unless they are eating, cooking the dinner or doing some other useful thing. They shouldn't be let to hang around kitchens when they are doing nothing or playing tin whistles. And providing sources of radiant heat is only encouraging them.

I'm for posting a few pictures now. Two are from my walk and one is of the type of fireplace I want. Isn't it lovely?