The amazing Indian summer light made everything in my street look like an exquisite watercolour.
I had a fit of uncontrollable giggles remembering a family car journey to Scotland in about 1968 during which my brother Nick was tortured by a pair of itchy trousers.
I bought plaice for dinner from one of the fresh fish stalls on the Stade just in front of the fishing boats. It had been delivered from the boat just an hour before. One of the fishermen filleted them for me.
I set up this blog.