A glass of real milk and a duck that I'm sure I recognise.

Each day seems to bring a new epiphany, however small. In the 10 years that we have lived in this little farming hamlet in the heart of the French countryside it has never crossed my mind to buy milk from Patrick and Marie Therese, whose farm is a little less than 100 metres from our kitchen door. Over the years I have become accustomed to the long life milk that is the norm here. I rarely, never, drink a glass of milk. However, the arrival of my sister with her yoghourt maker necessitated sourcing whole milk to keep the yoghourt thing alive during its French leave. I was also assured that whole,full cream milk would make the best creme anglaise, which will accompany a good pear and almond tart as dessert this evening. I boiled the milk last night and duly collected some cream from the saucepan after it had cooled. The epiphany was realising that I have so many of the good things of life at my fingertips, and while walking down the lane I could feast my eyes on this wonderful landscape that is there for me each day. At the farm there was a duck unlike other ducks that I have seen. She/he is a long necked duck of a dark complexion that stands very upright, and is apparently fearless. The likeness to Jemima Puddleduck was alarming, and had the duck sported an umbrella and been wearing a bonnet I would have had to book into the Priory. My next mission is photograph the duck.

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