The pool has turned green which is normally a sure sign of summer. On the strength of its greenness, and therefore summeriness, I have cooked a tagine. This has caused rain to fall and the wind to blow. The latter is not unusual for a tagine, particularly if it contains Jerusalem artichokes. So the wood fire has been lit, something I had not thought that I would be doing until November, and we have inadvertently wandered down the road to Marocco where we will feast on cous cous and tagine with achingly hot harissa sauce whilst thinking on Bob Hope’s lines as well as Dorothy Lamour’s.