The August malaise of “all play” is starting to make Jacques a dull boy. If me equals Jacques then boy equals ageing smudger. The longed for beribboned parcel of sun and blue skies duly arrived. It arrived after a long wait and I was impatient to unpack it. We had talked about how wonderful it would be when it arrived and had looked enviously at pictures of other people who already had some. It didn’t take long to tear off the beautifully wrought wrapping of bells, ribbons and bows. We’ve played with it quite a lot now to the point that some days we don’t play with it at all. There’s a similarity to the scenario of finding a car, with a huge satin bow tied all around it, in the street outside your house and realising it’s a present for you. Once the ribbon has been hurriedly torn off and you’re driving down the road it’s just a car that needs petrol, insurance and all the other annoyances that take the “present” out of the present. I’ve started to hear the murmurs in my head asking myself what I’d like for Christmas. These blackberries in crème de mûre help to keep me in the summer groove, ingrate that I am.