Eight bells and all’s well….not totally accurate on the bell count, but OK otherwise….

Another year has been added to the time that I have spent breathing the air of this world. I have reached a biblical point in the scribe’s view of our allotted time and so I am metaphorically putting fingers in my ears and going la-di-la-la-la-di-la, not like Diane Keaton which would be challenging and not apposite, but very spiritually loudly as I need the ear of cherubim and seraphim rather than Woody Allen. Once I had stopped shouting at the heavens, I looked up and was delighted to see the sun shining in them which made me fancy a boiled egg. It was not just the yellow ball in the blue sky that made me think of the egg, it was also an urge to show off; a not uncommon urge in a photographer and writer and one that I try not to curb. That which I wanted to showcase was the outstanding moulded metal egg cup and accompanying glass salt cellar that are part of our booty from yesterday’s visit to Emmaus: it get’s more Biblical at every turn. Our journey to Emmaus did not include a chat with the risen Messiah and I’m glad of that as, firstly, I’m not sure the journey would have been long enough for him to expound on the scriptures that would have explained this miracle and, secondly, because I wouldn’t have picked up a hitch hiker who had clearly just got out of a grave….unless it was Uma Thurman. Back to Emmaus. Emmaus, as the link above will show you, is an international organisation that charitably shares our junk with the rest of the world whilst allowing me and you to buy someone else’s interesting junk for a few pence ( centimes ). As a food photographer, junk is part of my stock in trade and were you to try and buy such frivolous junk in London, New York or Paris it would cost you une jambe et un bras.  I don’t believe that one can substitute underwear for a limb and I know Shylock wouldn’t have fallen for that.

Shylock: “I want my pound of flesh”

Portia: “How about if I give you my knickers…I’ll chuck in my bras for good measure..ho, ho,ho”

Shylock: ” If you mean a limb by the term “bras”, I think we can cut a deal.”

However, here in the French countryside, one’s limbs are safe and for 2€ I purchased the trove of delights in the picture above, which I’m sure will feature in future pictures. 

The early afternoon sun is now beckoning to me to get on with roasting a chicken for a late Sunday lunch which bird, if it turns our looking handsomely crisp and golden, and the light stays bright and soft, may well be the first artiste to model some of the above crockery.