Honey sales from the door continue apace, my latest customer being an inmate from the open prison up the road. They are not allowed to stop on the way to and from the station, but one man, thickset with a London accent disobeys to buy the odd jar for his wife. Having lifers (as they all are) stopping at the cottage might not seem ideal, but I find it strangely reassuring. They all seemed helpful and polite and living in a house where a determined toddler could force the door, it's good to have friends passing with the regularity of trains at the local station. Bill insisted that there is a waiting market over the fence, so with no private imports allowed I suggested lobbing some over one night. "Like the beer," he replied, winked, smiled and was away in the long white van.
Seasonal endeavours continue. The greenhouse donated by a moving friend (you will discover very little is bought round here) is finally up and after a mulch and a good raking by my rather obliging chickens (it's within the run) the fine seedbed was ready to plant with winter spinach. The remnants of the tomato crop left by the blight were boiled down to 3 small jars and join the 50 odd jars of passata which constitute our annual tomato supply. And organising seeds - the traditional dark evening spent dreaming of spring and fantasising (with the provocation of glossy seed catalogues) about next season's bumper harvest. We keep our own seed where possible, but what has to be bought is now on order. Pink Brandywine tomato, allegedly the finest flavoured in the world, will be a new experiment.
To the despair of my wife, one of my current schemes is to breed a 'Stoet', i.e. a wild stoat crossed with a domestic ferret. Stories from childhood of Romanys leaving out jills for the attention of male stoats, to produce small, fierce hunting offspring have long fascinated me and since the local Gypsy proudly showed me his mink cross ferret last spring (which I strongly suspect was not) I thought I might have a go. Which reminds me, he still owes me five pounds and two second-generation (supposedly) mink crosses for some ferret kits I sold him. I often come off badly when dealing with the travellers, but I enjoy the challenge and would prefer to have them on good terms than not. Anyway three live traps are out, with no success thus far. A couple of years back I managed to breed six Phantams (pheasant cross bantams), by putting a randy little farmyard cock in with a hen pheasant. Fertility and hatching were surprisingly good and of the half dozen white chicks (the cockerel had a lot of silver on him) four grew up bantam size, two pheasant size. The small ones were drab affairs, but the larger pair developed into stunning beasts. Like nervy pale pheasants, with erect tail feathers. I put one in a poultry auction convinced that it would cause a stir, but to my great disappointment it went largely unnoticed and even failed to reach its £10 reserve.
' Poor man's steak ' for dinner. That is pigeon breasts butterflied, hammered, peppered and flash fried and tonight served in a sandwich with tomatoes, mayonnaise and Dijon mustard. Sounds unlikely I know, but trust me, it tastes more like a half decent beef steak than a lot of rump served up in pubs and restaurants. The pigeon was a young bird, which helps and the ' steaks ' were meltingly tender.
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