I got up early to stone the damsons and turn them into jam.  The deep rich jewelled colour of the fruits bubbling in the pan is the reward for living with plum stained hands.

As I was washing the preserving pan and admiring the still warm jam jars Jeremy entered the kitchen holding a dustpan and brush and announced, “I found a dead bird under my desk!”  I thought he was joking with me but sadly not.  Probably the baby bird entered his office through the open French windows, nestled under his desk and expired there.  Poor little thing. It is now laid to rest under a hedge.