The house martin chicks have hatched and the gutters are full of their shells, the eves jolly noisy with their burbling chatter in the mornings. Exhausting.
The only other news is that when M came to my house a few nights ago she saw Al Puccino on a DVD I was playing.
'Urh I 'ate 'im, 'she said expressively.
'But its the Merchant of Venice,' I said.
'Ees Al Puccino,' she replied. 'Orrible'.
'Mais ici il est Shylock, tres bien' I said fluently.
'Shylock?' She said suspiciously. 'Shylock 'Olmes?'
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