Not every day

By ppatrick

La vita al fresco (after Uccello)

It was great to have both sons home for the weekend, with glorious weather that enabled us to live outdoors for much of the time - swimming at the beach, picking whinberries in the old slate quarries, making hay - and having a proper barbecue. Trips to the market had yielded chicken (from the farm next door) and filleted sardines: Gwyn made a jerk coating for the former and a Moroccan one for the latter, while Huw had made his own burgers and brioche buns, and Ceridwen sorted out the courgettes and peppers (and indeed the barbeque). I just made sure there was wine, and that pretty well everything got eaten (with a little help from the dog and various cats).

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