Maté gourd

Under the weather today with a head cold, the first for some time, so it's a bad one. I know, I know - man flu. Anyway I've had my Lemsip and I'm back to book writing but didn't feel like going out. Gill brought me crumpets lathered in butter and Marmite in bed this morning, oxtail soup for lunch and Hungarian goulash simmering for this evening.

I picked up a collection of short stories by Jorge Luis Borges that mentioned a maté gourd and it reminded me that I had one and hadn't seen it for a while. So I fished it out of a cabinet and here it is. I bought it in Santiago, Chile in 1997 when writing a travel feature for the Financial Times. I think I tried Yerba maté and recall it tasted pretty earthy. I suppose if the Brits had gone to South America instead of India Tetley's would be selling maté bags. I've never used this gourd other than for decoration. It's nice to see it again and revive memories of that trip. I must have an account somewhere but not to hand. The high spot for me was visiting a house used as a hideaway by Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.