New Dawn

Growing up on a farm, I learned to associate being outside - or, at least, out of the house - with work and being inside with leisure. I don't remember a single meal at home being taken outside, or any suggestion that a picnic might be a fun thing to do. At the busiest times in summer - haytime and harvest - sandwiches, cake and either tea or cocoa might be brought to the field in mid-morning ('lunch') or mid-afternoon (tea), but they would be consumed sitting on a (stationary!) tractor or other machine, not on a picnic blanket. Even in the busiest season, breakfast, dinner (at 1pm) and tea (again, in early evening) were indoors, together, around the farm kitchen table 

I've never quite shaken off that mindset. Mrs M's childhood was different. For her - like most normal British people - eating outside is a precarious summer treat to be grasped whenever the opportunity presents itself. I left the farm in my teens and took up a career as a pallid computer geek in my 30s; my rational mind agrees with her, but the reflex is hard to break. We have had French, Greek and Spanish holidays, though, where outdoor breakfast felt like part of the package, along with driving on the right. This morning felt so much like one of those Mediterranean days that even I thought (and said) "breakfast outside"

The copper coloured tree towards top left is our neighbour's 'smoke tree' - one of the joys of summer. To anyone who dare not ask the question: yes, the table is set with three different kinds of honey; the other two that are currently on the go I left in the larder

The last couple of days have been pretty scary. Who would you rather have with their finger on the nuclear button: a vindictive old mafia boss with a massianic self-image and life ebbing away, or a murderous, sadistic monster with a point to prove? It's hard to tell what is really going on, or if any of the recent events have a clear rationale. History sometimes hinges on these moments of confusion and chaos, and it isn't always the case that the outcome is either a foregone conclusion or what anyone actually wanted. One detail of grim black humour caught my eye: bidding for the title of "world's most worthless guarantee" the paper reported that "Vladimir Putin and the Belarusian dictator Alexander Lukashenko have guaranteed Prigozhin’s personal safety"

Inside or outside, I don't mind, so long as we have breakfast tomorrow