Long ago and far away, the Memsahib of the time, who had grown up on the hills of Mumbai, had a slim, battered cookbook. Sometimes, on a dark and damp afternoon, sat in front of the stove, we would read from the brittle pages, and one recipe has always stayed with me.

“Fill an earthenware pot with limes, salted and seasoned, and leave in the sun for 40 days.”

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Get the Alfred Workflow

I write these posts in Byword, and they come to you via the Grav CMS. Each post has a front section that tells Grav how to deal with it. Straight quotes — " and ' — are needed there to enclose certain items. Curly (aka smart or typographical) quotes — “” ‘’ — in the front section break everything. Obviously I know how to type smart quotes, but it is extra work and luckily Byword has a switch that will ensure that all quotes are either straight or curly. The problem is, I often forget to flip that switch, so everything breaks. Pain.

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Perhaps I am borderline obsessive,¹ but I’m always struck when I send an email to somebody, don’t get a reply within, say, a week, send a follow up and then get ”Sorry about that! Went to my spam.” My spam filter is simply glorious, but that doesn’t mean it catches everything, nor that everything...

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It isn’t a good idea to complain that someone else hasn’t treated some topic in the way you would have treated it. Nevertheless, I want to put down a marker. I listened to two podcasts this week each of which, in my opinion, left a big question unasked.

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Back in the saddle, and a very comfy one it has been too. A delightful month enjoying the emptiness of Rome as a reward for suffering the sweltering heat. The Squeeze succumbed to the desire for coolth and splurged on what they call here a pinguino, a stand-alone air conditioner that is nominally mobile but that needs to have its exhaust hose fixed into a hole in a window, which rather limits the opportunity to move it around. Still, it cools the little studio very effectively, and when needs must, as it did a couple of times, I could retire there too with a portable machine. The terrace flourished as I can scarce remember, there was parking when we needed it, trips out to the lake mid-week kept us cool. A delight, and now here we are cat-sitting again in the depths of the Umbrian countryside. Truly, I am grateful for my life.

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