Let the games begin

And they did. The Festival of Skander kicked off on the weekend with, well, it wasn't hugely sumptuous or anything, but a veritable smørgasbord of delights, including fresh prawns and home-grown tomatoes with freshly picked basil, with a duck-breast in a sour cherry sauce, a delightful chilled rosé, with a creamy gorgonzola and a half wheel of jindi brie, all soft and gooey and delicious. There were cornichons and rye bread and organic sourdough for the fussy. And all there was to eat all this was la embarazada, my parents, a cripple and an old lady, otherwise known as my dear grandmother. "What did you say, dear?" seems to be her most common comment these days, but even when she does mishear you she comes out with some crackers. And I don't mean on a nice little floral saucer to go with the cheese.

Anyway, the weather was delightful, sunny but not too hot, with a lovely onshore breeze lowering the temperate just enough, and there was even home-made dessert of the ice-cream variety. Yes, just what the doctor ordered of a weekend in the country. Unfortunately, my folks ahve decided the lash the celebrations proper this year as they have found better things to do than take me out to dinner—so what am I to do with my booking for 8 people at Long Grain tomorrow night? Harrumph.

But more importantly, what do I want? What gifts will satsicfy me? Make my cheeks go red and heart skip a beat as I glimpse it through the wrapping paper? Or, like that electric razor they gave me at 18, will make me sullen and sulky for the rest of the day? Hmm, I have to avoid that one at all costs. Yes, just what is it I want this year?