The proverbial pot of gold at the end of the rainbow this week, was, in a moment of sheer desperation, opening the fridge and finding a bottle of buttermilk there, twinkling away, on the shelf.

It's been a harried week around here, with my friendly house-painter, Tim, in residence (it feels like) removing the wallpaper and painting the stair hallway right outside my study door.  That means three stories of plaster dust and chaos,  and the incredible cacophony of his blaring music which, I'm sure while very nice is, how shall I say, different from my music.