There are few if any episodes which could possibly surpass this evening’s extempore dinner with my erstwhile physician at his country seat in the Village of Ashton. We were unexpectedly hailed prior to noon today after returning home from a summary medical attendance and grocery shopping. The invitation was for a late afternoon swim then dinner on the patio before the mosquitoes overtook.

It would nourish one’s numinous inclinations to attribute this evening’s foregathering as corresponding to the full moon illumination. And while I am open to the plausability of atmospheric influences I unhesitatingly attribute the inexpressible success of the evening to the vigour of the pool and the sumptuousness of the meal.

The rural gastronomic advantage is local ingredients from the garden. In recognition of our host’s customary modesty I will however repeat (as he said) that the secret is simplicity – not because for one minute I concur with his dismissive observation but because the appearance of the entire meal, from tapas to dessert, was elemental, the anatomy of what are practically statutory components for summer dining à la compagne.

While our prior conversation poolside had been as usual coloured by friendly jabs and numerous interjections and token contradictions, the confab at table was by comparison mute, except for the frequent groans of satisfaction. Then before any one of us knew it, the time had flown past and the sun was setting.  At the same time the mosquitoes began to violate my hearing aid with unprecedented clamour.