It's the mirabelle season and Claude, who is into anything to earn a bit on the black, has been picking them. Perhaps picking isn't the right word, as, if I understand him correctly, you put a blanket under the tree and shake vigourously to make the fruit fall off.

I agreed to buy a 'case' (about 10kg) and he brought them round yesterday.

After making jam, a tart and two cakes  there were still masses left. So I looked up recipes on the internet and found a different way of making jam - you macerate the fruit in sugar for several hours before cooking - and also some interesting combinations like 'prawn and mirabelle curry', 'tagine of chicken with mirabelles.' and 'carres d'agneau aux mirabelles'.

So, another kilo went into a bowl to 'soak' for the jam, and as Bear demolished half a cake in one sitting I thought I'd use the rest to make more cakes tomorrow.

Then, the doorbell rang. It was Claude, drunk and overfriendly, bearing another case of mirabelles.

My protestations fell on deaf (sozzled) ears and I found it simpler to pay him 10 euros and accept them than argue.

It looks as though we may be trying prawn and mirabelle curry after all.