From my Substack diary no.182, Saturday, 13th. June 2026

Summer has returned to south Devon. In days of old I would have been writing this at a very nice round metal-framed garden table with a top inlaid with mosaic tiles of a hundred shades of mediterranean azure. My head would be protected from the sun because I would be wearing a straw trilby. My cappuccino would be safe from flying beasties because it would be wearing a hat also, but with a tiny blue and pink-striped elephant on top to aid removal and replacement.

Later in the day I might have savoury snacks. I really like savoury snacks. Cheese or, better still, cheeses would be at the centre of it. A few olives, a tomato or two, balsamic and chilli mini beets, a few slices of Italian salami or French saucisson sec, a red onion chutney and either crusty white bread, a ciabatta roll or black olive crackers. Later in the day the savouries would be joined by a local Devon cider or perhaps a light, golden-citrus beer. I’ve probably missed something out, but I’m dreaming anyway so it doesn’t matter.

That would have been luncheon on such a day as today up until a few years ago. It was certainly a regular thing whenever there was a Covid lockdown. Boy did I miss those lockdowns when I had to return to work. Just a few years ago, on those sunny lockdown days, I felt I was getting a taste of retirement and with that thought probably had the most ridiculous and exaggerated clown-like smile on my face. If retirement was going to be like this, bring it on.

However, that mosaic table has faded and I have no means of getting it to the dump. The excellent deli in town has closed down so I have access only to narrow selection of pre-packed supermarket cheeses that are too large for me to consume before they go off, and I hate wasting food. Likewise with olives; if I want a small selection, well I can’t. Just whatever is in the sealed pot, where after a few days the olives I have not already consumed have grown fur coats. And as for a good saucisson sec… Apparently this is called progress. Choice is limited and whatever you want comes in a size determined by the supermarket and has had the life and taste sucked out of it by inappropriate packaging. Cheese in plastic? It sweats! I don’t want sweaty cheese!!

Anyway, looking on the bright side I have memories of good food and, of course, I know that good food is out there, but in general you need a car and a fair bit of cash to get to it. And, also on the bright side, we still have a very good fishmonger in Newton Abbot. They smoke their own fish. Smoked haddock for supper?