Pigeon English

Last weekend, it was my turn to host our book group.  Earlier in the day, when flurries of fat, wet snowflakes started coming down in earnest, I worried whether anyone would actually make it up the steep, cobbled street into our village. In the end, the meeting went ahead: only one person cancelled and six of us sat around my dining table, eating pâté and salad and South African bobotje, followed by banoffee pie and Fairtrade chocolates, washed down with plenty of wine. [click to continue…]

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