Pickled fallen onions

When I was about five I saw cocktail pickled onions in a jar for the first time. I remember asking my mother why they were so white.

Little fallen onions

I find something appealing about marbles. The irrational but ever-present child in me wants them.

Peering at onions

One of the reasons I get up every morning, as opposed to curling up in a ball and wishing I could disappear permanently into oblivion, is to walk around the garden and looking at the vegetables growing, and enthusiastically give any of the abundant snails flying lessons, normally into the next door plot, where there... Continue Reading →

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