A roast chicken goes a long way between two people. This week, we share one breast and both wings for the first meal. The legs, served with some left over gravy from meal one, flavoured with chili and lemon, were accompanied by spiced spinach and tomato. On day three (today), the menu is cold chicken with green bean and pine kernel salad. The carcass will make a good stock for a simple mushroom risotto, tomorrow.
Heidi, almost recovered from her hip operation, now requires a walking stick only to boost her confidence when she goes out. Today, with her on one arm, I take possession of the stick - I have secretly rather envied it as an accessory - which confuses the neighbours.
This afternoon, in John Richardson's biograpahy of Picasso, I come across an anecdote, which, because I have always thought bad art as interesting as good art, especially appeals. In 1917 the artist was working on the ballet Parade in cooperation with Diaghilev, the dancer Leonid Massine and Jean Cocteau. While at a party in Massine's apartment in Rome, Diaghilev noticed that Picasso was intrigued by an 18th century portrait above the fire place. "Why are you so fascinated by that picture?" Diaghelev asked. "I'm studying it carefully," Picasso replied, "in order to learn how not to paint".