Diary – 20 May 2005

A halcyon yet chilly afternoon in our house in the south of France, strolling around the garden trying to understand the gardener’s explanation for why he had ferociously slaughtered so many plants, shrubs and bushes that seemed perfectly healthy to us. Suddenly, we heard a piteous mewing from a bush outside the kitchen. The gardener reached down and grabbed a minuscule kitten by the scruff of its neck. He looked at it with some disdain and was about to chuck it back when he was stopped mid-throw by my own piteous mewing: ‘Non! Arr