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Wasn’t Abba just great?

As our bumbling Winnie-the-Pooh once said “A day without a friend is like a pot without a single drop of honey left inside.”

If there comes a day where I will not encounter a single happy face or friendly encounter. I would like to be reimbursed with a warm, toasted slice of brown seedy bread with some home-made honey on top.

This was sent to us by Loums’ uncle, who lives in an idyllic cottage in Normandy, with huge gardens either side, complete with wild flowers, a carpentry shed, a pond and beehives. The bees are some of the luckiest I’ve seen, and as it didn’t get very cold until quite late last year, he was inundated with honey. Therefore, happily for us, onto the doorstep it fell and ooooh my we are grateful! It’s the scrummiest honey I’ve tasted since I was a littl’un when my grandfather kept beehives in the back of his Cornish garden. As it’s fairly pricey both in England and in France, I’ve never in the habit of getting it that often (and as with all things, home grown i n, so we are going to make this golden nectar last!

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