Yesterday I finally got round to some correspondence I had been putting off in the morning, had a snooze and went out shopping. Bought some more cherries, but ended up with far too many to eat immediately, as the bag broke as I got into the car, so the people gave me a new bag of two pounds, while I still had the rest of the first lot.
So I squashed them all into a preserving jar and went through the bottling process.
The supermarket had had some reduced full cream milk and cream, so I used the hot water to heat that to make real clotted cream with the scalded taste overnight - it is odd how much the volume reduces doing that. This morning I skimmed it, and, having been reminded by reading a thread somewhere about Devon cream and junket, put rennet in the warm skimmed milk, with sugar and rosewater. Though the rennet is well past its use by date, it has worked. This probably does not count as healthy! Even with my strawberries. I'll have to make some scones for the cream. (I gather scones are the same sort of thing as American biscuits. Plain flour, baking powder, butter, water, handle very gently, bake and eat warm.)
Before all that, I scraped out as much as I could of the bottom layer of my compost bin, using a hoe, jammed the upper layer down into the resulting space and filled the top with vinca and geraniums. I now need to scrape out the comfrey slurry from the water tank and put it on top of it. The bin design is a bit flawed as there is only one place to access the compost, and some of it will be sitting at the back for years. It looks lovely stuff, though. Though there were some odd things in it - an old bread plastic bag, for example. I must have been a little careless on one of my trips with kitchen waste. No sign of the mice, or the frog. I suspect Weasley, with his friend Douglas (the ginger cat), may have limited the mouse population.
I also realised that I need not have the hammock frame covered with an unsightly tarpaulin if I remove the cloth part, and it looks a lot better. This is a folding hammock, which conveniently shuts up to about six and a half foot high, and is very awkward to move. A mistaken purchase, I think.