The Italian prune plums were in the market on Saturday, so today is chutney day in Stratford.

Edmund's No. 2 sister came to visit over the weekend. She's excellent company and an accomplished house guest, but I'm still pretty tired today from doing touristy things with Madeleine. We went to see "Hamlet" on Saturday night and got home very late because the performance was interrupted by a technical problem that trapped Hamlet's father's ghost on a lift under the stage. Fortunately, this production has ripened well since I first saw it early in the season, and Madeleine (ex-high school English teacher) loved it despite the break in the mood. But I finally hit the sack at nearly 2:00 am, then up at 6:30 on Sunday to feed the cats and get ready for church.

Madeleine's train was late, so I made it back to the house at about eight o'clock in the evening. I plunked down in front of the TV and sort of dozed off and on through several episodes of "Midsomer Murders" before finally waking up enough to realize that it was nearly 2:00 am and I still had to organize the garbage and clear the cats' litter-box. I finally got to bed at a quarter to three.

Midnight is the new three o'clock in the morning, folks, and these days I have no business being vertical in the small hours of the night.

However, I must now head out to the supermarket for brown sugar and cider vinegar, and then get that chutney made and bottled -- if I wait till tomorrow, the pears will be mush and the kitchen full of fruit flies. I'll take a nap before choir practice and turn in for the night as soon as I can after.

Why do all this when chutney is to be had at the supermarket? Because I make the best chutney. (False modesty is no modesty at all.)