Verity

Last tomato standing. End of a picnic on a sloping grassy bank at Ilfracombe on the North Devon coast on Saturday.

In the festive harbour

also home to 

Damien Hirst's giant statue  - Verity -  standing on fat volumes ( knowledge?) the scales of justice behind her and the sword (of truth?) above her.

I find her half stripped torso, the foetus in her belly exposed, very disturbing as if he's trying to make too many points in one statue. I can appreciate the technical feat of art that it is - just don't like it.

I prefer to look out to sea

and watch the sailing boats mastering the wind.

Back home I make a Mezze supper indulging Robin's request for herbs galore.

 Woody thyme in the roasted aubergine slices and garlic.

Marjoram, oregano and fennel in the broad bean, artichoke and asparagus salad.

Basil, parsley and wild garlic in the avocado, tomato and green pepper salad.

Mint, lemon balm and sage in the cucumber, cumin, yoghurt raitha. 

We eat it outside on the warm evening terrace with a deep filled smoked salmon and dill tart from the deli -  Bon Gout - and rounds of crostini -  crisp baked with olive oil and smeared with a pungent clove of garlic.

 And I think about the families and the friends of those thirty people shot and injured while lying on their sun loungers on a beach in Tunisia - their lives changed forever - Truth and Justice and Knowledge no use to them now.