The Real World Consultant and Arts Consultant came by for an Easter visit, discombobulating us mildly since we’ve entered a phase of things where one day is really much the same as the next, viz. locked in combat with a book, or rather, our respective books, and haven’t been paying attention. Not to say it wasn’t nice to see them, but they turned up with all kinds of lovely stuff, dried deer hearts for the dog (and, as it turned out, cat), a cake, nice pasta, and the prettiest little rococo chocolate eggs I’ve ever seen — we hadn’t managed so much as an ordinary supermarket egg full of Smarties, and I felt a bit bad. I made a torta di ricotta, which contained eggs, almonds, lemon and of course, ricotta, which was at least a sort of compliment to the season. The RWC also achieved a remarkable strategic feat, which was redistributing the tarpaulin over the failed back-kitchen ceiling. We tried this on the British Army yesterday, in the person of my ex-gamekeeper, and he said it wasn’t possible. It certainly didn’t look possible. The gales of winter rolled the tarpaulin into a sort of horrible blue cocoon, and it seemed impossible to do anything about it by poking at it from below rather than going onto the roof and pulling — the latter course being something to be avoided, since the joists are now rotten. But by some mysterious means of his own, the RWC contrived to unroll the thing and get it back into position, with occasional sudden deluges of trapped water. It’s a strictly temporary measure till the builder can get around to us, but with a showery spring in prospect, it’s a very welcome one.