I didn't explain that as we were married during term-time, we went straight to our apartment, instead of going on honeymoon. On the following Monday, Peter  would start his fourth teaching week at the local junior school.

We were up early on Sunday morning to go to church by eight o'clock. The church was in the centre of the town, a short walk away.

Ladyfach, (the landlady's mother, who lived in the other half of the house), moved about almost silently and I was surprised, when we left the house, to see her black clad figure walking down the road in the opposite direction, towards the Catholic church and morning Mass.

One of the things I noticed about the double fronted stone cottage where we now lived that it lacked any throb of energy. There were no brass jugs on shelves or potted plants in the hall, not even a vase of garden flowers. The walls were bare and the furniture in the house was  like part of a stage set, not a home. We would be out of there as soon as possible, I decided.

I strengthened my resolve with the thought of our next meal. We'd been too late to buy a couple of chops from the butcher the day before. He'd already scrubbed the shelves and put the plastic parsley in the window by the time we got there. Still, we had a steak and kidney pie, potatoes and carrots, all to be cooked on the museum-piece old stove.

Opposite the church was a shop that advertised shark fins' soup, gnocci, tuna steaks and capers. I'd be up there the first thing the next day.

Whilst our food was cooking I picked up Good Housekeeping magazine and flicked through the recipes, stopping at one for Jugged Hare.

Being a country girl, I was used to rabbit stew, with leeks, carrots, parsley, a glass of white wine mixed in, mushrooms, mustard, pepper, some cream. 

However, Jugged Hare was a delicacy I had not come across before and. I scanned the recipe: Drain the blood from the animal and put one side, to use for gravy. Any clots will need to be sieved and discarded. Vinegar may be mixed into the blood to prevent further coagulation  I'd read enough.

It was approaching noon now and our food was ready. As I went to the kitchen (down a passage way) I thought I might have a whiff of Ladyfach's meal, but it was only our pie I smelt. Next Sunday, we would have roast, with rice pudding and there would be an apple tart in the oven as well, for our tea. I was determined to bring some vitality into this lifeless place and see that we were well fed, too.