If I had a bottle of cassis somewhere about the place, I could make two glasses of kir and we could take them out onto the terrace in the last of the sun.
To nobody's great surprise, I only just thought of that now, in the last of the sun, as I stood on the terrace - well, okay, patio - behind our tragically cassis-free house.
Still. I have a duck. I have a duck! It is a Lucky duck! Last night, all my own endeavours had failed and news from my freelance duck-hunters was no better. I thought we were going to be duck-free on Valentine's. But having explored all likelier destinations further afield, I went at last to Lucky's around the corner and, y'know, asked a guy. A duck, he said? Of course, he said. Right here...
And right there they were. So we have duck. And I am making Persian rice pudding, scented with orangewater and cinnamon; and there will be soup to start, and we'll be fine. Not that I was worried or anything. At all.