A WEEK or so ago we were knee-deep in pickling jars and jam pans as Mrs Ray made the most of an abundant harvest from the garden and hedgerows that surround our falling-down wreck of a Kentish cottage. After she had made as much mess in the kitchen as is possible for one person to create, I was invited to clear up. Even when she cooks the simplest of dishes, my wife is physically incapable of clearing/washing-up as she goes and delights in letting me throw away the
