user: Regular readers of Beauty Best Friend will know that wherever possible I use organic bodycare products, and that I simply adore the organic brand Botanicals. A British brand whose aim is to create products ‘which are as close to nature as possible’, their bodycare and skincare is simply second to none and they’re certified by The Soil Association. Over the past couple of years I’ve tried several of their products including my favourite Cleansing Melt and I haven’t found anything that I don’t like yet! This month I’ve been trying their Deep Peace Aromatic Body Oil which arrived with me just at the right time – my husband had man flu, I had a cold and I was looking after our 16 month old toddler alone. Deep Peace was just what my body was craving!  I was sent a small glass bottle of the oil to try, but the full size product is a larger 100ml pump bottle (it also comes in 200ml and 1 litre bottles too). The directions say you can use it in two ways, either massage it into shoulders, neck and arms before bed, or apply it all over the body after batheing. After a bath or shower is the best time I feel as the skin is damp and warm and the Deep Peace oil helps lock moisture into the skin and the warmth helps the scent to lift. This Aromatic Massage Oil is 99% organic and the ingredients include Lavender, Rose Geranium and Orange Peel oils. The fragrance is very subtle and perfect if you don’t like products that smell overpowering. It’s a bit ‘planty’, I think it’s the scent of the Rose Geranium that comes through the most, and personally I don’t absolutely love the fragrance, but it’s pleasant enough and it does help the head to feel calmed (even when nursing a husband with man flu!). Question: what is probably true about the woman? Options:  A. not enough information  B. she likes natural products  C. she likes Botanicals  D. she like organic products  === The correct answer is
D

(Question)
Justin Nelson, Jr., pounded the last of the stakes of his new cattle pen into the dry dirt. Like sentinels, they sprouted in a line from the barn, swerved north of the stream, veered at a right angle for the stump, and followed Justin to where he stood. The cross-beams remained, after which he'd finally be done. He took a white handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped his forehead. The task had been lengthened considerably, although Justin refused to admit it, by incessant thinking, an activity which often stopped him with his hammer in mid-air. But now, he would soon be able to think all he wanted from the comfort of his porch as the cattle wandered from shade to shade. After he bought some cattle, he reminded himself. Under the entirely blue vault of sky, Justin felt something pass between himself and the morning sun. His leathered face turned up to see nothing but ubiquitous light, curving toward him in all directions. He arched his aging back, feeling the popping and hating it more than usual, before wiping his neck and replacing the handkerchief. He had that feeling that he'd better drink something and sit down or he'd end up in that damn hospital again. Twice last year, whether he needed it or not, he went in for a check-up, and twice a year, some intern treated him like the village idiot. Truth be told, everyone who knew about him had treated him that way for nearly eleven years, except his niece. With a sigh escaping from the bellows of his withering chest, Justin shuffled back to the porch he had added onto his small two-room home. In the distance, a plume of dust was billowing off the road. Mail truck. Must be time for breakfast. About time I ate something. Question: How long has Justin lived in his home? Options:  A. More than eleven years.  B. All his life.  C. Several decades.  D. not enough information  === The correct answer is
(Answer)
A

The sudden burst of spring produce in the market after a long, monotonous winter of cavolo nero and bright oranges is one of the things that constantly reminds me why I love living and eating in Italy. A wander through the market like any other becomes, in spring time, a new experience. I feel like a fresh arrival, like it’s my first time walking through my local market. There are long, twisty fava bean pods, waiting to be podded and munched on with bitey pecorino cheese to tame the bitterness of the raw beans. Thin, long-stemmed asparagus. A lovely array of greens, including radishes with leaves so happy that they become the main ingredient, fluffy-fronded fresh herbs and fresh garlic. Artichokes of many different kinds, but especially the pointed purple ones that are either local, from Tuscany’s Maremma, or sometimes from Puglia or Sicily. Rarely the rounded globe artichokes you find spilling out of crates in Rome, or the tiny, delicate Venetian ones, the so-called castraure (though they often aren’t the real deal, how you can tell is by the price) that you can find in the shadow of the Rialto. And then there are thick bunches of agretti (salsola soda), looking more like mermaid’s hair than a monk’s beard, their English namesake. A few years ago, this wasn’t such a common sight at the market in Florence. It still isn’t, in that you won’t get them by the crateful like you do fava beans and artichokes, though they’re not particularly difficult to find now. They’re just one of those special things that don’t last long. Blink and you’ll miss them, or come late to the market and they could easily be sold out. It’s worth getting up and out of the house a little earlier for these (a note to myself, of course). If you’ve never tasted agretti before, it’s worth seeking out if you’re in the right place at the right time and find a bunch or see it on a menu. Frances Mayes likens it to spinach, but notes that it is so much more, “While agretti has the mineral sharpness of spinach, it tastes livelier, full of the energy... Question: What is probably true of the author? Options:  A. They are a native of Italy.  B. They don't like to wake up early.  C. They like to cook.  D. not enough information  === The correct answer is


assistant: C