It’s a funny old day doesn’t know if it’s going to rain or if the sun’s going to shine. Can’t settle. Neither can I!

We went to Uncle Tobe’s funeral yesterday, in Cheltenham and parked in the small car park beside a gravestone marked “Brian Jones”.  In front of the stone there was a tupperware box with something inside and of course, I had to take a closer look.  Sure enough, it was the grave of one of the original Rolling Stones and someone had left a book in his memory there by the headstone.

The funeral was, well, a fitting tribute to a gentleman of 98 years old.  Sad, but a chance to meet other members of his family and to chat and reminisce. 


We arrived home to find the tree surgeons had opened up some pretty large spaces in the old walnut tree which has been overhanging our garden room rather precariously.  They’ve been working for several days now in rain, wind and short bursts of sunshine and have finally done what they can to keep this particular old thing in relatively good shape.  Not only did they take away all the dead wood, they’ve also cleaned our paths and terrace at the same time – bless them.  One less job for us to do – hooray!


It’s clear from the garden that the season is changing already, though.  The scabious are over, leaving these lovely seed heads behind.


Our pink and blue garden is slowly transforming into the orange and blue of late summer and though there was a great deal of warmth in the ten minutes or so of sunny spell we had just now, the grass is wet and there’s a bit of a chill in the air first thing.


By the kitchen door, these lords and ladies are putting on a great show, too.


There’s a remarkably healthy crop of apples and we’ve enjoyed some luscious greengages for lunch.  Edward’s been home this weekend for the funeral, so he’s been out there with a bowl or two and the kitchen is full of fruit which needs attention.


Speaking of fruit, these two small wild strawberries won’t make a meal but they did snap me out of the melancholy mindset at last, by reminding me of this little treasure.


Given to me by the children of Flaxton (scroll down to see a picture of this tiny village school) at the end of my idyllic, final teaching practice in the summer of 1977, the year of the Queen’s Silver jubilee.  We’d had a picnic on the village green to celebrate the jubilee on a beautiful Summer’s day, attracting the interest of the cows nearby, much to the children’s amusement.  With just a handful of children in the infant group, taught in the hall just down the street and about a dozen juniors in the building shown in the photograph, this was just about the best way to spend a couple of months I could think of.  The little piece of Wedgewood china is a lovely reminder of happy summer days!



Late Summer

Late Summer