poliphilo

We have longstanding permission to go wandering around our neighbours' garden- which was created for the socially aspirant son of a Victorian railway millionaire. Yesterday I took my daughter and great nephew on a tour. Alice said she felt like she should have shown her NT membership card at the gate.

There's a walled garden. Last time I looked round it was all neat and orderly but it's been neglected over the summer so now looks like a place where statues might come alive or time slips happen. There was a chap digging in there- mitigating the ghostliness and beginning the process of setting it up to look smart for the new year. We filched a few raspberries. My great nephew retained a couple to give to his younger brother and sister.

I was drawn to these great monarchical, spiky things...

...and had a conversation with myself that went a bit like this.

"They look like artichokes, but they can't be...

Why not?

Because artichokes grow close to the ground- like cabbages- or so I've always assumed...

That's because you've only seen them in shops- being marketed as a food-stuff.

So are they artichokes?

Why don't you look it up?"

So I did. And they are artichokes- and artichokes turn out to be a kind of thistle.