Smoky

We acquired a BBQ earlier this summer- but not deliberately. Mike bought one for his mother's birthday party (which he ran here because of all the space we have) and left it with us afterwards. I never thought we'd use it again, but we have done- twice. It turns out to be an excellent way of catering for large groups of people. I think we may be the last people in the British Isles to find this out.

On the first two occasions we got Mike to preside. Yesterday we volunteered my nephew Tom. It's a young man's game. We had it set up in the garage- with the doors open- because of the occasional downpours- and I lit it using my weed-killing flame gun.

The garage still smells of charcoal smoke.

Strange Growths Of A Secret Garden

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.