On Sunday afternoon H, Kitty and I took up our duty as English citizens and, for a few hours, fulfilled our national stereotype. H went to play T-20 cricket at the club and we loaded up with books and toys, a quilt and a picnic and set camp to watch an ancient English rain dance take place.
Cricket has to be the only game where you have a fry up before you start and a sandwich and a doughnut at half time but it seemed to do the trick; they romped home with two overs to spare and only five wickets down (two back to back when they only needed one more run to win).
Kitty rolled around and around, tickled her toes in the grass, befriended another baby girl who crawled over so that they could giggle together and read her books (upside down) until she snuggled down in her buggy for an afternoon nap.
And me, well I had a good book and some knitting but more on that another day.
When we got home I spotted a flash of red in our front garden veggie beds and underneath the netting were three perfect Florence strawberries, unmolested by pigeons, caterpillars or other nibbly things.
H said they were yummy, I thought they were fragrant and sweet and Kitty said "Aaaaageee" and ate hers all up so I think they're a success and Florence is definitely on the shopping list for next year. So we've had spinach and strawberries, the leeks are coming on nicely and if we can catch them, we might even have some potatoes later on. It's an English summer at her best.