Below Barber Wood

We've been eating mainly in the garden, and from it: our first picking of French beans this evening. Earlier, I took the grandchildren to the Holst Museum: it's as much sold as a quaint Victorian house as the birthplace of the eminent composer. There was a day of flag-making, and a sandpit in the back yard, making use of one of the old bath tubs. The Museum's chairs and sofas are "protected" by beribboned thistles, which Laurie, four in November, assiduously collected up and gave me in a bunch.

There's a comfortable bench at the Southern edge of the Woodland Trust's Barber Wood, from which this great view unfolds, down the side of the Churn Valley. I often make for it when on dog-walking duty, as this morning. Altogether, a near-perfect English Summer's day, even though with only fitful sunshine.