Taking the air

There's something magical about being up when the rest of in the house is asleep. It's a secret time, precious, a little naughty because it belongs just to you. Creeping unnoticed into the garden where the air is sweet and the coffee tastes fabulous and there's room to think your own thoughts. Finally, the rain came and I could launch mission dandelion. It might appear that I have a tough decision; to weed the dandelions or than the grass? In a way, I'd planted both. The grass was seeded onto a tatty mess of East Anglian clay and builder's sand. We'd spent months, elbow-deep, chasing bindweed and thistle roots. Never getting the better of either, of course. The dandelions are guinea pig relics. Endless bunches were pushed through the chicken wire of their run to be found by happy little furry faces chomping away, seeding new dandelions in their wake. I try and remind myself of that when there's a new batch to root out.

If you're not careful, there's a lot of grief attached to the end of the summer. The loss of warm skin and wasted days, outside evenings, cold-beer grins. Add the anxiety of back-to-work and back-to-school and why didn't I sort out the shed when the days were dry and evenings light? Well, sunshine, there's good news. The cure for very nearly all of those black, intrusive vibes has arrived in the nick of time. You can knock the grief out of the park with a very large dose of the first local fruit of the autumn. In the time that it took me to fetch my phone, most of the Victorias had vanished from the above bowl. I challenge anyone to find a more delicious English plum. If you've got enough left over to make jam, well, you're not eating enough. As fresh as possible, please. Ideally an arm-stretch from the tree. I love Discovery apples. Sweet and summery and just tart enough to let you know that they're real and haven't spent the winter ...

The sea was noticeably powerful this morning. Determinedly cool, a confident off-shore wind and deep, chunky waves. The long, mostly windless summer had lulled us into forgetting to look out rather than in, and the sea seemed delighted to remind us to pay attention by delivering face-fulls of brine. Always remember who's boss. The sky's reflection was deep pewter,  mesmerising, and it was easy, even for me, to see that it foretold a change in the weather. A flock of gulls was playing nearby; dipping and diving, bobbing about, lazily waiting for the fishing boat tide. You can see a single gull in the photo here, there are quite a few on the video.