Hay, you!

Janet has form with hay, whether it be Priston Mill or Priddy Folk Fayre, put here anywhere near a bale or a pile or in this case a freshly raked line of new-mown meadow and she's instantly transformed into a juvenile delinquent. Some here will have itchy memories of times when we failed to control her adequately, or at all... At least this time nobody shouted "Oi! Stop being a silly bugger!" ahem.

So, we're home from a lovely couple of days on the north Devon coast. My knees are playing up from unaccustomed clifftop walking (or staggering), but the weather held for us and Molly Camper did a grand job despite the lengthy delays on the M5. We stopped off at NT Knightshayes, which is where this shot was taken. 

The gardens were perhaps less glorious than in years past, which is understandable given the covid pandemic. Many of the normally very well tended flower beds had gone over, leaving seed-heads aplenty, and a few bulbs had recklessly doubled off. We helped where we could. After all, all these gardens were planted with the spoils of Grand Tours back in the day. It's how gardens grow...

{Remembering a day nineteen years ago that changed the world forever. Sat in a room full of communications technology, at a computer console fettling zeros and ones, and over the wire comes a comment, 'somebody's carelessly flown their plane into a skyscraper.' And then it got real.}