After the scrumptious dinner I wrote about last week, followed by a day being a tourist in my old University town, we finally arrived home. The rest of the weekend was spent cooking, exercising, eating, talking, and admiring M and D's new veg patch, and M's new and adored greenhouse. Since we moved to this house (almost twenty years ago) M has been wishing for a greenhouse, and soon after a veg patch after the community allotments in the old Palace Gardens over the wall had to be abandoned due to people's inability to get along with each other.
But now she has all she wished for (well, the garden shed is still in the post, and Gardenista haven't turned up to photograph it yet), and the garden has been transformed. In the few weeks since the beds have been in, lettuces have sprouted, the tomatoes, chillies, basil and avocados are flourishing in their relocated position, and M has spent many hours drinking tea in her small glass box of peace.
As autumn progresses, the fruit continues to grow, and so there will be boxes of fruit, turning into crumbles, pies and cakes whenever I get the chance, fresh salads (if she can get there before the very hungry caterpillars), add continual excitement as something different sprouts a new leaf or bears a new fruit with every day.
Living in London does have its advantages, but when green space can provide this much happiness and nourishment, it's hard to be elated on a return to grey, drizzly London.
Luckily for us, the pears were not quite ready, so it was clear that we'd have to return again very soon to feast on the beautiful baubles, and return with more baskets full of proper, English fruit.