September sun

I love September more than any other month. If the weather is poor, you can say in a resigned tone, "Summer is over", but often it's a glorious month, with hot days and comfortably cool nights.

Down to the allotment on a warm sunny day, taking the shortcut through the trees.

Courgettes and weeds seem to thrive on neglect. Anything bigger than a tennis ball isn't welcome; to me, these are dull enough vegetables without my having to cope with family-sized ones.

These are for you, Marie. I'm sure you'd find something delicious to make with them, but I certainly can't.

Most of the beans have been picked, but these whoppers can stay there. More flowers are appearing too.

And a few potatoes that I dug before the sun got too much for me. I can see slug holes in one of them; I need to get the rest of the crop up soon before it all turns into a slug's high-carb banquet.


A hot little dog plodding up the hill, behind a hot human lugging a heavy green enamel bucket, full of spuds.

Still so much colour in the front gardens.