Listening to the Proms this morning on BBC I player I am struck by a short piece by Jörg Widman, a young German composer. I know little of modern music or how it works. But this, with its apparent (the composer says so when interviewed) reference to Beethoven's Seventh symphony, has stuck in my mind all day. "Only the bones of Beethoven are left", says the composer. But I reckon I can hear them, and, most memorable, I can still hear the repetition of sounds half way between clicks and whispers, which intervene among the bones. Beside it the Mozart violin concerto, beautifully performed seems less important - something which I never thought that I could say about Mozart. I'm just going to listen to Widman again.
The supports for the climbing beans in the garden are now covered in green. The flowers are white, red or scarlet depending on the bean variety. Near the ground the first beans hang ready to eat. I pick one of the longer ones and crunch it between my teeth tasting the miraculous transformation which has taken place since I set out the plants back in May. What does green taste like? It tastes like a runner bean freshly picked from the vine.