Not of my growing, but snapped at the show-allotment in St James, Park, London. The patch is a memorial to the "Dig for Victory" campaign, which urged people to grow their own vegetables during World War 2. Even London's royal parks were turned over to horticulture in those distant days.
On the iron bars of a gate, raindrops hang in a row like beads on an abacus.
I enter a local bus, wallet in hand and open, but hesitate over which of two cards in adjacent slots, is my bus pass (the other one is my driving licence and no longer in active use). The driver points to the bus pass, and with a deprecatory smile, says: "You ought to have your bus pass ready when you get on the bus." For some reason I feel that I am back at school, my grey stockings twisted round my thin legs. "Pull up your socks, Hyam!"
Vaster than empires that cabbage!
Gorgeous image, a cabbage as beautiful as any flower!
Is that what it feels like entering a second childhood?
Time to dust off the car.
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