Home-grown salad, dusky pink lupins, poppies as big as saucers and a truly scary scarecrow. Charity shop browsing and buying far too many books. A muntjac deer, startled on the lawn.
Trooping of the Colour at Horse Guards Parade, polished brass, scarlet jackets, well trained horses, marching bands. The RAF Red Arrows at the fly by. Red, white and blue smoke streaked across a blue and white sky.
Bleeding hearts and borrowed trainers, a walk brisk walk through still-green wheat fields, a pub lunch. Excitable dogs and a nonplussed tortoise, wild poppies blazing in the hedgerows.
Home in time to fall into bed and start the week all over again.
*The Road by Cormac McCarthy, harrowing, with its vision of an apocalyptic, burnt-out world, moving in its depiction of how humanity and love can remain, even in the most desolate of situations. Turned the final page whilst sitting in the late afternoon sunshine overlooking a green field, took a deep breath and left its ash-filled pages for the lush greenery of the English countryside in early summer, and felt so, so grateful.
Then Moon Tiger by Penelope Lively, only a few chapters in, but already absorbed by its eloquence.