Northern vine

Despite this vine's double misfortune of being both far too far north and in our inadequate care, it produces tight bunches of tiny sweet grapes each autumn. A real gift.

Our lovely run of sun is forecast to end today so before being late for work this morning - it's a different reason every day - I wandered round the garden looking at shadows. (I also hung out some washing but I was less struck on that shadow.)

I'm going back to the theatre tonight, hoping to see yesterday's play all through, so I might add a comment later.

Just back from the theatre. A quite astonishing production about Mary Shelley, exploring radicalism, family, rules, social expectations, community, individualism, responsibility to others (especially children), love and death. All of which makes it sound tediously worthy but it wasn't at all. The actor bereaved two nights ago was back. At first I was incredulous, until I realised it might be quite a relief to be someone else for a bit.