The tender touch of the tendril

I was captivated this morning by the tendrils of the cucumber plants in the greenhouse, reaching out for support as they climb higher to dangle their cursed crop of festering fruit. No, I can't abide cucumber... not as bad as celery, but if there's a hell I know what's going to be in all the sandwiches.

But the plant is fascinating. Even as I was photographing the tendrils they were uncurling, grasping nearby plants as often as the string and bamboo scaffold put in place for it's possessive clench. Puts me in mind of the gothic fantasy art of my friend Tom Brown. 

The afternoon threatens Sunshine, and so I may nip off on Morrigan. I'm pondering tyre life expectancy and long distance jollity, and the expense of decent rubber... Wear it out now and replace it, or stick it out. I'm sure there's another couple of thousand miles on them... I'm sure... um.