Sycamore

I have very little doubt that there is no Sycamore in this shot, I bow to ceridwen's beady eye to spot one if there is. This is simply the manicured and topiaried garden (with canon) beside the offices of Medway Council and is a little more secluded, manicured and topiaried than the more publicly accessible garden (with canon) in front of the public lending library, a moment farther upstream. This is my lunchtime view when I leave my enormous screens to stretch my eyes and today, feel the sun on my skin.

Last night, after I had blipped, I received a very rare and welcome text message from Stepbrat. I do not imagine for a single moment that he had timed it for the significance of the date. Purely coincidence I am sure. Stepbrat is now the age that I was when I married his Dad, and our difference in age is how old he was when I first met him. When he was just 17 he moved in with me in order to attend university in London. His Dad was working away from home on the South coast and so from Monday to Friday I was his sole parent and companion. Of course we have a close relationship.

This is what he sent last night;
“When the moon hits your knees
And you mispronounce trees
Syc-amoré”

Which was a follow-on from his 2017 classic;
“When you're down by the sea
And an eel bites your knee
That's a Moray”

Love him to bits!