Second flush ...

I'm pleased to see that this old rose, Josephine Bruce, she of the sweet scent, is having another go at flowering. I usually think the second flush consists of poor little things, often ending with the first frosts of autumn, but as the first couple of blooms were eaten by thrips and had a job unfurling to anything like their customary glory, this comes as altogether welcome - and there will be more.

Another crazy beach walk with my pal this afternoon, the kind of walk that seems not to be something I do with Himself as it involved a childish scramble down some rocks. There's something deeply satisfying about doing something silly, something one is theoretically much too old to do - like my mother when she was about my age being ticked off by her GP for climbing over a five-barred gate. She was with me at the time ...