Sunshine in the garden

I went to Stocksbridge mid-morning, to help with a delivery of Labour Party letters to postal voters. Penistone and Stocksbridge is a marginal constituency, currently with a Conservative MP who has a small majority.   I've canvassed there before, and it really feels worth making the effort to do little bits where I can. It's a former steel town, set in a steep-sided valley that used to be entirely dominated by a vast steel works. This should be a Labour seat. Fingers crossed.
There was a nice moment when I arrived at the meeting-point, just a few minutes early. Another woman my own age was also clearly looking for the leafleting group, but the organiser hadn't arrived at that point. There was a rapid moment of mutual recognition, and within about 30 seconds we had established that turning out on a Sunday morning was one of the few time slots compatible with a busy Granny/grandkid timetable during the week. We quickly compared notes on our respective routines. It turns out that she spends part of every week in London - a two/three hour train journey away - looking after a 2 year old and picking up a five year old from school. This makes my local visits and pick-ups look like a piece of cake.  After that we went our separate ways, with our bundles of envelopes.
Later in the afternoon Ruth came round, with both boys, partly to give Josh a break. He's not feeling well and is perhaps brewing up a cold or something similar. Richard is feeling the same, with intimations of a chest infection. Not the best thing for Father's Day, though both of them have been treated and looked after by the rest of us.
By then the temperature had really warmed up, and for the first time this summer, Ruth and I sat out in the garden with the kids.  Lovely.
After they'd gone I spent some time examining the fig tree.  Only a few figs have survived the squirrels' attentions; they like to bite (and then spit out) the figlets when they're about hazelnut size. But we may get a small crop, with luck.