Off to Addenbrookes for early appointment.
Stately spires of purples and rose-pink rose bay willow herb grew in sweeping swathes along the roadside verges, side by side with tall, purple prickly thistles, nearby nestling close to the ground and shining brightly upward are immense patches of the brightest yellow tom thumb, here and there meadowsweet grows, and I wish we could stop and I could press my face into its flowers and drink in its pleasant sweetness. No wonder in medieval times it was used by cottagers to strew on the earthen floors of their dwellings.
The grass on all the verges is now straw-coloured and in places has died away to expose the stony ground it grows upon. Vetch grows bushlike, two feet high and more flowers than leaves, a few pale mauve, but mostly white, pinky-mauve mallow flowers lay mostly along the ground, just lifting their pretty heads as if showing the sun their faces. Here and there, bright red poppies, the same shade as my arterial blood, drift alongside the road and sit pleasantly among the other flowers. We have had many hot days now and on every one of them the grass-snakes are to be found in and around the pond. As I write, I suddenly realize there are no fish and no newts, frogs or tadpoles to be seen, of course they have made fine meals for the snakes. I would like to think lurking among the stones a few have managed to survive, frogs and toads will have spawned and left the pond, but of course, tiny toadlings, froglets and baby newts will have been eaten by the snakes.
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