Blimey, we realised an hour ago, that had we been away from here for a fortnight, we'd have missed the runner beans, the toms, the broad beans, the cuces, the French beans, the sweet peas, the hanging baskets, the fuchsias, the geraniums, the bizzie lizzies, the petunias, the young apples, the raspberries, the blackcurrants, the courgettes, the peppers, the mimulus, 'Brain's thing', the new climbing jasmine, the lawn (three ft high), the new strawberry sowings, the new radish, the old lettuce, and I wouldn't have put in a new corner cupboard in the kitchen for Mrs Growster to load with chutney from apples and figs etc, all the food we collected during lockdown, all the dog-food and her biscuits, and six bottles of local cider as a compensation...
What on earth is going to Spain going to do against all that!
Oh yeah, a cheap bottle of sangria and a tired old tapas...
(You did start this as a French thing, Mrs B, so swap the cheap sangria for a dreadful red slop from somewhere too far south, and the tapas for a dish of Andouillettes)...
(Actually, reading this again, this isn't fair on our chums in France, who have different conditions to us, but the sentiment was that there's just too much to get here around now, and we never go away for an alternative if the odds are to enjoy what we have at home)...
