July

In my garden I have Valerian, chosen, you will understand, for the association of the name; it's long and lanky as I was too when I was a teenager, and it is flourishing very well in my garden. It has been such a glorious weekend, weather wise and tennis wise with Andy Murray's championship win at Wimbledon but as I am more of a garden fan than a tennis fan, I spent most of yesterday, in between dashing inside to see the state of play, tidying up my patch. I had made the decision that the nettles that I had left in the borders in the hope that they would attract and encourage a butterfly or two hovering nearby, must at last be pulled out; there has not been a sign of even a cabbage white for weeks, the cold and wet weather in spring and early summer has I fear, finished them off. I have left the Herb Robert, which if it isn't allowed to spread too rapidly is a dainty pretty plant and the Fever-few with its delightful daisy like flowers that were used in the 'old' days as a cure for headache, the wild garlic and of course the buttercup that peeps its golden head through the 'proper' plants and when I cut the grass I left a small patch of daisies and clover to feed the bees.

I am continuing with the novel in progress, have written a short story for a Christmas edition of a women's magazine, been in discussion regarding events for November's launch of His Brother's Wife, and importantly over this last weekend have read and judged children's stories for a Literacy Celebration competition inspired by children's author Jacqueline Wilson and co-ordinated by Heritage Learning in co-operation with Hull schools.
If only, I feel I must say - if only there had been such an event when I was a child I would have known so much more pleasure in my school life; to have known that an ability to write and express myself in the written language was as important as remembering my times table. The children's stories I have read were delightful, funny and inspirational and importantly, imaginative. They may never know how lucky they are to be allowed to let that imagination fly, and why indeed should they be, for it is surely their right to express their ideas and fantasies.

On a personal note my eldest daughter celebrated her birthday on Sunday. Although she was in Worthing and her sister and I were in Beverley, we sent her flowers and raised a glass of bubbles to wish her a happy day. I recall the day so well and it seems like only yesterday.