Picture the scene...

a latter day Ma Larkin sitting in the shade of a 

magnolia tree, carefully shaped to resemble a Maharaja's 

palace.  Would you expect any less?

Legs akimbo, knicker less, sporting a Thai tie-dyed dress that has huge holes appearing where the acid has eaten into the material.  

Striding ahead down the alley she said to Pa

'Can you see my bare bum through the holes in my dress?  

Walking into a lamppost he failed to reply. 

Red paisley scarf completes the ensemble.

Before the ever loving, and I ought to say hugely understanding husband

sets off to swim, in imperious tones she requests a long cold drink.

No, no not a pint of brown and mild, but a juice drink watered down with naturally sparkling water.  Liver detox you understand, in readiness for the great Olympian occasion.  She's nothing if not totally committed to giving of her best. 

By her side she has an upturned 

James Day & Sons Ltd

Cranbrook Kent apple box; 

at exactly the right height in order not to cause too much strain
 on the expensively (£36.40) cuffed wrist.

Wind-up mobile phone, Kindle,

The Royal Horticultural Encyclopedia of Gardening

and Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable complete the picture.

Already today she has lightly dusted the den; ordered her next delivery

of Abel & Cole goodies and washed her many and various dusters.

Lettice's widdly bed, pulled out to air, competes with the strong smell of polish emanating from the dusters hanging disconsolately on the line.

Honeysuckle scent is hard pressed to make its presence felt.

The sound from the ancient hedge is deafening with the 
chirrup of newly fledged sparrows.  
Bumble bees are busy buzzing.  

Butterflies, flutter by.

Lettice endlessly stands and stares with tail gently wagging, at a snoozing hedgehog

slumbering unconcerned in the hedge bottom.

All is well in deepest Kent.


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