Saturday, 3 July 2010


It's a season of bare toes and barbecues and we're drifting endlessly between the cool of the house and the warm of the garden and enjoying bright mornings, cold drinks, Wimbledon matches, the scent of fresh laundry, and lazy afternoons with all the time in the world to read.

Isn't it a shame that we can't remember the first time we felt grass under our toes?

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