There's just over a week of the holidays left and children all over the country are getting ready for the new school year.

Laura is quite keen to get back to school. She's going to be a "top infant" and, for the first time, her teacher will be male. She says he's very nice but quite strict and she's looking forward to being in his class.

She's done a lot, over the holidays. In the last 5 weeks she's learned to ride her bike without stablizers and to swim without arm-bands. It's a frantic, splashy doggy-paddle but at least she doesn't sink. She's also had a week in London, with her mum, where she went on the London Eye, saw the changing of the guard at the palace, went to the London Dungeon, which...

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Yes, it really is. Our pumpkin is now a fair bit larger than your average football and still growing. Last week I decided it needed something more substantial than the wad of netting under it. If it sank too far into the bucket we might not get it out so I got my daughter to lift it up while I packed the bucket with a wad of newspapers. It was very heavy.

I realised that Laura is not going to be able to carry it to school when the time comes but, at the rate it's growing, neither will her mum. That poses a problem. We have a wheelbarrow, an ancient metal one, but it's got a coating of plaster and cement on the inside and the rubber handles have perished so much they leave your hands black if you touch them. A push-chair...

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Laura brought it home from school in a 3'' square pot. It had 3 leaves and needed watering. She'd taken £1 with her that morning, the price of the plant and her entry in the competition. The plants were donated by a mother, at the school, who runs a plant nursery with her husband.

''There's going to be a prize for the biggest one, Nana'', she said. ''We take them to school in September and the biggest one wins''.

''What's the prize?'', I asked. She frowned. ''I don't know. But'', her face animated again, ''I want to win it''

Growing things is my hobby, I grow anything that's growable. I'm an incessant gardener, always out there weeding, watering, pruning, snipping, but my best love is...

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It should have been a picnic. It was meant to be a picnic, on the lawn; a 4th of July Picnic, but 2 days early. You see, my friend, Crystal, is an American. She's married to an Englishman, has lived here for 6 years and loves it, but she's American to the tips of her toes.

Crystal and her husband have a very nice, very unusual bungalow in a deep hollow quite close to the centre of the village. It's a unique building that he designed himself, he's an architect, with lots of windows looking out over a lovely lawned garden that borders the tree-lined stream. She had planned games like boules and lawn-table-tennis for the more energetic and guests were asked to bring along their picnic chairs, if possible. About 50 people...

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Battle commenced at 10.30 a.m. The fight was going to be long and wearying but I was fortified with bacon and coffee and I knew I had Right on my side.

I advanced, weapon in hand, and made the first move. There was no resistance. My confidence buoyed, I began more earnest thrusts. Aaaagh! my first wound. The blood dripped from my right arm, down my clothes and on to my leg. Cursing, I renewed my attack; chop, slash, thrust. It fought back, bravely, and more blood flowed from my wounded limbs. It caught at my hair and tried to tear my scalp but I parried its blows with a quick scything movement and sliced off its weapons.

The sun rose higher in the sky and, in the heat of battle and the heat of the noonday...

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