Looking down from the bridge I see two kids, a brother and sister, crouched on the rocks either side of the stream, each with a jotter and crayons, drawing the pond. It’s a day to go barefoot, to walk on the grass not the stone path. Clouds pass, and we enjoy the heat of the sun, until the cherry-shade comes as a relief. Elsewhere games of hide-and-seek are being played, races run, balls kicked and chased.
Every few minutes another plane passes over the firth flying right to left, east to west, heading for the airport. A green helicopter spins down and lands on the grass beside many others, turning brown as they dry.
Walking the path that runs round outside the Japanese garden, I find raspberry bushes with ripe red fruits; notice a circular well for the first time, not far from the entrance, dried up and full of sticks and rubbish; see the croquet hoops are in place on the lawn below the house and two games are going on.
Back in the car the golf coverage is interrupted by new of a Malaysian Airlines plane that’s come down over Eastern Ukraine.