In Regent's Park yesterday there were roses in fizzy, sherbet dibdab colours like this but oh, the delphiniums, a whole bed of them in every shade of blue and purple and mauve.
I ambled through the roses, stopping to admire the brides having their photographs taken. And laughed when a very old lady with a real Cockney accent grabbed a young bride by the hand and asked if the wedding party was off for a real good nosh.
The bride clearly didn't have a clue what she meant.
I wonder what a good nosh would have been when the old lady got married? A tin of ham saved for a special occasion? A fruit cake made with shared rations but no icing?
I love reading the plaques on the rose garden benches. Each one is like a mini-love story in memory of someone who loved roses.
And every one of them sounded like someone I'd like to meet.
I sat under a festoon of roses on a comfortable, weathered bench and finished The Go-Between, the most perfect novel for a heatwave ...