Professor M gardens on the greensand ridge in Bedfordshire and tells me she is plagued by rabbits.
Mrs W of Newcastle-upon-Tyne has asked where her local boy, Capability Brown, got his trees, and it’s a good question, especially when it comes from that splendid city Newcastle, strong indeed in the matter of coal-mines and ships, but less so when it comes to the commercial tree nurseries of the 18th century.
Though she seldom has time to stay for an answer, the redoubtable Mrs D is never at a loss for a question and she has asked me what legacy our celebration of the tercentennial of that great maestro of the spade, Capability Brown, should leave for future generations.
Recently returned from his tour to the eastern states, Captain Ken has reported his astonishment that Americans could describe the architecture and layout of New York as beautiful, and his further astonishment at the praise they heaped on the scenery along the train line from New York to Philadelphia.
Captain Ken, being a bicycling man, is forever in pursuit of some new place in which to try his skills, be it the screes of a mountain slope or the dense undergrowth of a distant forest and he now returns from the United States for a renewed disdain for the familiar well-trodden paths of custom.