During the week, my mother liberated her great-grandson from childcare and I packed a picnic and met them at Clarendon House to enjoy a glorious day of sunshine and falling leaves.
I whipped up some simple tiny, tiny quiches of egg and spring onion and kept them warm in the insulated carrier, along with some bacon wrapped prunes speared with toothpicks and baked for about 15 minutes. A steamed corn on the cob wet with melted butter and baby tomatoes and carrots, from the garden. Slices of watermelon and sparkling elderflower cordial and ice.
My grandson ran and played and scooped up armfuls of dried leaves to dump on our heads and let the wind take my colourful scarf like an exotic streaming banner. He calls Clarendon his castle - oh to have those simple fantasies again. "I'm Mike the Knight" he declares.
Stopping just long enough to take a selfie with Grandma.
Then away again to explore some more.
"No other Knight in all the land
Could do the things which he could do.
Not only did he understand
The way to polish swords, but knew
What remedy a Knight should seek
Whose armour had begun to squeak."
from "The Knight Whose Armour Didn't Squeak"
by A.A. Milne