I woke this morning to deafening screams from the seagulls on my roof. And looking out, I see a battle raging between the adult birds and their fledglings. They are ‘teaching’ their young to fly, by alternately goading them with their beaks then flying away. So hopefully the young’uns will no longer eat my roses, and I can sow some more watercress in the yard without it being stripped!
So I shall take the day off, or part of it, to bottle apricots in my kitchen. I already have two jars done and three of preserve, or jam. The tree on my allotment was super productive this year, and so, too, are the mulberry and the fig. But none of the commoner English fruit trees, plum, gages, damsons, have produced. I think a late frost killed off the blossom. And it’s been a marvellous year for lavender, too. And so to work.
The next-door pawnbroker’s burglar alarm disturbed my sleep last night, and I distracted myself by scanning through the Not The Booker prize long list, for the title of a friend’s book. And did a double blink to see the title of my own debut novel: A Sea of Straw. It seems the public can vote for two books each, and are asked to leave a very short review of 100 words for one of them.
So, here’s your ballot paper, in case you want to join in:
Julia Sutton - Author 