I spent last weekend with my old friend, Valerie. Many years ago, when John and Anna were young, we moved there as Charlie (the children’s dad) went to study at Stirling University. I was introduced to Val at the door of a portacabin classroom. She too, had recently moved to the area, and her youngest child was enrolled into the same preschool class as John.

In an ironic twist, I was reluctant to become fast friends, or invest too much. I was sure Valerie would move on. Given I had probably moved more times that she had (though as she was from South Africa, I hadn’t moved as far) this makes me roll my eyes at my own preciousness now. Still, she was so lovely that I couldn’t resist for long and I very soon came to see her as one of my favourite people in the world. When Andrew was born, she babysat for me, when I couldn’t find a nursery or childminder, and I spent many happy hours with her, while our children played or attended swimming lessons.

During that time, one of our local haunts was the Pineapple. This bizarre architectural structure was a remnant from a time when exotic fruits were a novelty, so rare and expensive that only the aristocracy could enjoy them. Only the high walls and distinctive central edifice remain. The glass houses that once leaned against the high walls are long gone.

The original structure must have been even more imposing. It is built on a ridge with a steep slope in front, which is largely free of trees, presumably to maximise the hours of sunlight to the maximum available. At the time we visited though, one of the chief pleasures of our children was to lie on the grass and roll down that slope, landing dizzy and laughing at the bottom, as Valerie and I sat on the grass.

As well as the walled garden, with its cropped grass and landscaped trees and bushes, the house is surrounded by mature woodland, where there are well trodden paths through the trees, where there are ancient yews alongside sturdy oaks and lofty sycamores. Triar was with us and Valerie and I took him on a lovely walk.

We retraced our steps and ended our walk where we began, in the walled garden. It was here that Valerie noticed for the first time, after years of visiting, that one of the trees in the garden was a mulberry bush. Better still, it was replete with rapidly ripening fruit.

Other than the (mostly forgotten) nursery rhyme, “Here we go round the mulberry bush” I had never come across mulberries in any form. We found a few that were ripe and they were sweet and delicious, with a distinctive flavour. Valerie though, was reminded of her childhood in South Africa, where she had a mulberry bush in her garden and used to rear silkworms that they kept in containers, feeding them off the leaves and trading leaves for silkworms with her friends.

All in all, it was another wonderful weekend, with memories and love… as well as wine in the hot tub!

For those who read last week’s post, I have removed the section that perhaps should have remained private, on the request of my mum. That said, as ever, I appreciate the love and support of the many women who reached out to me. You know who you are, and I value all you have said to me very highly. You have helped in easing my mind.

Autumn is rapidly approaching. My house has been wonderfully cool over the summer, but is beginning to feel chilly and I am debating with myself about when to put the heating on. Given it is an ancient system, with a boiler whose functioning I don’t really understand, I am holding off for as long as I can. I should probably get a gas engineer out to check the boiler before winter and getting radiators with thermostats is on my list of things to do, but it will have to wait, for now. I hadn’t intended to buy a project house, but that is what I ended up doing, after all.

I’ll leave you with some autumnal pictures from Blackbird Lane, which currently has more blackberries than blackbirds, and will probably shortly be painted with purple bird poo!

Have a good week all!