Sweet Peas

It's funny but when you're small, you take an awful lot at face value. For example, I never questioned the fact that my Grandad rarely left the house. He would, admittedly, embark out on his bike and cycle to Kingston when he wanted his hair cut, but that was pretty much it, although in later years he would also allow himself to be chauffeured along to family gatherings. 

At my grandparents' house on Burlington Road, he would spend most of the time in his garden, which produced great harvests of vegetables year on year, although I don't recall him doing anything to nourish the soil. Unless the weather was absolutely foul, he would be out there, pottering about, giving him an amazing year 'round tan.

In addition to vegetables, I also remember him growing sweet peas. I particularly recall the scent, light but heady, which would strike you as you walked out of the kitchen door. 

This year, the Minx has grown sweet peas in the garden and occasionally picked them and put them in jars around the house. These ones in the photo are by the kitchen sick and their scent has led to some oddly nostalgic washing up sessions!

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-10.9 kgs
Reading: 'The Vanishing Half' by Brit Bennett