We get our eggs from a farm a few miles down the road. It is worth the drive. When you have had an omelette made from these golden beauties there is no turning back. Boxes of eggs are piled in the farmhouse porch with a washed out yoghurt pot as honest box. You serve yourself to the soundtrack of a yapping dachshund silhouetted behind a frosted glass door. As you leave a silent elderly Alsatian follows your exit with a steely gaze from behind the house. I prefer to think of this as curiosity rather than menace. On our last visit the dachshund escaped its confines and rushed to the wooden fence accompanied by an adorable puppy. A duet ensued with junior’s alto yap counterpointing his mothers fine contralto. Their bark was not as good as their excited licks.
This giant aquilegia also poked his head through a gap in the fence. The colours are almost as loud as the canine chorus.