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Even though last year’s ‘barbecue summer’ was less spectacular than expected, there were at least plenty of butterflies around. This summer, though, has been noticeable for their absence. We should consider ourselves fortunate, then, that, early on Wednesday evening, a red admiral chose our wildflower patch (or, more precisely, a concrete fence post next to it) as a suitable spot to take a break from its flying and fluttering. Can’t blame it, really: most butterflies weigh next to nothing, but still they manage to migrate all the way from the Mediterranean, so if one of them wants to flop out on our fence post for a while, I say good luck to it.

A different kind of ‘red’ admiral (i.e., a Russian submariner) turned up this week in episode two of five-part BBC serial The Deep. Like that infamous barbecue summer, however, this series also seems to be something of a damp squib. Can we steel ourselves for three more episodes, or would half an hour’s waterboarding perhaps be less excruciating?

Our quiet corner of Lincoln, a short road of mostly 1950s houses, this week became a fully paid-up member of the 21st century: knife crime has, at last, arrived.

“By eck, it’s getting more like the Bronx* every day,” we chuckled (hollowly).

On Wednesday evening, though, we still didn’t know exactly what had happened. We simply saw several police cars turning up at the local old folks’ residence, and started making wild, but fun, assumptions.

“Those old people can be proper terrors,” I said. “You can never be sure if that sweet little elderly gent is carrying a walking stick or if it is really a swordstick. With a little engineering ingenuity, it’s probably easy enough to convert a zimmer frame into a four-barrelled poacher’s sidearm. Still, at least it looks like the local constabulary has rumbled them at last.”

The truth, according to the local papers, was more prosaic . A man in his mid-twenties had been ambushed by four assailants and had suffered multiple stab wounds. It all happened in the alley that we regularly use as a shortcut to the shops.

The most surprising thing, I guess, is that we were at all surprised that something like this could happen. This particular alley may be a pleasant, tree-lined walk, but there are always plenty of empty booze bottles and cans strewn among the undergrowth, and council workmen recently erected heavy-duty security fencing along the other side, which backs onto the elderly residents’ apartments. Evidently, one or two (maybe even more) villains and ne’er-do-wells like to hang around there late at night.

Maybe it’s not so bad after all, though. Our quiet corner still has no CCTV cameras staring down at us. Hmm, is it just me, or has anyone else (e.g., four local muggers) spotted that little omission?

* Best Kept Village, 1989.

The plastic vuvuzela: invented in Hell, widely used at the 2010 World Cup in South Africa, but who first played one in the UK?

Give up?

It’s this guy. No wonder he hides in a cave.

A much better shot of our larkspur’s flowers. If you’ve just arrived, I don’t want to boast, but the plant measures a whopping four foot ten — or almost as tall as Shana