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?

“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.

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

Didn’t look anything like a camellia anyway…

Our experiment in growing wild flowers has been nothing if not educational. The more we learn, the more we realise we have still to learn; this giant fooled us (not always a difficult task, that) into thinking, for a while at least, that it was some kind of fir tree. Who slipped that particular horticultural mickey finn into the seed mix, we demanded to know.

Maybe if we’d been born country folks instead of townies we’d have known all along that this year’s garden superstar was in fact a larkspur (Delphinium consolida, FYI) and, believe it or not, it’s a member of the buttercup family. That’s one mighty darn big buttercup, that’s for sure.

In gardening, however, size isn’t everything. This little wild mustard flower is a recent and rather pretty arrival.

Meanwhile, our cornflowers are proving more and more popular. A day or two ago, I managed to catch this bee foraging for nectar for his breakfast. Today, I spotted two goldfinches busy nibbling at the seed heads. Hey guys, remember to save some for next year’s crop, won’t you?

Today was my umpteenth birthday and I received a surprise prezzie from our garden: a mystery flower hath bloomed. We thought earlier that it might be a camellia, but I’m not convinced that the leaves would agree.

Click the pic to see its leafy qualities up close and botanical. Any identification suggestions welcome. Meanwhile, all join in a rousing chorus of Happy birthday to me.

They’re very effective, and extremely sticky. If you do decide to buy some yourself, though, don’t hang them anywhere near your computer: they might not be very good for your files.

Look what’s growing in our side border! Pretty, isn’t it? It’s Silene armeria, or catchfly, so called because it has sticky stems that catch any small flying insect that dares to visit the plant without pollenating it.

Cornflower, known to country folk as batchelor’s buttons (or Centaurea cyanus if you’re trying to be a Latin-spouting clever arse) is also thriving in our little corner of England’s green and formerly weed-infested land.

Fellow weed growers need not think we’ve sold out, though. We still have lots of dandelions and a small patch of stinging nettles in a shady corner at the back; both are nutritious food for butterfly larvae and bees, of course, so our green credentials are as intact as ever.

More horticultural wonders coming soon. Stay tuned.

As for the title of this post, if chanted in a suitable rhythm it might make a useful skipping song. Try it, but mind you don’t trip yourself up.