Picnics in Graveyards

Carrying on the cheery theme from the last story I posted here, I've been spookily pleased recently to see how many other people also enjoy picnics in graveyards. The only thing I wonder about is why I never meet them. But hey, I'm not complaining - nothing suits me better than an empty graveyard - empty that is, apart from the dead and all their stories.

Anyway, there's a good post up at a new blog find for me about exactly this, Been the Traveller, which has some of the weird kind of links I particularly enjoy.

What would you have on your gravestone? Nicholas asks.

Well hello, that's easy for me. I already have had mine designed for me by the amazing Neil Gaiman



"Never stopped believing"... that'll do me nicely.

Peony Paradise

Sometimes my life feels like a gift, especially when I have meetings - like yesterday's - which take place in gardens just when the peonies are in full perfect bloom.



I wish I could transport you all to Penshurst Place for a picnic with me today.



We'd sit on benches, drinking elderflower champagne and nibbling on cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off.



We'd have to stop talking sometimes because the bird song is so beautiful, and the bees so busy, and the smell so heavenly. And afterwards, when we've finished our slices of lemon cake, we can throw ourselves - rock star crowd-surfing style - on top of this peony bed. Just for fun.**



(**Don't worry, Penshurst Place police, we wouldn't really. Please don't bar me for life! It was those naughty blog readers who had the idea, not me. I promise. I tried to persuade them otherwise .... )