It’s that time of the year… strawberries. And doubly delicious when from your own garden.

Birds are already feasting on un-netted cherries and red currants, but so far (touch wood) they seem to have left my strawberries alone. I wonder if it is because they are growing in an old wicker laundry basket and are not so obvious or accessible.

But it’s the wild strawberries that, for me, top the flavour chart - just one popped in the mouth is an exquisite tiny taste explosion that says ‘Summer’ with a capital S.

Everything seems to be exploding - the weather for one, and looking back in my Journal the end of June last year was just as hot. Blazing June. But will July deteriorate into our traditional British summer? Wet.

Roadside verges - explosions of wild flowers. It appears that most councils now delay  verge cutting until the flowers have set seed. Last week, along one side of the A49 was a mile long ribbon of blood red poppies. Quite amazingly spectacular and with nowhere and no time to stop and photograph.

And then of course there are our gardens - exploding with summer flowers - mad jumbles of Honeysuckle and the highly scented Philadelphus. Delphiniums, Campanula, Daisies on the lawn and  breathtaking roses - the list seems endless - and gorgeous.

There is however one teensy explosion that I would like to detonate myself. You see, across the way there are some regular late night revellers and their enjoyment of these sultry summer evenings is not quite the same as mine… Boom-box. Barbecue. Beer. Brawl…
BANG!