I can’t get out into the garden, but I’m doing what I can here.
My favourite books of the year.
When is plagiarism only sort of plagiarism?
Is reading fiction really that important?
Are some books too sad to be required reading?
Tomato fortresses, catnip, fat cucumbers, more beans…
When it’s hot enough outside to melt iron, my perverse instinct is to play with yarn.
Zucchini suicides, strawberry thieves, mystery beetles: never a dull moment.