I am planning to take a load of photos of the public gardens this week but in the meantime here are two shots of the crocosmia in my garden.

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Last night C and I drove down to Teignmouth, which is one of those British seaside resorts which isn't actually part of the English Riviera but you think it is. The word 'Riviera' conjures up mental impressions of white-washed buildings baking in the sun, painfully blue sea and sky, beautiful people in classy swimwear and sporty roadster cars (possibly with a small Belgium or a dotty old dear in tweed pottering about solving a murder). Naturally, the English reality, now everyone buggers off to Spain, is crumbling Edwardian hotels, ice-cream, people who really shouldn't be wearing bikinis, suspect safety standards and some grumpy teenagers mooching about. To be fair to Teignmouth, I used to go there on holiday when I was a little girl and loved it, but that was in the final heyday of the English seaside holiday.

However, the weather was gorgeous so we didn't really care. We had chips on the seafront, as befits a trip to the English seaside, and then did a few hours on the door of a friend's school reunion. Taking tickets, suggesting people wore name badges (they always said no, then came back twenty minutes later to get one), taking photos etc. We were disappointed by the utter lack of a slightly bewildered John Cusack.