Rooks and apple blossom

The weather gods had colluded today to deliver the first day of summer. That it was a Monday too seemed appropriate; perhaps they too work a regular jobbing week. Gone were the weekend's chilly winds and misty outriders, shunted into the sidings by bright sunshine and skies with train-chuffed clouds drawn straight from a child's paintings.

A few brave early blossoms on the twiggy cooking apple tree in my little garden were just starting to uncurl as I left the house this morning. Several more spindly green shoots from the wild flower seeds I sowed a couple of weeks ago and another frond of clematis too, a slender waving tendril seeking anchor from the wall. But the honeysuckle is proving so far to be the champion of this chase to the sun; it grows taller and bushier each time I look at it.

The students were back at full strength on campus today, eyes blinking at the unaccustomed morning light after a few weeks of sleeping until afternoon if Roo is anything to go by. Some of them were towing huge suitcases on wheels and working like columns of cheerfully chattering ants as they helped each other across the grass with bags and boxes of belongings and into their flats. At mid morning, I went down to the campus shop in search of muesli and a change of scene. I'm trying to be virtuous after those three weeks of over indulgence so was pleased with myself for managing to forgo a bar of chocolate, although an ice cream wouldn't have looked out of place among all the colourful tee-shirts.

Lunchtime provided the perfect opportunity to saunter to the post box and then to sit in the park for three quarters of an hour. It's the first time I've had the chance and the weather to venture there and I can see that plenty of exploring of the seemingly endless green space lies in front of me. For today, though, I was content to find a bench and read and watch the world go by as I crunched Polos and smoked a couple of cigarettes. Not far from where I was sitting was the remains of a maze. It had been made of straw and the inner spiral was still intact, the outer parts now straw-less but carved into the grass nonetheless from the length of time it had been there. A year? Two perhaps? Temporary entertainment certainly but long enough to leave a bare grey-brown trace in the turf.

From the variety of mature trees I'd guess maybe that this had originally been planted as a specimen garden when the mansion house was still just that and in private ownership. The mansion retains its indoor 'winter garden', a huge domed green house bursting with tropical species to the extent that large fleshy leaves press up against the windows and the glass runs continually with condensation. Outside, rooks have set up nests high in the tallest of the trees and were pecking around importantly in the grass as I watched them.

And then suddenly, from nowhere, an unrecognisable squawking caused rooks and me both to look up startled. A small flock of parakeets were flying over, pausing for a moment for a rest and to be admired among the tree tops before continuing their journey. I have seen parakeets (and even, once, a huge blue parrot) flying freely before in this country, but they somehow seemed even more incongruous in south east London. Perhaps the proximity of the tropical hot house lured them in. Who knows?