Picked a handful of lavender, mostly crisp and spent, from outside the walled garden at Brockwell Park on my evening walk today. I stuffed it my jacket pocket and forgot about it until supper time when its scent was drawn out by the heat of the kitchen.
‘Is it legal to pick it?’ my 12-year-old friend asked, eyes wide, as we discussed the flowers over boiling potatoes and stewing apples.
‘I’ve no idea,’ I said. ‘I don’t think it matters very much.’