Wimbledon is magical. Breathtaking skills on the most demanding surface, manicured courts, immaculate officials, knowledgeable and respectful crowds.

On the hottest day of the year, we attended a party at London Zoo.

I find scything my field particularly satisfying. Economical and quiet, it lends itself to contemplation. A tonic for the body and the mind.

Reclining on my 40-year-old collapsible garden chair, I found myself dropping off while listening to a BBC interview with Martin Amis. He had died two days previously.

Rabbits have basked in undeserved positive PR for too long.