Last week was fierce, the sun beating down on our south-facing slopes from the moment it nosed over The Tump to finally relenting as it sank behind Freezing Hill. To be honest, and despite the blue skies, it felt brutal and I couldn’t help but feel worried by a garden that in places was beginning not to cope. Burned leaves on the gunnera that have as much water as they need at their feet, but simply couldn’t get it to their leaves quickly enough. The same with the tetrapanax, which I have never seen scorch in all the years I have been growing them. We brazened it out in the crackling heat, noting the plants that might need help later and then retreated into the shadows for the afternoon to sow, pot up and tidy in the hot, still air of the barn.

By six, and with the angle of the sun tipping into the top of the valley, we ventured out to hand water, attending to wilting beans and hydrangeas that were hanging and exhausted even in the shade. Hessian shade covers were lifted from the frames and the temperature checked in the polytunnel where we fear tomato trusses have aborted in the 45 degree heat, even with all doors open. By nine and with the prospect of a good sunset, we made our way back to the open barn to eat. Heat radiated from the walls, but a cool breeze pulled the day’s perfumes from the herb garden. Smells that you experience more often in the Mediterranean than the usual cool, damp evenings here. The perfume of lavender, fennel, dry dusty rosemary and sage.