We were out early on the Green Walk our progress slow as we stop to marvel at the abundance of wild flowers along this narrow undisturbed pathway. What colours they present. The tall white and yellow of the oxe-eye daisy in great clumps. The yellow fluff of the ladies straw bed and the pale dirty yellow, at times biscuit shade, of that other tall fluffy feathery plant, which is everywhere right now and whose name I just don’t know. We come upon the rich pink purple of the bloody cranes bill, a great display, startling against the soft grey of the limestone wall. And all along our path the purple of the wild thyme and then the blue heads of the scabious leaning forward on their long stems as though transfixed on some activity in the centre of the pathway. And all over the wheaten droplets of the quaking grass, and then in a sheltered nook the heady scent of the purple fragrant orchid.

And there it is and I haven’t been expecting it and I’m enchanted: my first sighting of one of the loveliest of them all – the pale blue of the delicate hairbell. We’re stooping to look at a small clump of eyebright when Mary spots a movement in the grass: a cricket. I have never seen a cricket and would have thought it a grasshopper but for its leather brown colour. We leave it in peace and walk on.

The scent of the wild woodbine climbing over the walls has almost gone but just coming out to greet the Autumn are the pale green pods of the enchanting spindle berry which will in October be festooned in teenage pink berries.  In the sparcer areas we find the little yellow portintilla flowers, and nearby the dull flat whites of the wild carrot.

A couple approch and we all stiffly smile as we pass and the silence of several minutes further walking, is broken when my ‘Is that ….. ……?’   collides mid-air with Mary’s  ‘That’s  ………!”  Well now, all this beauty and all this freshness and a famous writer as well.

An hours stopping and peering and talking and discovering and now it’s time for our picnic. There are no large boulders to rest on here and we’re loath to climb a wall and upset an owner, to give us a view of the sea.

So we sit to the side of the green road careful not to crush the tall daisies and hairbells that reside in this spot and apart from three curious ants we remain undisturbed, boxed in by the high limestone walls, no view to distract us from the joy of eating in the great outdoors.

I unfold thick fresh slices of Griffins sliced pan, some fruit, an Almond Slice and Mary has some wonderful brown scones just out of the oven, Boiling water from my seldom used flask is poured onto tea bag and herbs and our repast is complete.

Mary – like Rio, bristling as she fixes on a movement over my shoulder – became awkward first and my silent quiery told me we had company. They were coming back. And I did feel a little foolish sitting there in the middle of nowhere, with no view, our little feast now reduced to a single crust of white loaf.

I was in a better position as I had my back to them but Mary’s discomfort increased on their approach. How precious these small spaces we create for ourselves, how intrusive when they are trampeled upon unwittingly by others. The approaching footsteps almost upon us, I turned and said that if I’d known they were coming back I’d have saved a cuppa but now there wasn’t a thing left. And we all laughed and the tension vanished and the great man turned back a few steps further on and said that it looked as if the weather will hold off too and smiling they disappeared into the thicket of the soft green tunnell ahead. ‘And you know, he’s human too,’  Mary laughed as we scramble to our feet and I gave the final thimble of Griffins lovely bread to the 3 ants who joined us for a moment on this lovely morning.