There’s a mellow stillness in Jardin Uborka this evening, broken only by the lazy chatter of our guests who are mainly rocking in hammocks or reclining on steamer chairs. Ubotka has had caterpillar treads fitted to hus wheels to enable smooth delivery of drinks and snacks across the neat lawn.

In the hammock district, Pix and Pocks are both snoring softly, as wasps investigate their unfinished drinks.

Mr and Ms Gammidgy are gazing into each other’s eyes over a tanker of cider, for we have provided a creche with a soundproofed bouncy castle, and appointed poor Asta to watch over it as well as mixing up her complicated cocktails and showing the photographs from a thousand summer weddings to anyone she happens to catch.

Our Pete has been indulging in much Radio Warwick nostalgia lately, so it’s nice that Stuart has turned up for a pint. Nice for me, that is.

And Graybo, dear naked Graybo, has had a rotten week. But that doesn’t excuse his utter lack of manners, so I am withholding his g&t until he puts a tie on. Not on that. Oh really.

But what is that? A grey cloud scudding purposefully across the china blue sky? Meh, it’s just a shower, we’re British, it will pass in a few minutes. Someone had better get asta an umbrella, though.

Have a warm weekend.