Bloody water bombs they are. I don't grow maincrops because I get blight almost every year (32 out of 34 here). The first and second earlies at least give me something even if the blight gets here early, say mid- to late-July.

We're having roast chicken tonight, a five-pounder, free-range Creedy Carver, Devon born and Devon bred. Roast spuds, parsnips out of my frosty garden, an organic sweetheart cabbage, steamed, stuffing balls and, for a change, some roasted butternut squash chunks instead of carrots (I had half of one to use up). We wrestle for the skin but the parson's nose is mine and I'll brook no dissent on that one. A drumstick and several slices of tit each. Mrs Steve is currently making the gravy using my homemade stock and we are well under way with the Sabbath bottle of prosecco. A nice bottle of Argentine Malbec to wash down the fowl. I forgave Galtieri decades ago.