Dear Wigleaf

It's been 12 years since I last wrote to you. Apologies, or blame the postal service. I'm now working part-time at the farm shop, while seasonally picking and stripping. My own field is bare except for volcanoes, which in this part of Worcs UK, grow like weeds. I kick earth over their baby curls while Mr Adams offers tips e.g. to plant them in rows. 'Your mum around?'

'No.'

Last night I watched a TV programme about Grimes Graves. They are not in fact graves, as the Anglo Saxons wrongly assumed, but a Neolithic flint mine. The presenter climbed down a ladder and shone a torch. He talked about antlers used as tools but not hair loss, which is something I fret about. But perhaps the Neoliths (meaning New Stones) didn't live long enough to suffer age's indignities.

Best regards,

Frances