Just call me Hyacinth...

I haven't succumbed to a Fit-Bit. Yes, I know they are all the rage. Even helping to solve crime in The Good Fight. (Don't you just love it? Not even missing Alicia Florrick. Amazing.)  I know people who do have them. A girl friend of mine turned up for lunch recently, and I could see her through the window, walking up and down on the spot. I thought she was bustin' Justin for the bathroom, and dived to open the front door, but no, she was simply increasing her step-count. Over a year ago, I was ever so slightly sniffy about Dearest 's obsession with the step-count on his phone. So I have to put my hand up and say that since I've upgraded my phone, I have become as step-conscious as he is.
So it was, with a huge sense of achievement that yesterday, on our long day out we clocked up 9.3 miles. I've rounded it up to 10.00, when I've bragged about it today. Which is understandable, as you know my love of round figures. Starting with my own. Though it would be considerably less rotund if I did that every day.
A lot of mileage was clocked up doing circuits of the flower show. The only garden that truly impressed us was an Artisanal Japanese garden.  There were truly weird ones amongst some that were moderately charming. A few terrific displays, but at times it struck me that we were in a very nobby garden centre.  Don't get brunch in most garden centres, however. Brunch was booked for 10.30. I was ready for it at 9.00. Having been up since 5.00, my first breakfast was already rattling around cavernously. I did enjoy brunch. Not being, what you might call, a Shoreditch hipster, we tend not to do brunch in this wattled neck of the woods.
As for the rest of it? Well, it was a jolly day out, but I think we can, in all honesty, scratch that off the bouquet list.

The magnificent Patricia Routledge as Hyacinth Bucket