My sewing box captured the attention of two unlikely candidates at a party. A few hours later I had a beautiful necklace made from seaweed and miniature mussel shells.
We carried the apples back to London from my mother's tree, and pressed them on the roof terrace. It was hard work, and I won't bang on smugly about how good the cider was. It didn't last long.
My Uncle lives in Peel, on the Isle of Man, and plays the Manx version of the pipes. On the beach the sound still makes everyone wobble and lower their sunglasses.