I'll miss this gooseberry bush when we leave. I bought it from Poundland about eight years ago, and it looked like a stick for the first couple of years, but every summer since has grown more gooseberries than I thought possible from one small bush. 

This year they were ready just as our house was going on the market, and I kept seeing them from the window and thinking 'I really must pick those gooseberries', but the freezer was full and in the midst of painting and gluing and fixing and packing and tidying, there was really no room for making jam. 

​So they stayed outside and the birds ate some (but not many) and the rest turned slowly brown. 

Finally, the house was ready, and the viewings were done, and someone agreed to buy our house. One sunny weekend, I found myself with nothing to do (a rare occurrence), and my eye fell to the remainder of the gooseberry crop. 

Sadly, most of them had gone, but I did gather enough for a decent bit of jam 

I love making gooseberry jam. Once you get past the giant thorns, and the endless snipping of stalks, it's an easy process, and I love the way it turns from green to deep pink as it cooks. 

I wasn't planning to make any more jam this year, but one evening last week I found myself yet again with little to do, and took off for a wander round the fields. 

It was a lovely evening, and as I wandered my eye fell on... blackberries. In my head they are ready in September, and I miss them every single year. I gathered as many as I could carry (in, er, small plastic bags leftover from looking after a friend's dog the day before). Not exactly a picturesque Country Living magazine-style shot. 

I wandered into the local park, which runs down the side of a hill, and provides an excellent view. I sat on a bench to watch the sun set, and before long was joined by our dog friend, and his owners. Most jolly. 

So now we have a choice of jam, which is never a bad thing. I'm not sure how long it'll last. I've never made jam that needed to keep for very long, because we are avid jam-eaters in this house and I've never made enough to last longer than a week or two. One day I'll experiment with making enough to last the year. Probably need more than three jars though. 

I love knitting. I can't remember a time when I didn't know how to knit, and to this day I couldn't tell you who taught me. It's like I was born knowing - although clearly I am indebted to some patient, unthanked family member for the skill. 

I'm not a fancy knitter, and I've not even knitted that many things in my life. A couple of pairs of socks, a cardigan, an owl, and several hives of tiny knitted bees. Maybe a robin or two, and a canoe for a friend's baby.

My latest project is that sock in the picture above, knitted entirely on trains. There's something about trains and sock knitting that go so deliciously well together. Maybe it's the small needles and the lack of elbow room, or the fact that they don't weigh much. 

I'm also rather fond of a bit of sewing, and so when I found this cheerful green cardigan in a junk shop at the weekend, I couldn't resist. 

I was very taken with the green, and the little holes (rather too many holes, it turned out...). There was a label, which I cut out - although a little investigation led me to this site, where I've learned a Margaret Howell cardigan can set you back at least £150. 

Needless to say, I did not pay £150 for this one. 

Fortunately, I do like a challenge, and I spent an hour eating tea and scones in the company of good friends, sewing up the worst of the holes. 

I can't say it's as good as new, but it's pretty, and it's cosy, and it's no longer in imminent danger of falling apart. And for a total cost of £2.50 plus 50p for embroidery thread in the charity shop, that's all you can ask. 

I like to think Margaret Howell would be pleased one of her creations had been rescued from a bargain bin in a small town by the sea, and restored in the company of friends.