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“What kind of tree is that one?” Archie asks, pointing at a twelve-foot-high spiky-looking tree Hugh, meanwhile, heads off with a soccer ball A football?

“That’s a monkey tree”

“Do you think monkeys live in it?”

“No,” I say with a chuckle “At least, not in Scotland Haven’t you visited this place before?” I ask as I begin to unpack the food It looks like Chrissy has packed us a feast, which certainly puts my hastily constructed PB&J to shame

“Yes, but not since last year And last year, I was only five, which isn’t really old enough to appreciate so like this” Sometimes this kid sounds like a little oldby the way he watchesup as I pull out container after container, pulling the top from each as I do so

Bamboo containers, eco-friendly No Tupperware for these kiddos

Crackers A wedge of Scottish brie A tub of preserved figs Raspberries Goat’s cheese tartlets Herby sausage rolls—

“Yuraveyard?”

“Is it what?” I ask, turning the container around and staring into it Inside is a pastry slice with sugar sprinkled on the top

“Fly graveyard,” Hugh says, dropping his knees to the edge of the blanket “I love that stuff!” His hand sneaks into the container, whipping out a corner of the pastry and shovelling it into his mouth

“But why is it called fly graveyard?” I ask, peering into the container and swatting away a curious wasp And ould anyone want to eat so as that?

“Because of this, see?” Speaking through a er where a single currant and a few stray crumbs sit “It looks like a dead fly, doesn’t it?”

“That’s gross, Hugh!” I coer than I a around his mouth

“Disgusting,” Griffin agrees, popping the chane cork over the nearby flower beds “Who na like that? Bloody mental Scots,” he complains

“Hey, I’ but Scottish “And that’s littering!”