This morning, as I went out for the papers, there was something odd lying on the road. Turned out to be a mole, dead but unmarked. So being me, I had to take a picture, before I consigned it to the bin.

 It's grubby little digging paws.

 And it's grubbly whiskery little nose.

I always liked to have a good look at anything like that. As a child, I liked to examine any mice that the cat brought in, and I did quite a lot of looking at dead birds - in the hard winter of 1963, birds fled further and further west, until, when they got to the toe of Cornwall, there was nowhere else to go. They were easy to find, where they had starved and were visible on the snow. Of course we kept the bird table well stocked, and I know a lot of farmers did quite a lot of spilling of grain, but there was nothing we could do about so many species of waders. My Father was appalled at what I did - he was remarkably squeamish, but Mum was as interested as I was, though she was a stickler for washing hands!

Some immigrants.

 This is Tradescantia - and it has an unusual growth habit. It also has three petals, and I have seen it named as Ohio Spiderwort, so it would appear to be American.
So is this.

Milkweed. We grew this in Surrey, and it was one of the very few plants we brought with us. Something has been making its leaves curly this year, but it doesn't seem to put it off flowering. I love the colour. It is so over the top vivid.