Stone Boots guard the narrow path. For this is the path leading to the King’s garden.

If the rumours about the King’s garden are true, then the blossoms are larger than soup tureens and explode in every possible colour, the lawns of fragrant herbs are softer and thicker than the most skilfully woven Persian carpets, and if you so desire you can swing in a hammock of luxurious twining vines or walk among leafy trees from whose boughs come the most exquisite birdsong.

To reach the garden you have to go to the very end of the narrow path where you will need to search for a small wrought iron gate entirely hidden by a thicket of blackberry bushes covered with thorns the size of pitchforks and berries larger than soccer balls. (These berries are  luscious beyond belief. Do not be tempted! Trust me on this.)

Beyond the gate, once you find it, is a thick wooden door reinforced with iron studs and locked on each side with twenty-three heavy duty bolts.

Beyond that, a fifty-foot wall topped with broken glass and barbed wire.

Inside is the garden.

But even before you get to the gate and door and wall, Continue reading →