There are perhaps a dozen different herbs, planted by patches, with the tall spikes of garlic scattered throughout; hyssop and savoury, more kinds of rosemary, common sage and lemon balm, basil and spikenard. The daisy-like flowers of chamomile float above a patch of sitherwood, and mint and lavender crowd the windowboxes together.

Sam's back in a few moments, bringing a tray. What a hobbit calls tea, anyone else would call a hearty lunch, even considering the difference in scale. He sets it on the end of the bench, happy to sit on the mossy ground himself. "Help yourself, there's another pie if we do for this one," he says, pouring his own cup.