We went in search of the fairy kingdom, and might just have found it.
Chanced upon after an illicit feast of anything ripe in the kitchen garden, on the other side of the wall, as we made or escape, our hands and faces stained red with tayberry juice. There it was, nestled amongst the undergrowth in the dappled shade of antique thicket, looking like the Rodger dean artwork of a gatefold sleeved prog rock triple live album.
Magic, with nobs on. (It's a giant seed head of the Bulgarian Honey Garlic... or is it?)