Many years ago, probably at the end of the last century, my friend Patsy invited me to her Ragwort party. Many people were there, as was a barrel of beer. A paddock needed to be cleared of the stuff, poisonous as it is to horses and it was thirsty work.
Up on the old Renbaan, the former track is awash in white with wild carrot, 𝐷𝑎𝑢𝑐𝑢𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑎. Some of them have formed the distinctive skeletal basket which recalls the shape of a bird's nest.
And, I fancy, in amongst it, offering splashes of golden-yellow, is Ragwort.