The grass is riz
I wonder . . .
where them squirrels is?
The house is full of flowers, daffs and primroses all over the place.
Vases to the right of me,
vases to the left of me . . .
Into the garden of daffs strode the old gardener. And he got onto trouble again. I was wearing clothes far to good to be mucking about and got them all dirty. I know that I should change into tatty trousers, worn shirts and wellies but I am just too lazy - what-the-hellism gets to me.
I should be organised like the chives by the blackcurrants, standing in a neat green row, well controlled and sensible. But I am not. I am more of a rambling weed, unpredictable and casual.
And two squirrels banished but another one here - seen today! Tree rats everywhere. Perhaps I could collect them and sell them to L'Enclume in Cartmel as a tasting menu delicacy - sort of mini squirrel rolls with mustard seed sauce? And some rowanberry jelly?
I once made some rowanberry jelly. It is supposed to accompany venison well - well, it was a bit bitter and I accompanied it to the lavatory many times after eating it! Not intending to make any more.
Redcurrant jelly will suffice.
The daffs are going over but we have enough despite the small grey slugs chewing the petals. Apart from the wild ones we have big yellows - on the left - and more delicate ones with an orange trumpet as here on the right.
And bunnies have been seen - a pair of fat furry choppers on the top banking. Fortunately the fritillaries still have their flowers and buds in place - but for how much longer?
This is lovage and soon these small leaves will be eight feet above the ground.
We have guests - T and A - and it is good to see them wandering around the garden on their own. We like to share our garden and have others enjoy it. Of course we could not open it to the public as there is no way we could meet insurance requirements for safety. And anyway there is nowhere for them to park their cars.
So if friends and family want to converse with our trees, commune with the tadpoles (if there are any left as the heron was back this morning), or smugly note the weeds and mess they are most welcome.
The grass is drying out somewhat so the great mow is at hand.
One man went to mow, went to mow his jungle.
One man and his . . .
You know the rest except it never gets beyond one man.
Now, I told you that I was cross with the mice eating all the peanuts in the squirrel trap - I was wrong. It was not the mice, it was not there squirrels. Watch for the next blog and all will be revealed.
Now, thinking of all that mowing has tired me out - I must go and have a lie down.