Saturday, 30 May 2015


Lawns mown, logs moved up to wood shed, A and J came and redid drain by shed - they are marvellous. I only rang them in the morning and they were there at 6 pm and did the job.

Good news - swallows have started sticking mud to the wall at the top of the west gable end - nest on the way. (We hope).

It stays so cold, 10C today and nearly June. Fortunately it does not stop the asparagus growing. I have checked the fruit trees and we will have plums and damsons - not all lost to the frost at blossoming.

And then I met my old - well not quite as old as moi - friend who escaped to Noo Zeyland many a song ago who is back in the home country again. He admits to reading this blog, poor fella!

I have resown broad beans and french beans as the first sowing never came up! 

Also J has given us 4 Brussels sprout and 5 broccoli plants so these are also in under a temporary net to keep the cabbage white butterflies away. The potatoes are through and have been covered by  bottomless plastic tubs. As the plants grow they will be earthed up inside the tub - the idea being that when they are ready I will lift the pot and Voila!

Two more garden visit pics - the top from Hampton Court Garden in Herefordshire and the bottom on is The Skating Pond at Bodnant Gardens in North Wales. A bit of a feeble pond!

And what about the Federation Internationale Fraud Association. We all knew it was happening but no one in a place of authority did anything. Beth Splatter should go but has not. And now Putin is all indignant because all his supposed backhanders might come to nothing. 
"The laddie doth protest too much, methinks."
And many officials have caught a cold - Qatar (catarrh?). I suspect much football is a little dodgy - too much money sloshing around.
If suspicion falls on Vlad watch the increased activity elsewhere (like Ukraine) to divert attention.

The bruiser of finches is the greenfinch - bullies the rest including the bullfinches and chases them away.


We have had a cockchafer in the kitchen and the butterflies have arrived. 
In the garden the queen wasps are about hunting for a place to start a nest. This brings back memories of last year -


First the wasps had the plums, then they had me.
Out of the jungle they came, predators,
drunk on fermented juice, seeking victims.

I was scything and sweeping campion
from the top banking, scattering its seed
for next year, removing the brittle stems.

The reach and rhythmic swing numbed my senses,
The blade sang as it arced across the slope,
slid over and through the tough tangled thatch.

I saw a dark maw and thought of wood mice 
or voles. I was stung into swift action
and scurried into the house, slammed the door.

Vinegar came out for the pain. She said,
‘Winegar for wasps and bicarb for bees’.
and patted the stings with kitchen paper.

They acted by instinct - I had a choice.
I killed the nest with poisonous powder
puffed into the entrance, and felt remorse.

I was death visiting with a curved blade, 
I was a threat. I raked off the banking,
carted the debris to the compost heap

and walked back by the fruit trees. On the plum
overripe fruit hummed - a haze of tigers.
First the wasps had the plums, then they had me.

1 comment:

  1. I'm sorry, but they DO say poets must suffer!

    Kidding. Lovely poem, thanks.