Apologies to the White Album.
So we proceed through the winter. Today is Wednesday 30th December and rain is lashing on my window, the eucalyptus is almost bent double and gutters are overflowing. This storm has been named Frank, a silly habit adopted by the Met Office and frankly I don't care a d***. G next - how about Gail?
So now you know why I am not out gardening today - I thought yesterday I would pick up the twigs and branches fallen off the ash trees but why bother when another lot willl come down the next day. The sheep in the back field are standing backsides into the wind and rain. But, you know, only the surface of their fleeces will be wet. Deeper in they will be dry - who needs a kagoul?
Pm - the rain is intermittent so I went out in my Wellies. Three new springs gushing forth and the grass is definitely no go - absolutely sodden. The sun appears and goes almost immediately. Daffodils are through in clumps on the upper banking but not yet in flower and even the day lilies are showing new growth. What a crazy world we're living in! (Apologies to Joe Brown.)
Today is the first day of 2016 and this is the view from the house, three score years and ten approacheth and I am going out to run the engine on the sit-on mower as it went flat a couple of years ago causing havoc for the mower service men.
At the moment it is not raining, I have sort of started a diet, well am thinking about it, and my New Year's resolution has to be - gerrout there and do summit.
So I did - raked off and collected fallen wood from the daffodil banking and took it to the bonfire. I planted a Hydrangea Annabelle on the banking near the gate.
Then decided to prune the two Rambling Rector roses which were out of control. They did not like it and got revenge - I have a long scratch right across my forehead.
In the kitchen cupboard were some small potatoes that were sprouting so I have chitted them and put them in empty egg boxes.
Whether we will get any produce from then waits to be seen.
I had a dream last night, crazy dream (apologies to Jim Dale)(or MLK?) about creeping buttercup - a recurring nightmare. The more you dig it up the more you have.
And I have put on a shirt with four buttons on the cuff - another nightmare for a man with ten thumbs. (I only broke two glasses over New Year.) Perhaps I should stop reading PJ O'Rourke from the 1980s (Rolling Stone Mag.) as he is influencing my verbosity and talk of gardening.
G, G, wherefore at thou and so on?
Oh! And diet time :-(