LUVVY AND DUVVY, AND A BAD BACK

The daffs are on their way. It was a bit warmer yesterday, at last, and they have responded - probably just got fed up waiting.

The collared doves have been billing and cooing just outside the kitchen door. He flies down and back with a stick, blade of dried grass or something similar.

He presents it to her and she tries to arrange it after a cuddle. He flies off again in search of more nest material. As soon as he is gone she considers his last offering and discards it onto the floor beneath.
This goes on for two whole days before they decide this is not the right place. They do not seem to be bothered by humans peering at them from six feet away, albeit on the other side of the glass door.
The covered paved area beneath the chosen beam is now littered with debris.
At least they might have tidied up behind them.
They have been a fixture near the house for several years. Often, when in the kitchen, you can hear them coo-cooing - the sound coming down the chimney - they are perched on the pot.

And plants keep arriving - did I order those? Really! The cold frames are getting full, waiting for rain and warmth before planting.

And this is a potty time - potting on I mean, plants moving up the pot scale so they can grow - black nails from the compost, frozen fingers from the weather. Potting up is not something I can do with gloves on.

Yesterday was Grand National day and as usual I picked the fifth, Rare Bob, because my nephew's name . . .  a friend said Teaforthree so my sister and wife backed that - and it came third!! Still, we maintained the once a year family tradition of the race, nibbles and champagne (well, cheap pink Australian fizz.)

Every time I go up the garden the trees have shed again. The stick pile grows and grows.
Some are saved as kindling but the rest just go on the heap.
The stream has all but dried up now the last of the snow behind the walls up on the hill has melted. All is getting very dusty. I am watering pots and special plants.
The two dead amelanchiers have been cut right back - one is definitely moribund but the other shows faint signs of hope. I will keep and eye on it with everything crossed (fingers and things.)

The grass is still brown - I do not have super lawns - more mown field full of moss and creeping buttercup and so on. I do try to eradicate the marsh thistles for the grandchildren's sake - nasty with bare feet.

Poles and peasticks are ready. Soon there will be much work to do but I strained my back the other day.
Own up.
Okay.
I went to have a golf lesson and a practice and was crippled the next day. R had to put my socks and shoes on. I can shift barrows of manure but . . .
The moral of the story -
I will just have to not practice anymore!
Not that it makes any difference to my game.

So here I am waiting for spring proper, waiting for rain, for the plants to grow - and weeds - I had forgotten about them. Though, if I cannot stoop because of my back someone else will have to do the weeding.
Perhaps I will just nip off and swing a few clubs, a little practice?
R .......... can you help me?