Not today’s photo, in fact it is ancient history, taken at the beginning of last week.  I spotted this little monster happily scoffing the flowers of one of my ever-flowering osteospermums.  Potential for Six on Saturday, I thought, if I ever get around to taking any more pictures.  Which I didn’t.

Since then all has changed.  You may have heard about it.  It has turned a little nippy again.  In an attempt to rescue at least some of my plants, the osteo and its neighbours have been wrapped in horticultural fleece.  This time I actually managed to protect them before the weather turned for the worse.  Earlier today I removed the snow that was weighing down their cosy blanket.  But it was too soon to release them from their corsets, another threat had emerged.  At irregular intervals globs of thawing snow were falling from the roof above.  These were unceremoniously splatting atop the already irritated plants below.  I believe it is called, adding insult to injury.

I wonder if Katrina the Caterpillar has hunkered down, snuggling up between the various pelargonium, tibouchina and salvias.  If there is hope for her, then there is hope for the poor unfortunate plants.  And I do tend to live in hope.

Happy Ending

bumble bee

I am no bumble bee expert.  In fact I am no expert at all.  If I had to pick a specialist subject it would possibly be cheese scones (consumption of), but even then I wouldn’t bet on me to pick up the trophy.  When I examined this photo closely, a bumble resting on the handle of Max’s conservatory door, I was concerned to see some mites clustered around the front of her body.  There has been much publicity about Varroa mites who have spread disease and devastation amongst the honey bee population.  It seemed likely that a positive story about the first bumble of the year was just about to turn into a tale of horror and pestilence.  A quick Google later and my mind was put at ease.  Most of the mites found on bumbles are harmless, in fact they are just hitchhiking to the bee’s nest where they feed on such delicacies as general detritus and even smaller insects.  A cosy symbiotic relationship.  Apparently this arrangement only becomes a problem when there are so many passengers the plane can’t take off.  Hopefully that doesn’t happen too often.

All things considered, it was happy ending after all.  Another school day.



After a magical weekend away, I have re-crossed the border bringing with me an unauthorised companion, a Welsh cold.  Sniffles really, nothing to take to my bed for, in fact it is the kind of poorly that insists that you go outside in the fresh air and get on with it.  Before too long, the grim wheezy morning, when all you wanted to do was crawl back under the duvet, is a distant snotty memory.

My prescription was to dig brambles, pull ivy and prune ancient roses in the intermittent rain.  It seems to have worked.

Six on Saturday – Foreign Correspondent


Never say that I am not dedicated to the Six on Saturday cause.  In fact, Mr P, at the risk of blowing my own tuba, I think I deserve a special platinum star on the chart for today.  Don’t know who the illustrious Propagator is? Pop over to his blog and you will find out all about SoS and discover lots of other deluded folk such as myself.  Back to the point in hand.  This weekend I have left my long suffering OH at home who is having to eat fry ups and drink beer and watch rugby all on his ownsome.  He wont have the joy of someone singing along to all the anthems, where correct words or even language is of little consequence.  Neither will he have to share his crisps or feign interest when I tell him another of my riveting stories just as a vital penalty is being taken.  And later he can channel flick without fear of disapproving tuts.

I have traveled to another country, the ancient realm which is known as Welsh Wales.  Actually it is only known as this to people who don’t speak correctly and get Wells in Somerset confused with our Celtic neighbours.  Such as myself.  For those of you unfamiliar with this land, let me enlighten you.  It’s famous sons include the great king Owain Glyndŵr, Tom Jones and Ifor the Engine.  It is a land of green valleys, stunning coastlines, noble castles and The Edifice.  And my Mum.  And as tomorrow is Mothers’ Day, here I am, dutiful daughter.

These photos were taken either in Mum’s garden or close by.  I seldom venture out there these days as she employs a gardener from April to October.  I like to call this imposter “The Other Garden Woman”.  There is no need for me anymore (sob).

Let us begin with some crocuses (croci?) that are huddled in a corner of the garden.  Quite happily getting on with the job of being a crocus without the, possibly unwanted, attention of gawping humans.  Until today.

Next we have some catkins, I took this on my way to the shop to get some milk and other essentials.  Yes, wine and sausages, you guessed it.  I meandered a little off the path, which is par for the course.

Now we have a heuchera which I probably bought at some point.  Not a clue what it is called.  Rather nice though.

This mini-hebe was looking wonderful today.  Perhaps because these photos were taken on my camera, the colour isn’t as true as I would have liked it to be.  Luminous green, splendid.

“You must include the camellia. ” As you know, I always do as I am told.

And lastly, a primula gift from little old me.  It’s called Zebra.  I do love zebras.

Thanks for hosting Mr P,  as for next week, well its looking unlikely.  Don’t forget to update the chart!



In no particular order.  Tree climbing, singing, crab pâté, border edging, gossip, coffee, sunshine, Max, sawing, laughter, sliding, La bohème, rain shower, sticks and seagulls, magnolia buds, perfect.