Once, when I was a little, little, girl I was skipping down a London thoroughfare with my family. On reflection, my family were probably not skipping, they were more than likely either being dragged or dragging curious children towards their destination. Shall we say it was Tottenham Court Road, that is close enough and has a certain ring to it. As my innocent wide eyes scanned the hubbub a hand thrust a bunch of flowers my way. I gratefully accepted this gift from the generous benefactor. A second passed. My mother grabbed the flowers out of my hand, sent them straight back to the gipsy woman who had delivered them with a “no thanks” and yanked me on my way. I remember being rather puzzled by these proceeding. Only years later did I realise that you rarely get something for nothing, one of the many lesson my Mum has taught me. Today is her birthday. It would be rude not to say something.
To MBM from YBD
Sorry I won’t be there, I’ll make it up to you, hope this suffices and you haven’t changed the will yet. x
Yesterday morning I had a very enjoyable few hours working in Mr and Mrs Bun’s garden. The weather was fair and we achieve a lot. There was cake and coffee from Mrs B, a chat with Mr B about Munroe climbing and cuddles from Bobbie. All was well in the world and off I went with a cheery wave and a trug full of left overs from Mrs B’s always generous seed sowing.
Five minutes later I was ringing their door bell.
The road through the village is narrow, as indeed is much of my route home. The recycle lorry had met the Travis Perkins truck in a particularly challenging part not far from The Bun’s residence. Inbetween and behind were a queue of bemused/panicked/impatient holiday makers. As I put my tools back in the car a hopeful lady wondered if I was going her way as the bus hadn’t turned up, stuck somewhere down the line no doubt. Sorry, I said, I’m not. I considered my options: a) join the hubbub and find out who wins the battle between Godzilla and King Kong, or b) fall at the mercy of the The Buns for a cup of tea and a chat whilst the gridlock sorted itself out. As discretion is definitely the better part of valour I naturally chose b).
After half an hour and a nice cuppa all was clear. Well apart from a family of wobbly cyclists, the Travis Perkins truck returning the other way, the sat nav unfortunates and a tractor. Simple.
After chasing a bee around wind-blown lavender for two incredibly tedious minutes, a previous announcement in a post Trending sprung to mind.
This may run and run.
Who doesn’t love to get home from a hard day at the coal face to find that your previously ordered plants have arrived? I have heard tell that are some strange folk out there who wouldn’t get quite as excited as me, but this could be apocryphal. A parcel is a wonderful thing and one containing horticultural jewels is even better.
This cardboard box arrived today from Fibrex Nurseries, it contains three different ferns, an abutilon, a correa and a grewia (no me neither). The plants are healthy and generous in size, they were packed immaculately wrapped in newspaper and bedded in shredded paper. Not a piece of plastic in sight. Great service, great ethos. Just perfect.
It has been a disappointing week so far. The work has been fine, no complaints there. I am quite well, no extra aches and pains or sniffles. Spring has finally arrived, officially anyway. Gardens are mobilised ready for action, each day another plant primed.
But don’t tell me, after deluge and gale aplenty, that there will be fine weather when you can’t honour your promise. Murk and drizzle and gloom is no compromise. So disappointing.
It has been a fine day.
My first full day of work, for a while anyway.
It was splendid.