Thief

I haven’t had many job interviews, and not one single proper PowerPoint presentation/isometric testing/raft building/tap dancing interrogation.  But I have heard tales.  Scary tales.  Mostly I have stumbled upon jobs, my prospective employers were either desperate or didn’t care who they employed as they were off to South America on the next boat.  A bit of a chat whilst they looked out the window and voilà (for Fred) I was just what they were looking for.

This means that I am not really conversant in what happens during a real interview.  Do they really ask “what do you consider your worst personality trait to be?” or is that confined to comedy sketches?  Today, whilst pondering awhile, I decided that if I ever had the misfortune to have an interview again and they asked me that particular question I would answer “procrastination”.  On reflection I probably I wouldn’t as I would undoubtedly be rejected, they would have “found a better candidate” one “more suited to the job”.  However, if they dropped some truth serum into my coffee (that could possibly happen, I’ve been told that some of these interviewers are ruthless) that is what I would have to say. And of course it would be quite true.  You cannot fight the truth serum.

There was something I should have been doing today, some writing that is due by the end of the week.  But I was faffing.  Why couldn’t I just get on with it?  I had the time, there was no need to rush, I enjoy it, I feel wonderful when its done, so why the silly diversions and distractions?  So I went for a walk to clear my head.  It was warm in the sun, birds were making up for lost time and the tree peony was unfolding in anticipation of spring.  I felt healed.  My head was clear.

I came home and made roasted garlic and butternut squash soup.  Then I finished my article.  Now onto the next one …..

Hope

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

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.

Prescription

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!

 

Tricks of the Trade

It is wonderful to be getting back into the swing of things after an enforced inclement weather break.  Mine, and those around me’s, wellbeing was being threatened by this incarceration.  Things were becoming desperate.

My gold nails were commented upon more than once today.  They are a reflection of too much time on my hands.  Literally.  Which means boredom.  An old employer of mine once told me, as I was photocopying reams of construction contracts, possibly as he was on his way out to lunch at the club, that it was up to me to make this task enjoyable.  Once I explained this infuriatingly insensitive comment to the nice constable I was let off with a caution.

Of course there were a myriad of constructive things I could have been doing whilst I couldn’t get out to work.  Things that I will grumble about in the future.  Later this week, when I excuse myself from SoS as I am away for the weekend, leaving the OH at home whilst I fan and feed chocolates to my mum, there will be cries of “but you had all that time to prepare!”.  Or when the spare room isn’t ready and I am in blind panic as our guests are approaching the front door, shoving melodeons and dinosaur suits in cupboards and a life-sized cardboard cut out of David Essex under the bed, you will be saying “all that time wasted painting your nails”.  And I will say “that is the way with ennui, it drains the resolve”.   All is well now.  I am back where I belong.

Today it was showery, but the waterproof trouser trick worked a treat.  This universal rule is quite simple and a trick of the trade I will willingly share.  Keep them on and the sun will shine, take them off the heavens will open.  Try it, you will find it spookily effective.

A feral Anemone coronaria, planted some place distant and now self seeded where it chose to be, is the kind of violet-blue that makes me very happy.

Plastic Not Fantastic

Snow gone, rain stopped (temporarily at least), time to get on with it.

Today, at Nancy Nightingale’s, we worked on the Nessie beds.  Just like the rest of the garden, the soil here is poor and rubbish filled.  We plan to make this a feasting border, a mix of fruit, vegetables and edible flowers.  It will be bright, naturally, but it was also be tasty.  The lawn that we removed last year from the other side of the garden, and piled next door in Nancy’s mother’s garden, has now rotted down to a lovely loam.  There was a problem though.  Plastic.  The turf had been grown on a fine green plastic mesh.  Not good.  Lawns are not really my thing, but I have never seen this before.  A little googling and I find that this is often used to keep poor quality turf stable.  Bad.  In between trips back and forth from the loam mine, we spent frustrating minutes removing the offending intruders.  Sigh.

Then we sowed nasturtiums, calendula and dahlias.  That’s better.

If anyone else was as out of touch with turf production as I was, take a look at the discussion on Landscape Juice Network website.