Obviously time I read Paradise Lost again. Milton taught me more about English than anyone but my Latin teacher. But I did enjoy the conversation of the fallen angels on the burning lake, especially Belial. When I do reread it, I will, no doubt, remember why.
I spent most of the day outside, because of the gorgeous weather. Still breezy, but warmly sunny. I say outside, but I’m including the greenhouse in that. I’ve still got a lot of potting on to do, but I thought I’d let the newly-potted tomatoes have another night in the propagator first and I have run out of room. I do have another potential propagator, but setting it up just for a couple of weeks would be a nuisance – if there’s frost forecast for a few nights I can cope, but another prolonged cold spell will mean some faffing about. Still, it’ll keep me out of the mischief for which I’m normally renowned.
Anyway, as a result of all that sunshine and awfully hard work (all the beds in the veggie garden are now dug [actually, I should admit that I didn’t do the actual digging (I’m not allowed to dig yet)]), I’m terribly sleepy now. I’m being entertained by a programme about Louis Armstrong on BBC4, which includes Hoagy Carmichael, Billie Holiday, Bing Crosby, Ella Fitzgerald and various other delights, and not planning to do much else this evening.
Tomorrow, I’m looking after Squiffany and Pugsley for the day, so that should be fun. The playground if it’s fine, cooking and/or painting if not. Dave says it’s going to rain, and he’s so rarely wrong that I disregard the possibility.