I finally opened all the post that I hadn’t bothered with for a week. I’d opened obvious bills, but that was all. The post so rarely brings a pleasant surprise – all the same, I have been told how much pension I’ll get for the next year. State pension, that is, which is still something of an excitement for me, after a year.
I enjoyed the visit to garden club this evening. The speaker was an engaging, entertaining chap from a garden centre some 30 minutes away. He’s a Californian who moved here some years ago, with a burning ambition to open his own nursery, growing plants himself, and he bought a 10 acre site on heavy clay that had been neglected for quite some time, though it had been a nursery in the past. Many garden centres buy everything in nowadays, it’s good to know he grows from seeds and cuttings, though I daresay he buys plants in too – it’s just not economically viable nowadays, on a smallish scale.
One chicken laid two eggs at the weekend and, since then, nothing. I don’t think they’re laying away, because I kept them in the greenhouse when it was so windy last week and there were no eggs. We had poached new-laid eggs for breakfast yesterday, but that’s a treat that won’t be repeated for a few days, at least. I like my home-made bread so much that I sometimes just eat dry toast for breakfast, it doesn’t really need anything added. With home-made yoghurt, rhubarb from the garden and our own marmalade, it’s only the butter and Marmite that are bought in. And oranges for the juice. Which adds to the food miles somewhat, so perhaps I should stop boasting.