I was watching the tribute to Richard Briers (I missed the first half and will try to catch it on iPlayer) and Peter Egan said that, when he put down the phone after a conversation with him, his wife always said, you were talking to Dickie, weren’t you? And he said he was, how did she know? “You never stopped laughing.”
Okay, it doesn’t take much to make me cry, dammit.
Nothing interesting today, dear hearts, but I’ll do my best for you. Flower arranging – fine. What’s to say? I bought white and cream lilies, roses and carnations, cut various greens and did two arrangements, one in the pedestal and one to go behind the altar. There are few leaves of interest in the garden, nothing springlike is out and some of the evergreens are looking tired and off-colour. The arrangements are quite okay, they’ll be better once the lilies are a bit more out, which they will be by tomorrow, I hope. I also practised the organ and that’s okay too. I played very fast, partly so that when I slow down a bit tomorrow it’ll be really easy, partly because I was cold. Oh, and partly because some hymns sound quite dirge-like unless you jazz ’em up a bit.
Later, I filled the big wheelbarrow with rubbish and have said to the Sage that we need a skip. There’s so much rubbish that isn’t burnable and it’ll be a bugger to keep taking carloads to the tip (and my job, he doesn’t care). I can’t live like it any longer, I’m miserable in a sea of junk that is never sorted out. I insisted on sorting out the house a year ago and that has made so much difference – we still have a lot of stuff but it’s manageable, if not easy. The garden – well, it’s no garden, too random for that – is a different matter, we’ll never keep on top of it, but there’s no need to make it worse.
I’m abandoning the kitchen garden altogether this year. It’s no good, too much else to do. I’ll grow a few vegetables in the cottage garden, maybe put a few things in the greenhouse, but the chickens will have the run of the veg garden. They’ll be happy, safe and keep the growth down. I’m sorry about it, but it’ll be a relief. I’m overwhelmed with domestic things, so much that it’s no longer any sort of a pleasure, only a source of anxiety.
I cut back the fig tree – didn’t look to see what time of the year it should be done, I just did it. It was overgrown. And I pruned the grape vine, very late but it’s so cold that the sap isn’t rising yet – anyway, I don’t care.
Weeza says on Facebook that where her parents-in-law live, within spitting distance of Birmingham, there’s still an appreciable amount of snow. Zerlina is charmed to find that some people have built igloos in their gardens and wants to move there for that reason. I think it’s a pretty good reason myself, though I’d rather have the igloos than the snow. There’s been some here today, odd weather – sunshine and snow alternately. I can’t remember having snowdrops in flower so late in the year before.
The clocks go forward tonight – roll on British Summer Time. If any party made a binding promise to keep BST all year round, I’d vote for it – well, with usual disclaimers, of course, actually I might not. But why on earth do we have to change the bloody clocks? We have electricity! And no one works in the fields by candlelight, even the tractors have floodlights.