This afternoon, I made myself mow the rest of the acreage on the Damson Cottage estate. I would much rather have settled with a book under a tree for a spot of lovely reading, but the grass shall not be allowed to become unmanageable this year, especially as March has been kind enough to grant us some lovely dry and sunny weather to gain a head start on all things horticultural. As I passed the rhubarb bed (rhubarb currently about six inches tall) I noticed these two having a high old time on the side of one of the dumpy bags I used to store leaf mulch: There was a lot of enthusiastic bumpy lurve action occurring. And that’s fine because the ladybird is the gardener’s friend for keeping aphids at bay, so the more the merrier, that’s what I say. Anyway, I set about mowing and clearing up Winter debris, and every time I passed the dumpy bag, they were still at it. I spent some time in the top corner of the garden, moving the pile of logs that constituted our ‘wildlife’ patch, ...
I PROMISED myself that I wasn’t going to have any more stupid ideas. I was VERY firm on this promise. And yet sometimes other situations prove to be MORE stupid and one is forced to renege on one’s promise and set about implementing an idea that causes one’s buttocks to feel VERY tight at the end of the day. This morning, all began well. I saw the first hare of the season. Out in the field it was, quite close to Vladimir Poo Tin, our septic tank. What a wonderful sight! (The hare, not Vladimir.) Reader, I emitted a girly squeal when I saw it which quite discombobulated Nell. The hare was having a high old time running around and I watched it for a while until it ran into the hedge. I sent it a little blessing of protection that it didn’t become squished on the road, and that its babies were many and healthy. And then, buoyed up with endorphins from seeing The Hare of Joy, I thought, ‘Right, I am going to tackle a tech problem.’ Rolled up my sleeves, put determined loo...