The sky is overcast and the wind has got up. Seems chilly to me.
Good. I need the grass to stop growing. Roots are spreading through the gravel but I haven’t an edger and Ming has gone off with the spade.
He’s rented an allotment so he can grow Jerusalem Artichokes.
At the council offices, he had to fill in a form and give his address but they didn’t ask for a photo.
Good.
Another leaf has died on the hollyhock. Once again, a new one has grown in the middle. This, I suppose, is life.
Lucy-next-door invited me for a cup of coffee. (A posh new blend she bought in Southampton.)
“I’m thinking of growing these,” she said, handing me a seed catalogue open at a page with some very pretty blue flowers on it. “Algerian Geraniums.”
Oh!
(We put the blackbird in the compost.)
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