Summertime

Was it only last week we were on a frost warning?

It's been fairly warm this week, though yesterday it was also distinctly thundery (or it could be that work had given me a headache). The daily commute provided plenty with which to be distracted and it would have been churlish not to have been. Over the past few months I had come to the conclusion that the lady with the nice bottom who travels on my train had lost weight she could have done with keeping. The removal of the winter anorak midweek confirmed my fears. The summer skirt still had that hypnotic sway but there is less substance to the allure than there should be. The black high-heeled pixie boots just emphasised the loss.

My garden is currently a riot. Mostly of weed seedlings, with herb Robert and willowherbs jostling for space amongst the horsetails. Midway along the path is a patch of nipplewort seedlings. I'm inclined to leave them alone for prurience's sake. "What's them little yellow dandelion-y things?" "Them's nipplewort." We do what we can for the tourist industry. Littered amongst the foliage is a profusion of feathered hooligans. The goldfinches have gone a bit quiet, which means they have young to feed. The spadgers paraded the first batch of baby sparrows the other day and very welcome they are, too. The noise from the bottom of the garden suggests that the blue tits have decided to grace one of the six hitherto-unused nestboxes. The seventh has been used alternatively by wood mice and bumblebees. We should be OK for gooseberries and blackberries this year.

A jobbing gardener has stuck a flier through my door. I know of his work. His idea of gardening is to prune magnolias in March. I'll stick with the weeds, thank you.