Was it only last week we were on a frost warning?
"And what tisanes have you got?"
I feel like I'm neglecting a lot of people lately. I hope to catch up with things some time. Soon, I hope.
On the bus on the way home I've kept noticing that there's a blue plaque on a housing block near the traffic lights. I've often wondered what it was for. Today we were stuck in a traffic jam just beside it so I could have a read.
I'm irrationally pleased that it's in honour of Terry Hall and Lenny the Lion.
I'm working my way through my turn with the office cold and being a bit miserable with it. OK, even more miserable. Even by my standards the bed is spectacularly unmade, the result of a poor night's sleep caused by a combination of bunged-up nose and frozen shoulder. All the dreams were about detective stories, which suggests there's something I need to remember. Which could be any one of a million things these days: going into the fridge yesterday to pick up the piece of pork I'd bought my parents I found a carrier bag with a book in it. You can guess the rest...
Breakfast was probably a bit heavy on the garlic and chili. Well, very heavy on the garlic and chili, but I'm not planning on kissing anybody today. Or this year at all if the past few months are anything to go by.
My God, it's cold today. We were discussing this the other day: is it just a male thing to switch off the central heating once we reach British Summer Time?
The first swifts have skimmed overhead, the garden is full of the song of wren and blackcap and the air is thick with the scent of cherryblossom and narcissi. The bad news is that the newly-cleared areas of the garden are thick with willowherb seedlings and goosegrass. The good news is that the patio is full of lemon balm and marjoram and there's every reason to expect a summer full of soft fruits.
I've planted up the first of this year's hanging baskets.
At five o'clock this evening the sky turned black, the wind got up and it's become very cold.
Happy bank holiday weekend everyone!
It's the little things that affect me. On the bus on the way home there was one of those upsetting little vignettes. The bus stopped outside a MacDonalds and passengers trooped on including a small girl, perhaps eight or nine, with the obligatory MacMeal and drink."Sorry love," said the driver, "you can't come on here with that."
She put the goodies into the carrier bag she was holding."Not even in that, love. Too many people leave it all behind on the bus so we're not letting anyone come on with them."
One of the other passengers had a go at him - "Aw, come on, man, she's only little" - but he was adamant. The girl turned and walked away. As we passed her she gave the bus a glance I know too well.
I can understand the driver's position. More often than not the buses on this route are middens. I'm not talking about the occasional crisp packet or pop bottle, I'm talking serious past-your-ankles litter. And yet... and yet...
There must be a better way of doing it. She was young enough to be told that the driver wanted to see what she was bringing on and that he'd want to see that she was taking it all away with her. Or something.
I'd like to imagine that when she got home that girl had somebody to tell the story to who'd then give her a hug, tell her it didn't matter and then give her a jam butty and a cup of tea. I'd like to imagine that.
The new houses that are being built near my parental home are nearly finished now. There's a show home, of course, with all conned mods including, bizarrely, a fountain in the front garden. The fountain is three feet in diameter and four and a half foot tall. The front garden is four by six feet square. The board outside says: "24 luxury spacious 2, 3 and 4 bedroom houses."
The footprint of the footings for each house is about the size of my living room.
They're miniaturising everything now, even luxury.
Bugger.
The flight ban is lifted.
I know, I know... A lot of people I know have been massively incommoded by the fallout from the Iceland volcano, stranded at one or other end of journeys with expensive and stressful consequences. I know this and I am appalled at their plight.
Oh, but it has been so peaceful.
Bon voyage, those of you who are hoping to travel hopefully.
I'm sorry to harp on, but...
Here I am at the peak of manliness, able to leap tall buildings with a single bound and sometimes able to heave myself up off the sofa unattended. I expect I match up to no end of testosterone-rich demographics and I even take the rubbish out to my own dustbin. All this is of no avail when it comes to impressing the young postlady. Does my morning mail include invitations to goat-tethering parties in the realms of the man-eating tiger? Glossy brochures advertising world-saving adventure with chaps in brogues? Moustache wax catalogues?
No, no and no again.
This morning we have:
A lad can have no illusions these days.
I've been having a lot of dreams about masturbation lately. Which just goes to show how ambition is curtailed by age: back in what little I had of my prime I used to dream about sex.
I seem to have spent the past couple of months cutting back the overgrown bits of the garden and it still looks like the Matey Grocer. Last month's wet frosts have devastated the tree heather and a couple of lavenders but they look like they may pull through. Ditto the penstemons and Phygelius. Sadly, we've seen the last of the rather pretty "little" Phormium that was in a container by the patio. A great shame: the pink, red and dark green striped leaves were a nice touch on a bright summer's day.
The streets round our way are littered with Cordyline leaves. Every third house had a Cordyline in the front garden and every three out of four have bit the dust with the winter.
Once every so often Mother Nature insists on reminding us that we're only two degrees south of Moscow.
Prudence, Caution, Deliberation.
The Hermit points to all things hidden, such as knowledge and inspiration,hidden enemies. The illumination is from within, and retirement from participation in current events.
The Hermit is a card of introspection, analysis and, well, virginity. You do not desire to socialize; the card indicates, instead, a desire for peace and solitude. You prefer to take the time to think, organize, ruminate, take stock. There may be feelings of frustration and discontent but these feelings eventually lead to enlightenment, illumination, clarity.
The Hermit represents a wise, inspirational person, friend, teacher, therapist. This a person who can shine a light on things that were previously mysterious and confusing.
I must have been doing the cat's shoelaces
when this lot came a-calling.
What Tarot Card are You?
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