What a lovely spring day!
So I’ve been out and taken photos to send you.
About time, I know, but if it’s possible for dust to affect the brain, then that’s my excuse. Walls have come down, floors have come up and ceilings are all over the place. I know I asked for it, but I’d forgotten just how pervasive the dust is. My eyes, my nose and I hate the fact my hands are always dry.
Anyway, I seemed to have forgotten how to work my camera, but a quick lesson from son Max, shaking his head at my uselessness, have resulted in a few images for you.
Progress in the garden:
A group of brilliant lads from the local Enterprise Board ’s horticultural initiative came round and we planted a dozen or so fruit trees from local Brogdale – home of the National Collection. They look like a collection of twigs, rather than the beginnings of an orchard, but with a scattering of bulbs and a bit of imagination, I can see myself one day, sitting there surrounded by blossom.
Wishful thinking is what it takes at this stage. My builder, James is ace, but things move at a much slower pace than I’d imagined, and I’m camping out in the meantime, with all my belongings back in boxes or under dust sheets.
Tomorrow, I dust myself down, and go to Chiswick House to celebrate the winners of the Against the Odds garden writing competition run by the Telegraph to commemorate the sad death of friend Elspeth Thompson. Will report back.