Progress

From my study window upstairs I watched a tractor in the distance crossing backwards and forwards through a heavily ploughed field, the tiny tines on his trailer rendering the massive ruddy sods into finely raked tilth. It really is a marvellous sight, like seeing a crumpled sheet ironed smooth, or peaked clouds of icing sugar tamed on top of a cake, only muddier. I just wish I had one of his machines, in miniature. Nothing daunted I set to work on the great outpourings of brambles that have sprouted from my hedge and cascaded over the drive obscuring the lane, making exiting in a car quite dangerous. I wore my new yellow gloves, so expensive that they had a security lock on them so that when they forgot to remove it at the garden centre I had the choice of gardening with my hands held close together or returning them. I took the latter option. Why the alarm didn't go off when I left the centre the first time I don't know. Anyway, they are up to pulling on brambles, so I littered the drive with treacherous lengths of the barbed stuff, and then had an hour or so to fold them all up small and cram them into the already full gardening recycling bin before the truck arrived to empty it. The sun was so hot I stripped to a shirt but kept my hat on and high factor lip salve. I'm not going to be caught out twice.

When I'd finished that job and the binmen had removed it all I started on my little path. The newly-widened beds mean it has to be doubled in length, and I've widened it too by one line of bricks. I dug out the extra space, levelled it off and laid my bricks, a motley crew of old stock and new. It's not perfect but them I'm not a very careful person, preferring to get the job done than to spend ages in the preparation. It's the details that kill me, as is probably going to be apparent at CAB ere long if I don't change my tactics. But the path looks OK, rustic and charming. This is not Surrey, as an old neighbour used to tell us when we first moved to Suffolk. Twee doesn't hack it here.

When I'd finished the path all except filling the cracks with silver sand which I ran out of, I started again on breaking the earth off the huge turves which Nick has cut out of the lawn. It's very hard physical work, but it has to be done. I continued until I could barely move, and then crawled upstairs and into a very hot bath before slathering myself in Ibuleve. This constitutes a normal day at the moment. But to be honest, if my body didn't wear out so quickly, I love it. I can't really think of anything I'd prefer to be doing.

Wheat planted just a week ago, already growing

New tree waiting to be planted

The new rug in place, the finishing touch