It's Icumen

Muddy fingers and an aching back - it can only mean one thing: a gardening day. The sirens called as soon as I got up at 7.20 this morning, but I had to wait for the frost to melt before I could respond to them. It didn't take long as the sun was hot and steady, but still I had to place my gardening gloves on the Rayburn before I could bear to put them on. Typically the pair I chose had a big hole in the thumb, but who cared? Not me. I raked up a load of weeds and wind-borne pansies from the bottom bed, and made a bundle of loose twigs that came down when the farmer lopped my hedge. Then I turned to my five newest roses and gave them a severe haircut, a hard job to do as they were putting out buds already and I had to hack the poor things off. And while I could see what I was doing without all that greenery I hoe-ed and raked the rose bed. Already I'm planning some creamy white, heavily-scented climbers to cover the garage wall. Clematises came next, and then the massively burgeoning solanum which has nearly covered a fence in just one year. It obviously likes being near the pond, and all the sun it gets.

As I worked I heard an owl's cry, and that's the third time this week I've seen or heard the barn owl. Yesterday I walked the couple of miles to Bruisyard Church, unable to stay indoors though it was chilly, and an owl swooped right past me as it quartered the field beside me. And the day before an owl flew right along my hedge, at 9 in the morning. I can't believe it has to resort to this: the fields and hedgerows must be chocka with little rodents. As I walked along the deserted lanes the ditches ran along beside me, full of water after recent rains. I crossed the River Alde by the small pedestrian bridge beside the ford, and watched the water bubble up and force its way along towards the sea. To think this river was navigable by small punt-like barges several hundred years ago. What I'd give to see them.

Yesterday, despite one massive cock-up when I failed to respond to Helen's opening bid at bridge and lost us 1394 points, we still came 4th out of 16 pairs. It wasn't really my fault. She had just told us about her neighbour, a strongly Essex lady, who she made lunch for one day. "It don't taste of sprouts 'Ellen," said the neighbour, of the pate they were eating. "What do you mean?" asked Helen. "Well, didn't you say it was Brussels pa'e?"