Killing Time

I poked about in the garden for a while today, but the beginings of rain drove me indoors again. I managed to turn over some of the second compost heap, though after struggling with the rake I now think a fork would be better and will set to when the weather improves. I did a bit of planning too, scheming about what might be best in the different areas. It's not my strongest point, design, but once things start growing again it will be easier. And I googled things like "most strongly scented roses", "prettiest peonies", and "best plants for perfume". I decided, after Lucy Boston, not to put another thing in my garden which doesn't delight the nose. I've got Shaun coming to take the hedge down by another few feet in a few weeks, because I can't bear that it blocks the very last of the evening sun. Shaun is the brother of Lee who determinedly ground out the trunk and roots of my hazel tree in a filthy gale last year, a true Superman, and a young super man too, kind and well mannered. The weather was so terrible I couldn't even get outside to bring him a cup of tea, but had to place it on the doorstep. Lee is of the same mould, handsome and skinny as a whippet. Such a pleasure to do business with men like that, and they don't charge the earth.

Harrod's hamper laundry basket

Bedroom with (invisible) laundry basket

I have a new laundry basket, and now delight in putting my dirty clothes in there instead of on the floor. It's a Harrod's Christmas food hamper complete with strong wicker and faux leather lid loudly embossed with the famous name. It was a present, and the recipient passed it on to me with a few stray contents: a Harrod's tin of spiced tea, ditto spiced coffee, spiced pear and mascarpone jam, spiced Christmas chutney. There's also a Christmas cake and a couple of Christmas puddings, no doubt spiced too. I removed these contents from the hamper before it took up its new job in my bedroom. When they will be consumed I do not know. But they will be.

It's been a long day, just beginning to darken outside now. I fell asleep mid-read on the sofa earlier, and dreamt I was sharing a house with a load of people, everyone in and out of each other's bedrooms, eating at one huge table. I don't think it was wishful thinking, but rather more a warning of how awful things could be, and an admonishment to count blessings etc. I do, oh I do. Spending a weekend without speaking to a soul apart from Shaun this morning and whoever administers the flu jab at Woodbridge Boots tomorrow may not be everyone's idea of heaven, or anyone's really, but it could be so much worse.