Indulgence

I had double-booked myself for 10am yesterday and in the event had to cancel both appointments thanks to a horrible bug that has kept me close to the bathroom. One of them was my annual dental check-up, made for a Monday 12 months before I started yoga on that morning. How did I not notice this clash until I turned the page on my diary? In the event nobody minded except me, and I made up for the loss of both by brushing and flossing my teeth extra thoroughly, and working up a sweat in the garden despite the stomach cramps. It was a nice day, very warm and still with sunshine now and again, and I got a lot done. I bumped into Nick on Sunday on my way to meet Ruth for a walk, and he has promised to spend a couple of days with me next month moving things around, splitting logs, generally getting the garden in good shape for next year. In the meantime I have shifted three hemerocallis to where their spiky leaves are less obvious once the flowers have finished, planted another rose, and another jasmine, and taken out the euphorbia fireglow which has spread all over parts of the front garden and I foolishly introduced to the back. It may look stunning in the autumn when the leaves and flowers are bright red and gold, but it's messy and incredibly invasive. Good riddance. I potted up some of it plus a few other plants for Lesley when she comes for Italian this afternoon, as requested. I also came across what I now know to be a wasps' nest buried under the ground. I thought it was a puffball at first when it surrendered to my rake in a cloud of papery dust, but then I saw the trays of perfectly hexagonal combs. I saw the queen struggling along the ground, but there were scant wasps to protect her. This evening I'll spray it, but I suspect it's pretty well unused now.

There was a dead hare in the field when we walked there earlier. Two magpies were hard at work on it while a seagull made an incongruous sentry, and I went to have a look when they flew away. An eye had been pecked out, but I couldn't see what had killed it. So sad. Luckily Hugo wasn't interested. Yesterday we got mildly ticked off by the gamekeeper of the pheasant wood as we walked past, and I promised not to go there again despite the beauty of the fields spread all around. Property is theft, as Proudhon said, but try telling that to a farmer set to make a fortune out of the gangs of armed thugs, sorry, city gentlemen in expensive green tweeds, who descend for their annual day of carnage. I thought of staging a solo sit-in with an ALF placard, but there's no point in upsetting the neighbours when they've been doing this sort of thing for centuries and see nothing horrible about it.

My innards are still upset today. I can only put it down to a cheese scone I had up on Dunwich cliff at the end of our walk. The NT tearooms had run out of plain and fruit scones, and because I'd been lusting after one of these with some jam and cloted cream for weeks I was primed to eat something, the juices running in anticipation. I didn't enjoy it, nor the cup of tea, and am paying the price. Still, it's a nice day again and I'll take the crossword to the summerhouse in a minute. There's never a dull moment when you're retired.