April is almost over, only one day left. How can this be possible? We have ached for its bloom and benefice all through the long winter, and apart from a few odd unseasonally hot days it has been a grim disappointment. Seeds remain unsown, plantlings unplanted. Tomatoes can't get going, and nor can sweet peas. Who in their right mind would put anything delicate into this cold ground, to be whipped and blasted by high winds and bitter rain? Apart from putting out these new additions I am fairly well ahead of myself in the garden. Beds are mainly cleared of weeds, and pots emptied and replanted. But what will be the fate of the three blossoming blueberry bushes, rescued from a bed where they did not thrive but now at risk of losing their nascent fruit? So many questions, so much regret. The weather will not revert to spring until Thursday at the latest, but there is hope that the days will warm up enough for the tender things to get a grip and develop into the lovely things they are meant to be, and the nights won't knock them back again. We live in hope. We can do nothing else.
We had a good walk at the college grounds this morning, Hugo's first proper run for a week. I think it is safe to say he has recovered. We probably had the best hour of the day, but every cloud has a silver lining. Being unable to spend time outside, I've turned my attention to housework. Once I set my mind to it I enjoy it, though pushing my hoover around the carpets is much harder than hoeing.With all the ironing safely put away, the sitting room and my bedrooms spring cleaned and shining, I have only the kitchen to do. But would it make any sense with a dog in the house to scrub the busiest floor before the weather settles and muddy paws are a thing of the past? Not at all. Something else to look forward to.
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