Very Scottish Out

It has been rather Crowded House of late.

We had a couple of blistering days just after Ishbel left, during which mum and I threw ourselves at the garden. Mum laid waste to the buttercups in the nuttery and I ran around planting up various new things from the garden centre (and then rehoming all the things I had to dig up to make space for them). I also got stuck into moving a vast pile of logs to free up a space on the wall earmarked for roses. The few days of steady sun brought bulbs bursting out all over. Our mirabella plum trees exploded into froth and even a few seeds germinated, all to the tune of the frog and toad chorus. I was all set for peak gardening and al fresco bun eating. (On which topic the new innovation of roses lime marmalade cake (recipe uploaded) has been performing well. I have made one with dried mango and one with cranberries and these are definitely the weeder’s friend).

Then it all got a bit Scottish.

Yesterday we woke to heavy snow on the orchard, daffodils barely peaking through. It was almost completely gone by the time I had showered and raced out, camera in hand, to do the Christmas/Easter card photo shoot. I dragged Lyra round a minuscule walk in the rain after which she took to her bed for the rest of the day in disgust. I treated myself for trench foot then irrevocably committed the rest of the afternoon to filling in a very long and particularly tedious form. I had just sorted out all of the supporting information and found the lost spreadsheet when the bloody sun came out. In the afternoon, in dropping off the said Erfindung Des Teufel at Anne and Raymond’s next door (so they could formally attest to the fact that I was not a master criminal), I was caught in my cardi and slippers in a hailstorm of biblical proportions.

Today, I patiently explained to Lyra that she couldn’t bunk off another walk and we set off, (in my case) stoically and (in Lyra’s case) with sullen, footdragging resistance, into a grey morning. When we were at precisely the furthest part from home, four deer darted out from the shelter belt across our path and hail the size of golfballs began to pelt down. Mrs Sulky Drawers perked up thoroughly at this and had a fine old time running up and down the field after the hinds, tossing the icy pellets from her fur with a rather Greta Garbo air. I trudged on, thankful at least that this time I was bewellied and fluffy gileted. The hail morphed into sleety snow for the last leg (not a great improvement to be quite frank) but by the time I had crossed the home field the sky was tinged pale blue and the sun beginning to peek out. I am now sitting at my desk beginning to feel quite toasty with the sun on my back and wondering if perhaps I should after all venture forth for further weeding…..

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