Warm enough for a bare Arse

The weather has dictated the pace of the day and in the spring weather I’ve planted out delicate looking violas, cheerful Bellis, and primulas of firework yellow and cream.

The work is easy, and the sun has warmed the South facing front garden so the soil isn’t chilled.

“When the soil is warm enough to accommodate a bare arse, then it’s ok to plant out”

Meirion Ellis gave me that bit of advice when I ran the flower show 

I always add a hour or so on gardening in the front, as passers by tend to stop and chat.

Mr Poznań discussed the Ukraine and Della chatted about retirement, Nick from Well Street chatted about blood tests and Louenna ( Gentlemen Farmer Ralph’s widow) reminded me it was the anniversary of her husband’s death and remained ever graceful and poised. 

Old Trefor ambled past cheerfully, his ninety seven year old knees in better shape than mine

I replaced the hanging basket by the front door which is filled with healthy sea Pinks and watered in the bulbs and flowers that guard the path.

The postman has just been, he saw Mary bristling at the gate and refused to come any further. He dropped me off a new knife rack, I had treated myself to for my sushi work and a Korean monster movie dvd The Host.

Mandy from next door has just marched up the lane and Irene has bleated at her from the livery stable fields, demanding bread crusts. 

I can hear Pheasants panic from down the Felin and from somewhere across the fields a woodpecker is hammering.