…unless I prune the roses in the front tomorrow. The snow has gone again, thank goodness, and it’s mild, so I’ve done a bit of tidying in the beds next to the terrace at the back of the house. The penstemons were looking very bedraggled, having been weighed down with six inches of snow twice in the past month. I’ve given them an interim haircut, and hope that’ll let them over-winter slightly more safely than if I’d left them with branches lying along the earth and grass. I’ve pruned a few of the roses as well, and cut down some annuals. It hasn’t been exclusively a story of destruction (though I’m the first to admit that such tends to be my gardening trademark – I like a bit of slash and burn!). I’ve potted up some more cuttings from Jane’s New Guinea busy lizzies, and taken a few more cuttings. With luck and a following breeze, we ought to have over a dozen little plants in the spring: the donor plants are starting to look tired.
I felt a bit better on Christmas morning, so we set off to spend the day with Margaret and John in Hampshire. Part-way round the M25, when I started coughing and sneezing again, it struck me that this wasn’t altogether wise. Still, we had a lovely day with them, eating way too much, as tradition requires. I do hope I haven’t given them my cold.
We were just about ready to eat again three days later, when we had a nice evening with Celia and Andy here. Perhaps bruschette, lamb shanks with 6-root mash, cold pudding, hot pudding and a cheeseboard were a bit on the ambitious side, but again an enjoyable time in great company.
We have been down to the Costa Geriatrica this morning to make a purchase before the tax goes up. The goods should arrive in a week or two’s time, and I’ll tell you all about it then.
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