Heaven knows, countless others have much more to complain about, and do so less vociferously, if at all. But as a bloke with a cold, I'm more than happy to conform to stereotype. I'm no longer sneezing so much - just as well, since I've pulled an abdominal muscle (hadn't realised I had any...) in the process - but seem to be settling into the coughing now. Grizzle, whinge. I had to cancel a visit to the press night of Kate's play this evening. The last thing she needed was a grumpy old trustee upsetting the hacks and coughing through the performance.
A few bulbs are pushing foliage through the clay, so it won't be too long before we have a riot of daffodils and crocuses. We planted snowdrops and tulips last spring, so are hoping for great things. The dozen cuttings of Jane's New Guineas on the kitchen window ledge seem to be settling into their pots of compost, but we had to throw out one of the donor plants today. Even with the heating on a frost protection setting out there in the sitootery, it was looking very bedraggled. The other three are plodding along, and we may get some more cuttings from them. There are still buds on one of the patio roses by the front door, and some of the pansies are trying bravely to show a bit of colour. I received a calendar out of the blue yesterday, so shall maybe spend some time tomorrow mapping out the spring sowing schedule.
Oh, and Happy New Year, by the way! We saw the new year in at Gillingham with Marion, John and Dorothy, enjoying a pleasant evening à cinq. A moment or two before midnight I headed out, ringing their doorbell a moment after midnight as their first foot. There seemed to be fewer fireworks around this year, but rather more tipsy neighbours rushing out to shake hands bzw. kiss cheeks. We were our own first feet as usual, arriving home at about 10:30. And dozed away a fair bit of the afternoon.
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