Worrying times

Well, we shall be going to London on Thursday as planned: we're not going to let these idiots control our lives.  We have a date at the Royal Albert Hall - a guided tour and afternoon tea: a Christmas present from Mr & Mrs Engineer Smith.  Later, we have a gathering of University of St Andrews benefactors, where we shall be entertained by Dr (Hon D Litt) Nicholas Parsons on the subject of Edward Lear.  Should be fun.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, we're gradually getting stuff planted out in preparation for our next trip to Another Place.  I've hitched up the solar-powered machine to water the vegetable bed, and planted out the dwarf French beans.  I need to get some wires or trellis up the fence before I put the climbing courgettes out.  The onion sets are looking healthy, but the leek seeds are pretty shy so far.  Perhaps the forecast overnight rain will give them a shove.

Martyn has hauled miles of brambles out of the side bed, and the grass has had a cut, so we're looking pretty respectable, however briefly.  I'd quite forgotten that we have a pink oriental poppy out at the front.  We have plenty of the orange reversion colour plant in the back garden, so must remember to go and nick a root cutting of Imogen's crimson one.  I gather that all colours revert to orange if grown from seed, so I guess the pink one's on its way.  They are beautiful things meanwhile, and the bees love them.  Unfortunately, like so many other early summer subjects, their flowering season is brief.  The cistus flowers for longer, fortunately, though each flower lasts only a day.  Its cousin, the yellow helianthemum in the rockery is blooming fit to bust this year after years of sulking.  We raised it from seed, and it's the sole survivor of the packet. 

The magpies have been very noisy lately: our local pair seems to have three young, all of which were in the rockery or the pond today at lunchtime.  Which fact did not pass unobserved by the local vet's cat, which Martyn managed to chase away before it could get the rather dim runt chick.  We're no great fans of the magpies, which would gladly feed their young on blackbird chicks, but we're still less keen on the vet's cat.  Perhaps the slug pellets on the raised bed - its favourite latrine - will give it a bellyache.