More winter, eh?

For several days lately, the sun has been strong enough to warm the sitooterie enough for us to have lunch out there, and then sit oot and snooze/enjoy the daylight until late afternoon.  Not so today: although, as I write, the snow is only lying on the frozen pond, we've had quite a few flurries of increasingly powdery snow, and wouldn't be surprised to wake up to white surroundings tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I've been able to garden a bit more, and by the time the composting bin went last Thursday, it contained not only the Bramley apple tree prunings but also the top hamper of the cornus at the front, the lethal berberis (beautiful plant, but I made the mistake of planting it too close to the general public), and a mile or two of brambles.  The cornus we see from the back of the house still has its crimson stems on view, but they'll have to come down next time the weather allows old bones to be outside for half an hour. 

Meanwhile, back in the sitooterie, I have stoked up the hotbot propagator and sown sundry rudbeckias, sweet williams and hollyhocks.  And the charlottes are chitting away nicely on top of the tumble dryer in the garage.  We have spent an outrageously extravagant fiver on a couple of trays of primulas from Fortnums, and will get them out into the containers once the Beast from the East has passed over - assuming they survive its ravages.  They are outside at the moment in a sheltered corner.  The time will come when we need help in the garden, but meanwhile we shall enjoy doing it ourselves.

There are moments when one seems to be surrounded by bureaucracy, idiocy and incompetence.  I've been trying to do some efficient things with investments that require registrars to send me forms for completion.  Registrar 1 had to be asked twice to send the forms relating to two instruments, and sent one lot in duplicate.  Registrar 2 said, 12 days ago, that they'd send me the requisite bumf, but confirmed today, on being prodded, that they had not, but would now.  Watch this space - oh, don't bother, for goodness' sake.  And just don't ask about the hobby.

Martyn, meanwhile, is working on the nth incarnation of the railway network of the 27th Canton of Switzerland up in the attic.  The sunny days have made it quite bearable up there, he reports, so he is getting on with replacement canopies for the station platforms, complete with lighting.  I worked a bit on a little acrylic last Thursday at art class: the view from the spare bedroom window in Another Place the day before I sold it last autumn.  It may come to something, but is more likely just to languish in the portfolio of the unfinished.

Days lengthening at last

We don't handle January and February with much enthusiasm, so it has been good to get out and garden a little on the better days.  Today I have pruned a couple of roses, and at last tackled the apple tree - probably rather late for winter pruning, but it'll either survive or it won't.  We're wondering what do do about the little patch at the front of the house and down the side.  It gets little sun, so the grass is full of moss, and the few roses get rather leggy.  When we moved here (gosh: nearly eleven years ago!) there was a profusion of ugly conifers across the front and between our parking apron and the neighbours'.  One of my early tasks was to get most of the offenders sawn down, getting a rather unpleasant rash on my arms in the process.  (I suspect the juniper, which was perhaps sanctioning my predilection for one of the applications of its fruit.)  I planted it with various bits of the familiar shrubs and things: potentilla, penstemon, cornus, iris sibirica, fuchsias, box and the like.  There are moments in the season when it can be quite pretty, but the maintenance and grass cutting are becoming burdensome.  We toy with getting the landscapers in to advise.  We want to keep the box hedge and bushes, but the rest can either serve as cutting stocks or beziehungsweise come up and be divided and redistributed.  The anti-social pyracantha came out last year, and when I can summon up the energy, the wrongly placed berberis will join it in the municipal compost bin, cuttings having been taken for more appropriate locations.

The Bramley apple tree was Martyn's Christmas present in 2008, and has given us some good crops.  When it came to pruning it this morning, I became aware  of how much it has grown.  It came home from the local nursery - alas now closed for retail sales - in the back of the car.  Well, it is now a bit more restrained than it was, but would still need a Tranny flatbed to transport it.  I've treated it to a grease band in an attempt to discourage the codling moth larvae that try so hard to add protein to our apple crumbles.  The exercise reminds me of the advancing years.  Joints are hurting like blazes this afternoon, making me resort to ibuprofen, among other remedies...

Of recent events in the Untied States of America, I must refrain from comment, but lament the latest slaughter of innocents.  I've probably blogged before that starry nights make me wonder why, despite the privilege of living on a habitable planet, we devote such energy to internecine warfare and wrecking the world for our descendants.  One of the few consolations of not having direct descendants, I suppose, but we fear for our nephews and nieces and theirs.

Art class met again yesterday after a couple of weeks without heating in our normal venue.  The sore joints inhibited me a bit, so there was precious little to show for the couple of hours.  But one of our number is in charge of the exhibitions at a little charity café in nearby Edenbridge, where we exhibit each year as a group.  Last year we each donated a little 10x8 canvas for sale in aid of the charity at a modest price.  One of mine sold.  In an attempt to fill their exhibition calendar, she has asked me to put up a show of my own, probably in September, and I have rashly agreed.  Panic now....