Signs of spring

We spent some time in the garden yesterday, Martyn dead-heading the hydrangea and I pricking out some nicotiana seedlings and potting up geranium cuttings.  The latter two subjects had come on well in our new heated propagator: it has seven little trays with clear plastic covers, so I’m less likely to bring on my usual vast number of seedlings and cuttings.  Yesterday’s stuff is now out in the mini greenhouse to harden off and grow on a bit.  This morning I’ve thrown out a lot of old seed, and sown a pan each of echinacea, aquilegias and the old faithful tagetes and rudbeckias.  Are seed merchants getting stingy?  The sweet olive tomato seeds totalled six (two of which have so far failed to germinate), and the same supplier's echinacea ration was scarcely more generous at sixteen.  In contrast, I have enough saved rudeckia and tagetes seeds from last year to carpet the Home Counties.  I have sown one 5"x 3" pan of each.

I'd a visit yesterday to the local pesthouse for a routine examination, which again revealed nothing troublesome.  Finding a parking space took ages, so I was glad I'd left in good time.  Only to be kept waiting three quarters of an hour to be seen.  Still, the doctor was a friendly chap of Moçambican origins, so we exchanged a few words of Portuguese - when I didn't have a fibre optic down my throat, anyway.

The outside table has had its third and final coat (for this year) of Danish oil, so will return to duty soon. It remains under cover today, since there’s a forecast of heavy rain, and the clouds look as if they’re laden with Sahara sand!  

A curious postbag yesterday.  Southern Water advise that our monthly spend on water (in and out) is a little over £32, which we currently pay at six-monthly intervals.  They are now offering a monthly payment option, and suggest an amount of £62.  Hmmm….I think not, thank you very much.  Two letters arrived from financial institutions bearing code words for the beefed-up security of their on-line services. The one from a building society was dead easy to set up.  The one from a certain bank, namesake of the Paris underground railway, was characteristically unwieldy and bad for the blood pressure.  After I’d finally set things up and programmed a test payment to another bank, I had a text message asking me to phone them.  When I finally got through after ten minutes of distorted muzak, I had the usual inquisition: full name, DoB, address, postcode, where the account was opened, colour of grandmother’s eyes, inside leg measurement, and finally got the payment cleared.  It then took another ten minutes and two passings of the buck to get the answer to a simple question.  Snarl.