The British environment

One week we’re having most meals outside on the terrace, the next we have sharp frosts and heavy showers of hail, and today winds strong enough to blow over the mini-greenhouse.  Much unscheduled re-potting and some weighing down with bricks later, we’ll hope for the best.  The leeks and most of the onions are in the ground, and the Charlotte potatoes in their bags on the terrace (although by the time I look next, they may have been blown into the next county).  Our four tomato seedlings appear to be growing OK, and we’ll be starting the beans ere long.

As I write, the plumber is clattering away in the kitchen, having replaced a three-way valve in the central heating system.  Fortunately, the sun is shining, so the doors to the sitooterie are open, and the rooms adjacent are benefiting from the solar gain.  Not often you get owt for nowt these days.  

Unless you happen to be the billionaire tax-dodging non-domiciled wife of a finance minister whose idea of charity is to give a generous sub to his old school (doubtless declared as gift aid, with consequent benefit to his tax bill).  Like most of the front bench, his head is either in the clouds or up his own arse.  Those of low income have already to choose daily between heating and eating, even before this month’s 54% increase in energy bills.  Government is intent on impoverishing them still further with tax increases: the national insurance increase is one thing, but more serious is the freezing of personal allowances at a time of record inflation.  Our comms bill has just gone up by 10%.  Fortunately we can absorb much of the increase this time by eating into savings, and with interest rates standing at best at one tenth the rate of inflation.  It’s just as well we don’t drive much, give the rocketing price of fuel, which of course will contribute to retail price inflation: the token reduction in fuel duty would be laughable if it didn’t make me so bloody angry.  But Winchester School will just about manage.

As I find myself saying more and more often, I’m almost grateful to be old and childless.  It’s some comfort to have the spring garden to look out on.