We’re doing as we’re told, and going out only for essentials. When we went out on Monday for our weekly shop, there was so little traffic on the road that it felt rather like a Sunday did when I was young. We were able to get everything we needed, including bread flour at last, but we are getting very low on yeast. I guess all those long-forgotten bread machines are being dug out from the backs of cupboards. Ours, I should say, barely cools down between batches, so apart from bagels, which are just too much of a faff to make, we rarely buy ready-made bread.
Thank goodness it’s a busy season for the gardener. Our tomatoes are germinating, but slowly. I had another go at the penstemons yesterday, following the advice of a tv gardener to cut them down to the ground. Some of the new ones we grew from seed last year, and which flowered so well through the season, have rooted from the stems that were lying on the soil, so the layerings are now separated from the parent plants and potted up. The fuchsias we had in a box on the steps last year over-wintered again in the cold frame, so they have been cut back and a couple of trays of cuttings taken.
It won’t be long before we’re planting vegetables. The first early Charlotte potatoes have been chitting in the garage for the past month or so, so next time we have a prospect of some mild nights I’ll get them started in their growing sacks. Our local nursery delivers, so I rang them yesterday afternoon to order a few sacks of compost and muck. To my surprise, a little more than an hour after I called, the delivery driver rang the doorbell. So we are equipped for spud growing and to prepare the raised bed for the beans. I’ll sow some runner beans in a couple of weeks’ time, and perhaps also start successional sowing of dwarf French beans. The nursery had no trailing fuchsias to offer, so the basket at the front door may have to make do with the upright variety. There are some trailing ivy plants in it, so it won’t look too bare.
On the creative side, Martyn has turned lately to three dimensions, working on the model railway, so has not been turning out water colour landscapes for a week or two. I’ve topped and tailed a couple of little acrylics, and have gessoed a couple of abandoned canvases ready for overpainting when something inspires me.
As we expected, our May cruise to Norway has been cancelled. Cunard is offering incentives to try to persuade us to take a future cruise credit rather than a cash refund. We shall sit on our hands for a little longer: after all, the money would be earning bugger-all in the bank. We have paid a deposit on a Mediterranean cruise in the autumn, but, like the friends we had planned to meet on it, we’re not sure about embarking on a floating Petri dish just five months hence. I’ve meanwhile cancelled the car hire booking I’d made for our day in Åndalsnes, and the prepaid charges were promptly refunded by rentalcars.com, to whom loud applause.
As a postscript to my fifteen years at the hobby, I’ve swapped emails lately with one of our local defence advocates, since I didn’t have a chance to say my farewells in person. I shall miss his outstanding advocacy, pragmatism and wit, and told him so. He tells me he’ll miss my sympathetic look when he was trying to defend the indefensible. I think that means he knew he was on a loser when he detected a certain slight movement of my left eyebrow. I’ll never make a poker player.
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