I wandered lonely...

...was the title CH suggested for this shot. Though frankly, he should know better. I cannot abide Wordsworth - if anyone mentions him to me, I'm apt to quote the last two lines of this:

High on a mountain's highest ridge,
Where oft the stormy winter gale
Cuts like a scythe, while through the clouds
It sweeps from vale to vale'
Not five yards from the mountain-path,
This thorn you on your left espy;
And to the left, three yards beyond,
You see a little muddy pond
Of water, never dry,
I've measured it from side to side:
'Tis three feet long, and two feet wide.

If you can't resist reading more of that, it's the third verse (out of twenty two) of a poem called The Thorn.

CH and I nearly came to divorce over my contempt for Wordsworth before we were even engaged to be married, one vile and snowy Easter in the Lake District when he (in desperation I think) suggested that we might get out of the weather by going to the Wordsworth Museum. I made it reasonably clear that I'd rather die of exposure on a fell.

Anyhoo - these are not Wordsworthian daffodils: they came from Ocado last Saturday, and a jolly good £3-worth they were too.

I was feeling a bit better this morning, and it was toasty warm; so I set to and finished weeding, feeding and mulching the long border that runs along the front wall of the garden. I am now, to quote LadyG, toadally zorstered. I may have to sit in a heap tomorrow - in which case I'll do my utmost to catch up on all your journals. Right now I'm off to bed with Lord Peter Wimsey. :)

EDIT: I was surprised at how bad this looked on here when I uploaded it, so I re-edited it and re-uploaded. If you can be bothered, it's probably better large against the dark background. Sorry 'bout that.