Snowdrops.

I have to crawl under our witch hazel bush, which isn’t easy, to find the best snowdrops in the garden. In spite of employing a gardener to keep such things under control, the garden is still somewhat overgrown; I’m not complaining, you understand; our resident wildlife does prefer the more unkempt landscape. The plan had been to catch the morning dew, but it was after noon by the time I was ready; the mist spray had a part missing so I had to use it up-side-down and which made it a little difficult to work, consequently, the finished product lacks a little subtlety. The offending piece was discovered shortly after sunset.
 
For some strange reason, I have great difficulty remembering the name of the shrub, it is utterly stupid; I ask Herself what its name is and she asks, “Witch shrub?” Then I say, “The one next to Hazel’s garden.” It then takes several seconds for me to realise the complete absurdity of the situation. The frightening thing is that it’s now down hill all the way.
 
We said “Goodbye” to Tam Dalyell today, a man who I knew through his weekly column, which ran for 36 years, in “New Scientist;” he covered the scientific deliberations of parliament. I met him about a year ago when on a touristy visit to his family home, the Binns; he discovered I was a fellow bee keeper and I was then subjected to an interrogation of my views of the bee keeping world, I strongly suspect that he habitually singled out bee keepers for this treatment. He wasn’t deliberately aggressive, but was just after opinions and information. He was particularly concerned that the council were spraying weed killer along the verges around his home and killing off the weeds, aka wild flowers and valuable bee forage. A friend of mine, long since dead, used to say of such people that the world needs folk like him, just not too many.