Chilly ...

Encouraged by the (somewhat misleading) weather forecast (shoulda read the percentage chances of rain bit) we decided that today we'd do something useful instead of marching about in the countryside. We'd tackle the back garden bordering the path, so that we could come in from the car without getting drookit. We'd been working for all of half an hour when the rain came on, and for the rest of the morning (actually till after 1pm) we were grimly grubbing about in the mud and wet leaves in a fine spray of water. My hands were so cold in my sodden gardening gloves that I wanted to cry when I tried to thaw them ... and always my mother's voice in my head: "You'll get chilblains!" 

Do people still get chilblains? 

My childhood was blighted by them. Even winter the flaming, swollen fifth toes and the sore/itchy red patch up the heels that the backs of my shoes irritated. It became worse in my teens, presumably because we all wore daft shoes - lacing shoes were stipulated for school, but it was possible to buy real flatties with pointy toes and an apology for a lace through two eyelet holes, so inefficiently attached to one's feet that they slipped off at every step. When there was snow or slush on the ground ... And then we warmed our damp feet on the radiators in school and ... and ...

So that's what I pondered while I pulled and cut and raked and swept. Now we can get up and down the path. The composite shows the tools and the debris - and if you look very carefully at the bottom photo, you'll maybe find a robin on the step next to the top, on the left. He was our companion throughout.

I've spent the afternoon indoors sorting poems for publication. Makes a change ...