Grandma

This pot, and its plants as they are now, remind me of Grandma, sans hat, in the old Giles cartoons. Goodness knows why, as it's years - decades probably - since I've seen one of his cartoons, and I seem to remember that she had a hat sitting firmly on her head in most of them. Doesn't the mind work in mysterious ways, especially when it's had far too much time to wander!

Anyway, the hosta in the container is growing at a rate of knots, while the crocus leaves are beginning to die off. The container is on the bench to allow the hosta to survive the attentions of the army of slugs and snails that appear every night.

Sunday, and it seems a lifetime ago that we drove out for a walk in the hills, and treated ourselves to a modest dinner at the Redesdale Arms or some other hostelry on the way home. That was the life that was, and very good it was too! Never mind, it was a rather dreich day, so we contented ourselves with a stroll around the 'yard estate, a few kilometres on the exercise bike, and a very nice Sunday dinner chez nous (sounds posh, but just means that you get to do the washing up!).

Lockdown, day 41