A rose at Christmas

Whenever I see a rose like this at Christmas, struggling to flower fully in the dank, dark winter, I'm reminded of the words of the carol set to music by Benjamin Britten, There is no rose of such vertu, as is the rose that bare Jesu. 

This rose stands in a forgotten piece of garden at the top of Kirkhill in Shepshed. I was passing on my way down to the village to buy baking potatoes, Basil, of course, in tow. At least we had a walk. Lots to buy in the Urban Farm Shop. I expect it will still all be there after Boxing Day.

Home to drape marzipan over the Christmas cake and then a jolly afternoon with Colin. Back home to ice the cake and start off dinner interrupted gladly by Aziz coming to visit. He brought a lovely bunch of flowers: red roses and white ornamental cabbages.