It's so strange, waking up to day after day of glorious sunshine. It feels like Abroad, somewhere not quite real. And of course, it's so early in the year - April! - that it is still Spring here, pretending to be Summer. We've got daffodils in the garden, which seems faintly bizarre in blazing 26 degree sun.
I spotted an anemone this morning too - gorgeous dark purple, the solitary show from a whole pack of bulbs that we planted. There are also some Mystery Plants coming up next to it, also from bulbs, but I have no idea what they are. It's like a very sedate whodunnit - what will they turn out to be? Alliums? Irises? Exotic lilies? Deadly Triffids? We have to wait a month and see.
The clematis is starting to flower - it is covered in buds so in a day or two will be covered in brilliant white flat flowers that look a bit like Tudor roses. Love it. Even the roses already have loads of buds forming, so it's easy to visualise how pretty everything will look soon.
We've got cowslips growing in the lawn, and some lily of the valley colonising a dank corner under the hedge out the front. Mr WithaY and I planted more lavender. We are making a hedge alongside the path at the side of the house, ooh get us, which I have high hopes for. Yesterday I bought a new bench to go out the front too, as the old one creaks unnervingly when sat upon*.
I like the fact that conversations for the last week have all followed the same pattern. They begin with "Wonderful weather! Isn't it fantastic? Hottest Easter for a decade/century/thousand years, they said on the news last night. Yeah, we're having a barbecue tonight. Got sunburnt on Bournemouth beach yesterday."
Then the tone changes slightly and we get the qualifier(s): "Let's hope we don't pay for it later, eh? It can't last much longer, can it? It's bound to piss down all through July now." There may or may not be some sort of half-arsed gripe about global warming too, and of course dire predictions about smog.
I love that we can't just enjoy a spell of sunshine without having to add all the riders about how it can't last forever. Neither can any kind of weather. Britain is famed for its weird and variable weather. The fact that we've had more than 3 days of the same weather - in this case sun - on the trot is unusual. Remember the snow in the winter? That went on a bit too. That's why it made the news. Gah.
Other news: Looks like we may have finally FINALLY sold Father in Law WithaY's house, thank the lord. The estate agents overvalued it in the first place, and then, of course, all the offers we received were way lower than the asking price. We have managed to convince Father in Law WithaY that the market is a bit crap at the moment, and that it makes more sense to sell the place than to hang on to it, empty and unloved for another year. Plus Mr WithaY won't have to risk losing more fingers mowing the lawn down there.
So, I reckon we need one more trip to clean the remaining rooms, a skip to get rid of all the accumulated crud that is not sellable or recyclable, and a man with a van to take away the furniture that didn't get sold at auction, and the place is ready to go. I can't say I'm sorry. It's been a millstone around our necks, knowing it was empty, and until fairly recently, crammed with a lifetime's collection of antiques. At least all the stuff that could be sold at auction has gone, so all that's left is more mundane stuff.
Plus, with the hideous price of diesel (£1.42 a litre! Fuck!) the journey there and back isn't cheap either.
Mr WithaY has taken himself off today to volunteer at this place. Now that he's booked onto his axe-head forging course, he is all inspired to do more prehistoric technical shit. And stuff.
I declined, on the grounds that I am not keen to spend the hottest day of the year so far up to my oxters in an Iron Age cess pit, or digging a well.
I might make some new curtains for the bathroom. If I can be arsed. Or I might just have a long cold drink, sitting on my new garden bench, reading a book. I've discovered the Classic Rock digital radio station, and am loving it.
Happy St George's Day.
*Possibly only when sat upon by two large adults, but I am not risking my life, tea or dignity any longer.
4 comments:
Loving - loving use of the word oxters. Had to go and look it up, obviously. Love it.
WV is Thrizer, which is what people with three oxters call the third one. It's very unusual though, of course.
If I get another dog, he will be called Thrizer.
I might use oxters more. It seemed appropriate in the whole Iron Age cess pit context.
You've stolen our spring. :(
We've been 20-30 degrees below average temperature and all rain or snow for weeks. I don't have a garden - just mud.
tpals - I think your Spring might be on the way back over, ours seems to have finished all of a sudden.
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