Easter.

Well, that’s Easter done and dusted.  Nothing frightfully special, although we did have a very nice Raclette at a neighbour’s house, and some interesting conversation.  Male dominated, as ever, which is why women tend to talk to women.

Robin Dominic has decimated The Camillia, and about time too.  It was knocking on fifteen feet high, but it hasn’t been done for nearly twenty years.  It is still glorious despite being at least sixty years old.

Robin Dominic has also acquired four really good Teak Garden Chairs.  They are a bit discoloured but a bit of loving kindness will sort that.  And he wonders why Marie’s room is full of junk?  Actually, not junk, just some  very nice stuff that I was given and will come in handy one day.

I inherited Marie when I bought the two houses.  She was about eighty at the time, lived in one room with a wood burning cooker, and moved to an Old People’s complex when she was about ninety.  I cried when her family told me that she was moving out.  She was so much a part of this place.  Once upon a time she used to ride into Melrand on the back of a horse to do her shopping.  So forever it will be Marie’s Room.  Any other name is unthinkable.

I am having Charlotte put down next week.  But I will tell you about that after I have recovered.

Notre Dame.

I was completely unaware of what Notre Dame meant to me, until I saw it burning.  But nothing much to do with a God, just such glorious architecture that is centuries old.

But the people who built it obviously did believe in God.  Two Hundred years it took to build.

I was totally in awe of The Musical, Notre Dame de Paris.  The music is splendid and the story was in itself sad.  It never quite jelled in English, but then English is not a particularly elegant language, while the French Language ever is.  I missed the sound of it around me quite dreadfully on the rare occasions that I used to visit  England.

I have never seen Notre Dame, and I almost certainly won’t now.  It will take too long to rebuild it.  But I bet they will.

I am also a bit sad that I never did The Camino de St. Iago de Compostela.  But then regrets are usually about things you thought of doing and never did.

My Plum Tree.

I thought that I had better do this while it is still relevant.  It probably won’t be tomorrow.

I bought this Plum Tree Sapling about ten years ago.  I like Plums, which is more than I can say about most fruit.  Since when I have had One Plum for about five minutes.  But yesterday I found about a dozen.  Robin Dominic, who has better eyesight than mine says that there are Hundreds.  I suspect that this is an exaggeration, but even a couple of dozen would be good.  They are the size of a very minuscule Petit Pois at the moment.

I have Googled a bit, and pruned this useless article at the right time of year.  I have even threatened it with becoming fire wood.  But last year I simple couldn’t be bothered, so I ignored it.  I didn’t even speak to it, even when it burst into bloom.  Again.  It does that with monotonous regularity, but I didn’t buy it for it’s flowers.  It said, “Plum Tree” on the packet.  That’s what I wanted.  Plums.

No, I don’t spend a lot of time talking to plants.  My neighbours already think that I have lost my marbles.

My very old Fig Tree in a pot has got Seven Figs, but then it had Seven Figs last year, and they all dropped off as well, so I am not clinging to success on that one either.

This will probably all be Rien de Tout again.  A situation with which I am not unfamiliar.

Spring.

Spring at last, I think. But you never can tell around here. It could be minus 10 degrees again in a minute.

That ghastly weed called Wisteria is showing signs of how particularly glorious it is going to be this year, for about three weeks, after which it will turn my garden into a hair grabbing, boring jungle. But this is a bad sign because a late frost will kill the flower buds. And then what? Rien de tout. That’s what.
Four of them actually. I grew them all from seed some time ago when time didn’t matter. They take on average about six or seven years from seed to flower, or at least mine did. Please God, may I have the full glory this year?

I have planted some Broad Bean seedlings, slugs don’t like Broad Beans. Although if previous experience is anything to go by I will only get enough Beans to grow them again next year. I love Broad Beans, but I have forgotten what they taste like now. The French aren’t into Broad Beans.

I wait with bated breath for Lovely Linda to give me some Tomato Plants again. I don’t know what she does, but her plants are always good. Mine degenerate into Tomato Blight just as the wretched Tomatoes are about to ripen. But if you catch them quick enough you can have a lot of Green Tomato Chutney. I’ve got a lot of that in store.

Also planted some saved Butter Nut Squash seeds from last year. I managed to grow two of those last year. God knows why. I don’t even like them all that much.

I am currently sending out air thoughts to my French neighbours who gave me so much last year. Heavy on the Italian Tomatoes and light on the Marrows, s’il vous plait. The Italian Tomato Sauce I made last year and stored in metal capped Mayonnaise Jars is still good, probably something to do with the Basil and a touch of Vinegar on top. Nope, I am useless at growing Basil. I look at it and it dies, so I shall have to buy that.

No Apples, please God. Apple Chutney is now frightfully passé. Got enough of that to stock a Chutney Shop or ten.

I might try English Runner Beans again. I loathe French Beans with a passion. But this will necessitate creeping around the garden every night at dusk to catch The Slugs. No, I never kill them by any means. Everything has a right to live.
Sadly, I can’t throw them over the garden wall anymore because I have neighbours there now, and they might catch me at it. Although I didn’t feel particularly guilty about it in the past because I have chucked over a couple or three Hedgehogs in my time.
Yes, I do like Hedgehogs. But I didn’t like The Fleas when the dog brought the Hedgehogs into the house. You haven’t lived until you have been bitten by a Hedgehog Flea. I was on hefty pain killers for a week.
So what shall I do with The Slugs?
Bucket and Chuck It in the nearest field, peut etre. Making allowances for the tenacity of the Bastard Stephen the Slug who always finds his way back. He likes it here. A bit like the cat. Yes, Mate. I know it’s you again. You ever were a Slug.

To finish on a more positive note, please God, may I have a Wasps Nest again? Wasps are my most favourite creatures.

Thank You, God, in advance.