I'm watching the domestic life of the British Badger, as narrated by David Attenborough, and it's amazing. Dead of winter right now, and the badgers are fat little sausages of badger lard. David's in Oxford this week doing a signing and I should probably go and goggle. Tim says I should get him to sign a plastic lizard. "Oi, Dave! Sign my lizard!" ... but I don't think I have one that's quite right. It should be reasonably sized, a recognisable species and pale coloured -- and I don't have any that fullfil more than two of those three criteria.

The fence is finished, praise be. Three trips to the tip saw off the worst of the rubbish. I hammered in the last nails as the sun did its february plummet for the horizon. Most of the garden didn't thaw all day. I was shaking the cold out of my hands as we ran in. Despite the cold, it was the first serious gardening weekend of the year. We scraped the winter accretion of trash from the front garden (including an empty chewing tobacco/betel nut pouch, almost empty bacardi breezer bottle with a straw, and an empty condom packet (blueberry flavour) among the more mundane items) trimmed off a lot of dead growth and even did a bit of weeding.

Dan and Deidre's new place is one of those surreal pockets of loveliness our area sprouts here and there. Top flat, Hemingway House(!) in a square called silky-something with palms and a fountain. Lovely views, even at night. It's going to be the venue for viewing fireworks, I think.