As I was opening a bag of compost at the weekend, the plastic gave way a little too fast and a spray of compost jetted forcefully into my face. The bit in my eye annoyed the eye a bit; and it might be that, or it might be just that I'm getting older and can't shrug off the physical effort as well as I used to, or that I opted (and was able - yay!) to give blood yesterday, but I am tired. Tired in my bones and my head and on the stairs and in my bed. The weather continues beautiful. My sweet peas are sprouting in the shadowy recesses of the frostproof growhouse. The robins are all shouting on the tow-path. Spring is coming. And yet I am tired. Well. Best walk through it.




Twigs in situ and team hedge triumphant (above); the glittering tow-path and dinosaurs want you to drink more wine (below).

Oh - we're doing a quick frugal trip to London this Saturday, which will probably involve an evening meal at the Penderel Oak/Cittie of Yorke (undecided), if anyone is a) around and b) fancies meeting up! Plans, I have them. Sort of.