Ha! Had my legs, arms and face out all day today, and it’s been a scorcher. Apparently hotter than Ibiza! We’ve put up trellis on the back wall, planted loads, and D has enthused me for vegetable cultivation all over again. He knocked together a raised bed for the Mouse to grub in, out of two by four, on Saturday. I like it so much I have commissioned  another two to grow peppers and tomatoes in.

My dear friend M has given me yet another fantastic book; ‘Animal, Vegetable, Miracle’ by Barbara Kingsolver. All about this extraordinary American novelist’s attempts to go self sufficient for a year. The family moved to Appalachia from Tucson, Arizona and got a farm started pretty much from scratch. I’ve just got to the part where they harvested a fifth of a ton of tomatoes; all organic, heritage varieties. This makes me think that a few tomato and pepper plants, with maybe a chilli or two, can’t be so far beyond me that it’s an unattainable dream.

My father and my brother are both vegetable growers; they somehow seem to get the most superb results where so far I’ve had only frustration. But we’re all growing in the wake of my venerated grandpapa G, the vegetable king. How he managed to grow anything at all is beyond me - hayfever, sea winds direct off the Channel, arthritis; but his vegetable beds, his artichokes, his hothouses and his row upon row of parsley are with me still in my memory. I cannot, to this day, taste curled parsley without being immediately transported back, to sitting on the end of the row talking to him as he dug. I say talk; it was like chess by mail, a zen conversation, like talking to the moon. He punctuated his utterings with the rhythmic jabbing of the fork into the earth, and the syncopation of digging familiar to any gardener. Over the course of an afternoon, we would move the discourse along, while I ate gritty parsley in the sun, salty from the sea air.

My colleague S asked me what was up with me today. Gone were the frowns, the pale face, the Metallica booming through, the high boots and power bitch dressing. Instead, smiles, tan, linen slacks and a flowerchild top, and Loreena McKennitt. All I could say was, I’m happy.

It’s warm outside, the light’s good, I have the kitchen door open when I’m cooking and I can run back and forth to the vegetable shed without freezing my ass off. I can wander about the house in shrts and a vest. I’m relaxed.

Cold makes me crunch up inside. Especially since I lost weight, I can’t keep the cold out. But now I don’t have to. I can sashay about, shed layers and feel like me again. I like this.

Mouse finished getting his jim-jams on this evening, scampered over to his futon chair, scrambled up onto it, sat down with his ankles crossed and patted the space next to him while saying, ‘You!’. I think maybe he wanted me to come and sit with him!

I’ve posted before about the amazing revelation of his improving communication skills - an everyday quiet miracle. It was a beautiful sunny warm evening this evening, the first this year. After we picked Mouse up from nursery we collected some birdseed from the house and went off to feed the ducks. We’re lucky; the park is a hundred yards from where we live. I asked him if he wanted to walk and he said, ‘Mummy shoulders!’ so I had my instructions!

We wandered across and I let him down about 50 feet from where the ducks congregate. There were ducklings and pigeons all enjoying the sunshine. He ran into their midst, putting up a cloud of pigeons but he really wanted to grab a duck - I had to get him not to chase them for fear he would actually catch one! These are expense-account ducks, totally pampered and overfed.

 The picture of my sunny, grey-eyed, apple cheeked boy, talking to the ducks and the blackbird on the fence, accosting fellow duck-feeders with all the news,  the evening light in his golden brown hair, laughing and chasing pigeons, will be with me as long as I have my memory.

Had a wonderful weekend - as you see by the pictures I was in Somerset with friends - perfect weather, superb food, we went to Glastonbury and went out for dinner; a thoroughly lovely time.

Just sometimes, you have a weekend that makes you feel like you’ve been on a paradise island for two weeks; you come back feeling so refreshed and cheered on your way. This weekend was one of those!

This crossed my mind when talking to my youngest, largest brother about his revision technique. Truly, an indissoluble problem. Or so it would seem.

Remembering things is an artform, tempered with just a little science. There is a plan afoot - by the next round of exams he will be nigh-on invincible. Of course, we’re breeding a monster. It’ll be hell when he can remember what we said when pissed 6 months ago or more. But it’s worth it. Or it will be. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s providing the wherewithal for the parents’ golden retirement - nose to the stone, wee man!!!!

Saw two swallows last night, swooping though the blue at 7pm. Intimations of Summer!

We spent most of today outside; Mouse got muddier and happier and more and more enthused by the whole proceedings. He has the most cunning little watering can and a set of tools of his own, but of course mummy’s are more fun. He went up and down the path with bamboo canes, and to and fro with pieces of wood that D was cutting to size to make Mouse a raised bed to grub in. When I asked him what he was doing, he said ‘Helpun!’ and I suppose he was!

Slighty spoiled things by getting frustrated that I couldn’t get on with digging. Gardening is some of the only peace and quiet I ever get, and I’m rabid about protecting it. But of course there’s always a nose to be wiped, nappy to change, or a small child to extricate from brambles, piles of wood, encounters with ladybirds (cue screams of Arghh!! Mummeeeee!), always fresh demands for cake, a drink, more water in the can.

 I chucked a skitz and disappeared off indoors at high speed, only to be asked by D who threw bigger tantrums, me or the Mouse. I of course said, ‘Me!’ but I see his point. Where’s the harm in being mad and just being mad, rather than making it have consequences all the time? That would be a good trick. I’m just no good at bottling it all up, worst luck to the people who get caught in the fallout!

No great harm done; Mouse now flat out after being scrubbed from stem to stern to remove the mud; he went into the bath like a warty grinning potato and came out dripping like a starfish and angelically cherubic once again. I can’t help but think that garden grubbing is the very best exercise, entertainment and education for a young fella - constant learning, constant play and constant effort.

I’ve planted some squash seeds today - that will be our next project. I’m going to show him how things grow, if I can save any of them fron the slugs long enough!

Back on the treadmill, facing the via dolorosa of the pile a crap on the desk, collected over the last week of absence, and the teetering inbox of emails unresponded to. 11.30am and I’m nearly through it and onto the real work for the day. Seems unbelievable that I haven’t been here for a week.

Last week was actually a blessing; I got a lot of things done that otherwise would have gone unattended-to; letters written, correspondence caught up with and dates made with friends. And I lost 6lbs!

I feel like a broken-winded old pit nag, but can see that eventually I’ll be over the worst of the sniffles and cough; now, if only the weather would take a turn up! Cold, mizzly grey skies, dank winds and low cloud are not going to cheer us into Spring, and the Mouse is going crackers because he can’t play outside.

Still here, listeners - snorting and flapping the covers and fussing with tissues, whiling away the time and shouting at the radio when it all gets too controversial. Not that my shout would travel far… more of an etoliated squeak, really.

I have bought myself a bracelet off a friend’s site, to cheer myself up. She’s in the States, and the shipping on the bracelet is more than the bracelet which is funny - however, we of the Empire on which the sun never sets can afford to be smug, with 2 dollars to the pound. It’s a beautiful silver and gemstone chakra bracelet. Can’t hurt to have my chakras balanced, can it?

Today will consist of more of the same, then a transplant to the sofa downstairs to watch Vince Vaughan in Dodgeball. Hooray. Utterly mindless television for someone who has literally blown all her available brains out through her nostrils over the last week.

Still in bed, and determined to count my blessings!

I can’t talk (a blessing for some)

Listening to Melvyn Bragg on WB Yeats (hurrah, such lyricism)

Looking at a jam sandwich with longing but not sure if I can eat it.

Truce said a true thing - flu makes you feel like an utter Jeanne d’Arc, martyrdom looming o’er yonder horizon. However, as long as you realise you’re being a martyr you can laugh at yourself in between hacking and whooping.

Right, time for another snoooooze…..