under another sun

Sunshine, and a post breakfast surge into the garden to tackle the glasshouse, emptying it of pots and trays and so on, then pressure washing it inside and out.  I got rather wet doing this, especially the spraying the inner roof panes, but it was satisfying. Sluiced away dozens of spiders and cobwebs lumpy with still-wrapped delicacies. Then picking snails off the special dimply pots Lorraine will plant this year's tomatoes in.  A few hours of this, followed by a long bout of reading and watching a bit of rugby on TV from the comfort of the gold sofa.   Below a false widow spider, which can give you a bit of a stinging bite apparently, encountered during the day.  

The big news of the day was that Maureen has been released back into the wild again and was home at noon. Lorraine off to see her again tomorrow.  As for me, woke after anxious dreams, and determined to improve my attempts to establish a working routine, which hasn't gone well this year. But this morning I tried to get a grip, leaving Lorraine to catch up on some sleep and I got up early to work on the podcast, and then met Robin on screen for a chat and a bit of recording. Like me, Robin also at a bit of a low ebb on the poetry front (it happens to the best of us). I want to return to some sort of flow state, but this seems very hard. One major obstacle being my own inertia and lack of gusto.  Lorraine in the garden as it wasn't raining for once, and she was pottering about in her new glasshouse -- repotting succulents, and taking geraniums out of harms way as a hard frost is predicted tonight. Lorraine and I enjoyed chatting about what colour we are going to have our walls, ...

Below Glasshouses and La Gran'mère with a garland.

Waterproof Pouring rain all night and day. Woke up periodically during the night to the sound of rain falling on Lorraine's Veluxe windows. I love the sound of rain falling on glass when you are safe and warm. Goes back to the long glasshouse attached to the back of my grandparents house in Guernsey. I loved being in there. It was full of the distinct smell of geranium leaves, and the patter of rain on the glass was like music. Occasionally, when a pane or two needed replacing, strategically placed buckets collected plinking drips too, which added to the effect. Anton and I decided against a long walk. Those country tracks turn into the Somme after ten hours of steady downpour. Instead Anton and I went shopping for a new anorak. My previous one now readily absorbs water instead of repels it for reasons I don't quite understand. I may have cleaned mud off it with a cloth impregnated with detergent. These hi-tech fabrics are temperamental. Naturally Anton knew the places to go, b...