Trug life

Maureen phoned at a little before four AM to say she was waiting for the ambulance as she wasn't feeling well. A bit alarming. There was nothing to be done right now. But I found it hard to get asleep. I have been having really fiery indigestion off and on for the last few days, and I lay awake for an hour, experiencing stabbing chest pains, which in the context of worrying about Maureen wasn't so great. 

Lorraine and I up early. She spoke to Maureen, who was being released back into the wild this morning, the hospital having found nothing alarming. Thank goodness. Greatly relieved, Lorraine drove over and collected her, and stayed with them all day until returning tonight.

Left to my own devices, I worked on poetry for several hours, until I broke off to manfully surge into the garden. Here I filled the trug that Lorraine and I had resurrected yesterday with a layer of garden soil, two bags of compost and generous handfuls of British horse poo. Into this I planted five strawberry plants. A touch of fine hail and quite windy and cold when I was out. But it felt purposeful and good too, and hefting bags of soil quickly warms you up.

Five minutes of rain later. There has been no real rain for quite a while. 

A cold and sunny walk in the late afternoon. I passed a blue plaque for James Stagg the D-day meteorologist who must have lived around these parts for a bit. Apparently he changed the date of D-day with his forecast. Home and happy to be toasty indoors. 

Had a nice chat with Mum. Ben across the road might be able to source a little runabout car for them to replace the one that was written off recently. 

Watched a bit of Rugby. Learned that Chelsea had been put to the sword by Spurs. The ignominy. Lorraine home this evening, having left Maureen and Pat both okay. Happy to have Lorraine home again.  

Below: it's hard to imagine what could be more exciting than a freshly filled trug with five small strawberry plants in it.