An alomost perfect Sunday...

Spent most of the day pottering in the garden.
So out there was I that I forgot the potatoes were simmering....Oooops! Managed to scrape them off the bottom of the pan. They were alright...
Other than that and the fact that mother is motionless and refusing to eat I'm having a sweet and lovely day. Baked a smashing cake. Read a little. Txtd. Watched Nicki Campbell prog about Religion v. Sects. Did my nails.

Baked a couple of Bramleys for pud, the flesh went marshmallowy and the skin taut, shiny and brown. Deep in the cavities I pushed a few raisins and brown sugar then topped them with spoonfuls of golden syrup. Baked them under the gammon joint. Which was so pink and tender it almost seemed a shame to carve it. But I did. Thickly. And plated it up alongside steamed cabbage, the aforementioned tatties and a couple of fat parsnips. I had a spoonful of mango chutney with mine, Mr H. plumping for Branston pickle.
I like odd mixes.

Ok back to garden games.
There were many.
Firstly dragging an old old table from A to B, then covering the cracked and warped thing with a Sunflower tablecloth.
Dusted orf a few chairs slinging them thereabouts.
Eagerly await the first hot day...
Eager to munch al fresco.

Also re-homed the garden bench back into its right and proper place...under the Japanese Maple. Not content to just drop and leave, I placed underneath its varnished wooden slats two wooden slightly faded sleeping and curled cats.
By the side of the bench, a table from an ancient nest of tables, and on it one real plant and one artificial.
So much pleasure from things so simple.

I also placed my gorgeous green and cream olde worlde watering can by the weed infested rockery, some of the weeds are quite striking so may live another day!

There's much more I want to do especially by the herb garden and bins but that'll be for later in the week.
:)

Now I must fly, have a Sci-Fi film to watch.

:)

Had a jolly good potter in the garden this morning and was joined by two robins.
As me and my gardening friend spaded and churned and planted and patted, the two robins gambolled, skipped, their capers making me smile. In awe mostly.
They bounced from tree stump to bird table to fence to water butt stopping stock still when either of us stepped a step. They exhibited a mad kind of braveness, flying close by to us humans and landing only feet away, one even watching me, his interested head and black bubble eyes burning into me as I gazed at a leek.

I don't do much gardening but when I do I become transfixed by the wonder of sodden earth and all the grubs brought about by tilling.

My friend and I finished the work and for a few minutes leant against the doorjamb, looking at my spindly brown youthful apple tree...I posed this question...."Where is the sweet flesh, the red, the green, the skin, the pips?"
My co-gardener looked a little bemused, stumped even.
"In its memory, I suppose".
And for some reason that twanged a chord, for a moment I saw the tree as a 'being' a living structure capable of storing memories. Memories. Some how I'll never bite into an apple with quite the same thoughtlessness again...

Being braised as I type is a nice gammon joint. The small beauty is lying on a mess of leeks, carrots and parsnips, and it's belly bathes in hot simmering stock.
I'll slice it a bit later and serve it with a couple of buttered potatoes. Mum will want mustard with it but I'll plump for onion chutney.
Pudding will be strawberry jelly and evaporated milk for Her Majesty and for me a quartet of digestives. Chocolate probably.

Cheerio :)