Gorgeous bank holiday weekend here-- the kind of weekend that makes you want to hang out in a park somewhere with a crowd of friends drinking Pimms or go and have a wild party on a beach. Well, I say that because those are the kind of things I feel it should have made me want to do, whereas the shameful truth is that we spent most of the weekend... (looks round guiltily and whispers) gardening.
Not very rock and roll is it? But oh, the incomparable joy of a row of neatly planted lettuces and wigwams for the beans. After all the rain last week everything is insanely green and growing most gratifyingly, bringing to the fore my latent land-girl aspirations and making me come over all Dig-For-Victory and WI. There's something about this lush time of year that makes me want to pop on a floral wrap-around pinny and bake victoria sponge. I'm seized by an urge to do flower arranging in church and lay afternoon tea for the vicar under the apple tree; to sit in the sunshine shelling peas and listening to Glen Miller on the wireless. Don't know exactly why this is, but suspect it has something to do with nostalgia for an age of simplicity, before the invention of the Nintendo DS and Twitter (shudder), when politicians were remote and stern and utterly dependable, and wouldn't dream of spending thousands of pounds of public money on designer loo brushes and novelty pet accommodation.
Anyway, thanks so much to everyone who took the trouble to mail me for a copy of Tristan's book. Now I feel hugely guilty because I had no idea so many of you would get in touch and I wish I had millions more copies to give away. Daughter #2 picked Kristy's name out of the mixing bowl last night, so a copy (wrapped in brown paper and string, in keeping with my current retro-obsession) will be on its way to her as soon as I can stir the daughters from their half-term ennui and get to the post office.
It's raining today, so I'm guessing that my wholesome programme of proposed events (ie. weeding the place where I want to plant raspberries and digging in lovely manure) will not be greeted with delight and enthusiasm by the children. Or, actually, by me, since it is pretty cold. Ho hum. Maybe there is a place for central heating and afternoon DVDs after all.