I've a lovely vase of jaunty yellow daffodils in my sitting room at the moment. They were flowering on my allotment when I made it up there over the weekend. Not that I can take the credit for growing them. The bulbs were planted when I took the patch over, but the flowers came as a nice surprise. I've got various seedlings in trays nestling in window sills in my flat, and once they're hardly enough to survive the Evil Slugs I'll pop them in.
I can't claim to be getting much in the way of crafty stuff done right now. Work is really busy, so once I get home I just want to veg out in front of the telly and scoff Cadburys mini eggs. I'm slowly reading 'The End of Mr Y' by Scarlett Thomas which is odd but in a good way. I'm also looking into family history, going to the online census records and getting thoroughly frustrated by the slow progress I'm making. Part of the problem is my family name is Thompson, so it's not exactly distinctive. I've yet to find any disreputable black sheep or gloriously romantic heroines or heroes among my great-greats, just lots of solid working class stock. Oh well ... can't all be descended from the blue blooded gentry, can we?
Recent Comments