9 March 2011

The Cailleach

I felt quite outraged when I woke up this morning, there was snow on the ground, just a dusting but enough to make the roads and pavements slippy. It melted as the day went on, but it's now blowing an absolute hoolie: dustbins all over the place, and Lola (cat) trying to somehow "duck" under the gusts of wind lest they blow her flowing mane out of place, before giving it up as a bad job and racing back in to the warmth of the house again.

Clearly the Cailleach, she who is Winter, is reminding us that she's not yet down and out in the face of advancing Spring...

Apart from a trip to the shops, it's been a very lazy day, which is probably doing me lots of good, though I'm still tired so it's hard to see the improvement...

I ordered Nigel Slater's Tender Vol 1 with the last of some birthday Amazon vouchers, and it arrived today. I've not yet dived in - I'm almost finding reasons not to, because I want to savour the anticipation of finally coorying up with it, Post-It's to hand to mark "must try" recipes. So having done all the chores I can relax tomorrow and devote the entire day to reading - bliss.

Eggs today: 2. Murdina and Donalda. Why do hens lay in the poo-iest bit of the nest box?? Our hens don't roost on a perch (after one fruitless dusk when I first got them, popping one up on the perch, only for her to jump down as soon as I reached for the next hen, and so on until I gave up as a task too Sisyphusian). So they bury down into the straw and newspaper that gets changed daily, and use one of the nest boxes through the night as a toilet. And that's the bit they lay in, despite the spotlessly clean box right next door. Stupid creatures...

"Give me the splendid, silent sun, with all his beams full dazzling."  (Walt Whitman)

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