It’s just dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s, the groom said

There’s nothing like watching your best friend getting married to the man she loves to make your eyes sting. Lauren and I have been close for the past 14 years, having met for the first time at an open evening for our secondary school. We spent a day together before school began and while our Mums talked in the sitting room, Lauren and I made blueberry muffins in the kitchen. And that was the day that I decided I didn’t like blueberries very much. But that Lauren was very nice.

She still is, in fact. She’s my photography buddy, my foodie and my patient sounding board, as I regale her through the working day with interminably detailed emails, be they ridden with angst or giddy with joy. It was wonderful to be there on her wedding day and to share in her happiness. As well as her canapés.

Click on the photo to see the full set for Dave and Lauren’s wedding

Thinking of changing my number…

Beep beep – beep beep

I grunt and open my eyes.

Oh, you have to be kidding me. Why can’t the guy stay asleep like ordinary people?

I looked at the clock. 04:50am. WTF?

I picked up my phone and read the message:

Good morning. I recently read that you had an introduction to the almost nocturnal time of 5:50am. Not wanting you to miss out, I thought I would introduce you to 4:50am – being the loving cousin that I am. Wishing you a lovely Monday morning, Russ x

I replied, as anyone would:

You little shit

I was now somewhat confused. I had been dreaming and needed a while to work out what was real and what was not. On what had Lyndsay asked my advice as we passed in a shop? Did I actually have any new foundation that I was very excited about wearing to Lauren’s wedding? And if not, could I still discern the brand of the magic makeup although I had already left dreamworld? Would I actually be able to get to sleep again any time soon? But more importantly, what would be a fitting punishment for that bloody cousin of mine? The little shit.

0550

So there I was, minding my own business. Asleep. Then suddenly I wasn’t asleep anymore. Something was happening. I squinted at the clock. 5.50am. That can’t be right. What’s happening? Wait, something’s buzzing. That’s not my phone alarm … it’s a text message.

I picked up my phone and that too said that it was 5.50am. It had to be true. The message was from my charming continental client, asking me to make a little alteration to his website. I stared at the screen a little while longer before replying that yeah, I’d do it … when I was awake. I turned over to return to my slumber. Only now the deed was in my head. I told myself repeatedly that it could wait a few hours, but the grand task of highlight-delete-upload wouldn’t stop playing before my eyes.

By now it was 6.15am. Dammit. I evidently wasn’t going to get to sleep any time soon and so I put on my dressing gown and glasses and headed downstairs. Computer on, changes made, pages uploaded. Done in ten minutes. Except, being me, I had to just check the counter, email Lauren and look at the news before finally heading back to bed another 15 minutes later.

The moral of the story? Don’t befriend people who live in other time zones. Oh, and don’t be a nut like me. Stay in bed.

Little tiny weeny carrots

So now the carrots have appeared too. As of Saturday morning I have 12 broad beans, 5 potatoes and a little feathery line of carrot seedlings. Oh, and a couple of beautifully compacted areas of earth where I keep walking on it to carry out my inspections.

Last night Mum helped me mix my compost up a bit. It’s a good idea to aerate it, mix things together and spread the heat around. I have a few piles of grass clippings in there that will be generating more heat than other elements, so I wanted to share that decomposing magic a little.

Now, other people may well have bought themselves a compost bin. Perhaps even one of those compost bins that you can tumble on its own stand. Not me. I bought a water butt – partly because it was one of the few things available that wasn’t bigger than me.

The “bonus” about this water butt however is that I can unscrew the tap at the bottom of it to let any accumulated liquid and confused woodlice drain out. And when I did that last night for the first time I discovered that this dark brown liquid absolutely stinks. But anyway, once the evil compost wee was disposed of I manhandled the heavy bin out onto the lawn, where Mum and I turned it onto its side and rolled it up and down the grass, tumbling everything together inside. Well, it will have given the worms something to think about if nothing else.

Things are growing

We’ve had a beautiful few days here. The kind where I get dressed in the morning for my office on the cold side of the house, only to go outside to do an errand and nearly pass out in the heat – and then come the evening I need to change my clothes as the sun comes round to shine a last few rays on my side of the house. The kind where I have to stumble about with my watering can quenching the thirst of my newly flourishing vegetable patch. As of this morning the garlic are looking robust, two potatoes have emerged, lots of onions are sprouting, a couple of broad beans have come to light … and there is no sign of the carrots as yet. On the other hand the weeds along the edge of the patch are thriving beautifully.

I popped up to London yesterday to see my consultant. All is well as this tiny dose of medication I’m on seems to have sorted me out (touch wood) (hello, superstition that grew during my hospital stay 8 years ago). I don’t need another checkup until next year now. Mum and I took the train up from Sevenoaks and as we went up the slope into the station I spied an uneaten apple, abandoned on the wall. Poor apple, I thought, just think what fun it would have with all the other fruits and vegetables in my compost bin. But I left it there on the wall. I know how you all like to judge and mock me for my passion for my ABILITY TO MAKE SOIL OUT OF FOOD AND GRASS AND STUFF, so I left it there. And picked it up on my way back.

Eviction

I had a feeling that you’re not meant to let old tubers grow … and when I checked in my books, I found I was right. So my male relatives may churlishly cheer, while the rest of you pansy-ass women can weep quietly at the eviction of this rogue potato. The haulm had already grown a couple of inches since I last photographed it, so it did seem a little mean to dig up the most robust and thriving thing in my patch. But baby, those are the rules. Fear not though, there are tiny signs of life elsewhere in the soil: a couple of broad beans are starting to show and several onions have sprouted, pushing bright green stems out beyond the papery brown skins.

The lambs in the field go bleat, bleat, bleat

Yesterday was a bank holiday – May is brilliant for such things – and I managed to tear myself away from my computer and get out into the wide world. The sun was shining, so I stole Dad’s 200mm lens and hightailed it on my bike to the field beyond the railway bridge in order to stalk the little lambykins.

We’ve had a bit of rain recently, so going under the bridge involved trailing through stinky mud with my bike. No way was I going to attempt to ride through it. I could just see what would happen, I’d get halfway and then get stuck and – inevitably – fall off. Out the other side the track and grass was somewhat drier.

The sheep were at first a little apprehensive of the newcomer with the muddy boots and bike, but I stuck around long enough that they began not to care. Tip to photographers: standing near the feed trough may well help. The lambs gamboled – as such creatures are wont to do – headbutted each other, bleated like fury when they became separated from their mothers (ie, lunch) , climbed on top of each other and occasionally stopped and stared right at me. Click on the photo above for the whole so-gosh-darned-cute set.