Dydd Gwyl Dewi Sant

March 1st. It had to be daffodils - or did it? Tradition has it that it was wild leeks that St David told his followers to pluck and wear to distinguish themselves in battle from the Saxon invaders. Certainly, in my 1950s village school, children would arrive in the morning sporting whole leeks which, by going-home time, had been nibbled down to the root. (A practice that amazed me, as a picky eater.)

But daffs are more user-friendly, it's true, and I went off this morning wearing one for another stint of leafletting, in the hope of alerting the local population that there IS a referendum in Wales on Thursday and that they can vote YES to give the Welsh Assembly more autonomy from Westminster. Which reminds me that it was Tony Blair who said NO to a public holiday on St David's Day, against the desire of 87% of Welsh people.

Nevertheless, in Welsh primary schools this day still sees small children arrive dressed in 'traditional' costume: little girls all dimples and mob caps under a tall black hat, along with apron and flannel skirt; little boys dressed as farmers or rugby players(!). For me, with two sons, this meant a last-minute scramble for flat cap, waistcoat and corduroys for one, and a stripy top for the other. (They did look adorable.)

In this shot there are two items from the past: an old-fashioned tin bath that I acquired somewhere, identical to the one I remember being washed in in front of the fire, screaming blue murder as water was poured over my head, and my father's garden trowel which I still use and which must have been purchased around 1950 when stainless steel tools were a novelty. It's still the best and cuts into the soil like butter. (The grid is to prevent the chickens scratching up the bulbs in search of worms.)