Fig

These fig leaves are probably still too small to hide anything of import, but it's a delight to see them growing nontheless. I had worried that I'd planted the tree in a less than optimal position, but it seems to be thriving. I'll need to read up about whether these tiny figs are likely to become figs I can eat this year.

Up early to see Mr B off the premises and on his way to Scotland for a few days. This, of course, should leave me free to wander around the garden all day planting, mulching, pruning and gazing; but I have been left with a list of jobs in the house that even I have to agree are more important than potting up my sweet peas.

So, the day was spent at the top of a wobbly ladder washing the dining room from floor to ceiling, and then applying approximately two kilometres of masking tape around all the fiddly tapestry panels and cornicing. Although I'm too tired to get on with the painting tonight (which has the disadvantage that the walls will be festooned with fresh spiders' webs tomorrow) I couldn't resist a patch test of Mr B's chosen colour. Very scary. As is usually the case when we choose anything other than white or cream, I fear it will be too dark. But I will keep the faith as Mr B is usually right about these things.

This afternoon I had the joy of looking after all the neighbourhood kids - two of them officially, and the rest just drifted and joined us. Snack time was like a pack of pirhanas descending on the kitchen in search of everything chocolatey. Mind you, I'd have happily kept all the other kids and let my grumpy pair sleep elsewhere tonight. We have a pact to have a friendlier day tomorrow. Here's hoping.