nearly May

The last petals from the Magnolia tree have fallen. They brown at the edges, curling up the last of their pinkness.
The primroses have outgrown their flowers and the little blue forget-me-nots are now taking over.
I have got bulbs and onions, petunia and garlic to plan’ but can’t get out there for the love of Mike. Rain, work, too many good books o read.
I wondered if I were Victoria Coren, with the winning poker face and Oxbridge husband, would I still feel the need to garden, or would I employ a man with a leather apron and green fingers.
I always thought of gardening as a job for the old but I’m beginning to see that Gods own earth can be an antidote for all sorts, like Vat investigations to fighting cats.
The sun came and went, the rain toussled down, the earth looks deeply brown and I’m full of yoga. Finally back in the hot studio after Easter.
So how was Easter for you?
Jimbob came home very late Thursday night, and we slept in on Good Friday. Then he went back very early on Saturday to finish his final two plays in Coventry. He got home at 2.00 on Saturday early morning. 6 hours driving, four hours acting….Unlike the other poor soul from Coventry who is being held in Sir Lanka for having a tattoo of the Buddha on her arm. There are worse things she could have had inked on her arm like. MOM or HATE….
Funny old world, fighting and scrapping whilst the rest of a us worry about their fighting and scrapping in wars that nobody wins.
Sussex has finished. I’m totally confident that I will be back, It was a wonderful gig; the aftermath is no coffee from COCAO the brilliant little coffee shop next to the BBC studio. I now have a de-tox-de-caff-head resulting in screwed up eyes and furrowed brow.
Since then I have been writing. The first episode of a new comedy drama that I’m shaping at my writing course. Two night ago the old man and I sat in the kitchen, pencils draw, and read it from start to finish, 47 pages of…..well I’ll know when I send it in on Sunday whether its a work of art a pages of drivel.
Thursday its an art exhibition in Soho, the creative bandage after the artist’s son was killed by a lorry in Devon. A pheasant jumped out of the hedge, and the rest was too gruesome to even think about. Jane has pulled herself back from the brink by making FOUND furniture. Scraps of this and bits of that, old piano keys and rotting wood. Wonderful pieces of love and pain.
I am now going to invent a new timetable. Something that fills the days, the mind and the senses.
It may even be gardening God Help me….