Snowdrops

These welcome harbingers of spring have been blooming since the end of December. I planted them last year in a pot on the patio, hoping that they would cheer me up during a dark cold January.

However today was mild and bright enough to saunter forth in a gilet, and any rain seemed to be confined to the hill near Biggar on which sat his Lordship eating his jam sandwiches. Dereliction of nursing duty comes at a price!

The reason I know about the rain is that he phoned me to see if I had managed single handedly to get out and perhaps do a spot of banana shopping.

No chance , I'm far too disabled to do any shopping ;) but I did manage of course to walk to our new favourite cafe near the canal and order the largest possible slice of fruit loaf and a latte. This was accomplished not only with one hand, but for free, so liberal have we been eating cakes and drinking coffee there before that I had FREE stamped on the last square of their loyalty card.

'Snowdrops' is what the Russians call the bodies of the homeless, drunks, or murder victims that have been buried in the snow during the winter and which float up into the light when the thaw arrives. It is also the title of a book by A.D. Miller set in Moscow.