Mothering Sunday

These flowers were part of a display delivered yesterday, flat packed in a cardboard box and looking a little comatose. They were given the elixir of life in the form of a soluble  powder and  have sprung back into life. If only it were that simple for humans!


The tulips in the bunch came attached to bulbs which I was told to cut off and keep to plant on the patio.

It was such a lovely sunny morning at 7am that for the first time in months I felt the urge to get up and go for a whistle stop cycle round the marches. I haven’t been on my non-electric bike for a year, ever since I broke my ankle and it had come to the point where I couldn’t put it off any longer. I had to see what it felt like and not worry about hurting that ankle again by coming off awkwardly. Everything was fine and it was lovely to have the quiet early morning roads allowing me to negotiate the burgeoning number of potholes safely.

Coffee was with only one Merry Widow in an extremely busy Söderberg. I think many of the patrons looked like rugby tourists. We managed two hours which saw most of them off to pastures new.

Loathe to stay indoors when the weather outside was good although no longer sunny, I walked a circuit of the Meadows at what passes for elderly speed while fielding calls from some of the daughters. Porty daughter is cycling up to the Dower House later this afternoon. Perhaps I’ll share some of my newly purchased Irish liqueur with her.