Birds and no bees

We were supposed to have sunshine yesterday, but I was quite cold, and disappointed that it wasn’t more spring-like. Nevertheless, the crocuses have all come up and in addition, there are a few snowdrops, polyanthus and the first flower on our camellia. Camellias are amazing – such big, bright red flowers at this time of year seem quite inappropriate. Nevertheless, I do love the purple crocuses. The colour is indescribable and when there’s a mass of them, I just have to stand and stare at them.

It’s also nice to see the birds outside my kitchen window. They were absent right up until the recent cold weather, even though I was throwing out wild bird food. (I think the squirrels were eating that.) Then when the frost and snow arrived, I cut up some French bread and threw it on to the patio. Even though the wild bird has healthy seeds and nuts in it, they obviously preferred the refined white bread, and a blackbird and robin are now regularly pecking around. This is the time of year when Freddie the pheasant first arrived in our garden. It’s actually three years ago, and he repeated his visit the following year. But he hasn’t come since and I suspect he’s been the main course on someone’s table.

I had a friend for lunch (something of a burnt offering, since I’m still getting the hang of my combination microwave) on Tuesday, and we chatted for some time. So not a lot was done. Then our monthly Goldenford meeting in the evening. Irene (www.myspace.com/ireneblack) was absent due to a broken arm, but with us in spirit. Anne (www.myspace.com/annebrooke) arrived with copies of her new poetry collection, A Stranger’s Table. I have been reading my signed copy and am full of admiration for Anne’s language. Anne’s novel A Dangerous Man is also out now, published by Flamebooks and is getting a good press.

I woke up this morning and when I eventually found my way to the mirror discovered that one eye is completely bloodshot. Now I have to go to Sainsbury’s and no doubt will get sympathetic looks, (Poor thing – must have a husband who beats her.) as it is really startling.
My letters are ready to go too, in particular my short story offering to Writers’ News. Unfortunately, I didn’t finish the story I started last week and the deadline is probably today or tomorrow, or possibly yesterday. It doesn’t really matter, because in my mind it petered out. I wasn’t borne along by the story, and stopped trying. Maybe I can get back to my novel for next week’s Guildford Writers.

I understand that Valentine’s day happened a couple of days ago. Did I get flowers/chocolates/card? No. And I didn’t send them either. M is not a romantic in that sense and can’t remember where he’s going on any particular day. So why should he remember Valentine’s? Wasn’t there an apocryphal story of someone who arrived at his destination and sent a telegram home: ‘Have arrived in Derby. Where should I be?’ That sounds like M, although he’s quite likely not to realise he should be somewhere else.