The hellibore (above) is just flowering and I have some pale lime coloured hellibores with smaller pendulous flowers which are just peeping out and adding a bright splash of almost white/green in a still relatively dull coloured garden. The roses I have in two pots are into leaf with new shoots a couple of inches long already.
We bought a couple of house plants today to replace one which is long past its best which we haven't got rid of but now graces the greenhouse. The rest have been repotted, trimmed and tidied and there is a general feeling of a refreshing time in the immediate future.
My itinerent life is continuing next week with a course on the Freedom of Information Act which means two nights away in Cheshire, somewhere I visited many years ago and about which I can remember nothing of interest. Our hotel is in Crewe, a place I've never been I think and of course about which there are many music hall jokes to be told and songs to be sung. I'm sure it's nice, the hotel looks fabulous.
Oh! Mister Porter, what shall I do?
I want to go to Birmingham
And they're taking me on to Crewe.
Send me back to London
As quickly as you can
Oh! Mister Porter, what a silly girl I am.
This is a chorus of Oh! Mr Porter, a song written by Thomas Le Brunn, and composed by George Le Brunn from as far back at 1893. It's the story of Mary Ann who visits her Aunt in London and who got on the wrong train to get back to her home in Birmingham. Crewe is famed I guess for being a town with a major rail interchange hence why, as the main form of national transport in late Victorian times it would attract a lot of interest.
My thoughts this weekend will be with the people of Japan and other places in the Pacific who have suffered and will continue to suffer from the devasting effects of the earthquake and the subsequent tsunami. The pictures from the television have been both dramatic and almost surreal.
The power of the water captured by helicopter film is extraordinary and it takes some comprehension when you see whole houses being carried away on the tides of destruction and ships weighing many thousands of tonnes on shore; burning wreckage moving along with the detritus caught in the incoming tide miles in-land. I'm almost in tears writing this.
I'm just about to start reading this afternoon a new book which I am reading as part of a new 'book club' created and founded by fellow blogger Diane.
The Crow Road by Iain Banks, a Scottish writer of whom I know nothing has some rave reviews of the book which was adapted for television in late 1996.
Hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend.
Chat soon
Ta-ra.
