Sunday, Sunday

I have to admit it - I find it hard to do any writing at the weekends. There's just so much else to do, and so much else that needs doing.

Today has been a garden day. Sadly our cabbages seem to be succumbing to cabbage root fly - the little sods have destroyed half a dozen already.

happy cabbage

What were once proud green leafy clumps have slowly wilted away to nothing. Pulling them up revealed a mass of wriggling maggoty evil curled around the rotted root. We always grow too many cabbages, so maybe this year we'll have just the right amount. Or none at all. It's never been a problem here before, so I suspect the bastards have come in on some bought in plants. Always start from seed.

sad cabbage

The great potato experiment is going well, though. We're two tyres high now and greenery is abundant.

no digging required

In the polytunnel, the Charlottes are almost ready for harvesting. Mmmm.

Tatws Blodyn

We have a visitor coming in the middle of the week, so most of this afternoon was spent tidying the sloven in which we live into something that's not too embarrassing to be seen. Mostly I blame the dogs - they never wipe their feet.

Cardooms

And so it is now bed time and I have written no words. Much like last Sunday. Ah well, I'll just have to make up for it through the week. We're promised rain tonight, so maybe my head will clear a little too.

Sniff, sniff.