Hottest day of the year so far, and some quality time in various zones of the outside space.

Sitting admiring the lawn, which you may recall has Elton John plugs, in this image from just after the washing line. When we moved in, the paving on the left was buried, and the top end of the garden was enjoying the aftermath of a particularly large pallet/miscellany fire. The turf transplant appears to be taking, and the rest of it, reseeded, was enjoying the light.


Buoyed by this success, and mindful of the poor state of affairs in the neglected veg-patch-to-be, I have started grafting bits from there into the area where the chickens will be.


Given the fondness of poultry for destroying grass, this might seem a bit like just making more work for myself, but it all makes a difference. The dense foliage to the left and rear will probably keep them busy for a bit too, although I’m a little uneasy it’ll turn out to be something deeply unpleasant for chickens.

“Yeah, that’s Fowl’s Blight, mate.”
“I knew that was going to happen.”

Which I will of course be double checking on before installing any actual hens.

Finally on the garden agenda today, getting rid of piles of nicely dried branches in a satisfyingly long-lasting inferno.


No notebooks today, but I did consign a list of minor grievances to the blaze. So therapeutic! The fire brings forgiveness and forgetting with its destructive vigour.

Next week: How not to make dandelion wine.