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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Amazing what a difference a whole day of proper sunlight makes. It’s like the world has remembered it’s supposed to be full of vernal promise, blossoming and all that spritely head-tossing dance thing.

AND, it’s two days to the weekend.

The only sound uplifting enough to begin to track this mood of joy:

Water dissolving and water removing…

Linked articles from the BBC and PLOS ONE science journal bring interesting tales from beneath the ice at Lake Vostok, Antarctica.

Which suggested a Neil Young tune:

Of course, these seemingly disparate, obscure materials could be precursors to the discovery of chilling cyclopean statues detailing nameless forms from beyond geometry…

…but let’s just go back to that ice for a second… perhaps some tonic… mmmm.

Station ident: Tuesday 9th July 2013. The Mortal Bath is liking it hot, sunny and quiet in York. May your day be merry and bright.

Fantastic – it’s a sunny morning in east London, not a single cloud in the sky, West End Girls on the radio, lovely breeze wafting in from the balcony…

the view

the view

Up absurdly early, for a Saturday, but it’s the Bank Holiday weekend and so excitement reigns. Plotting shopping lists of herbs and spices and brown rice and shopping trollies and sex toys and quinoa and pots for plants on the balcony and EVERYTHING. Excitement reigns

[tedious music commentary]
Listening to 6 Music through the freeview box, and Iyare was playing some interesting music, as well as the new Arctic Monkeys song Crying Lightning, which sounds kind of entirely like Space, sorry Monkeys, but there it is, and announcing that Noel Gallagher has quit Oasis with great relief (not as great as ours, Noel, let me assure you, seeing as it was all finished when the career full stop of ‘Acquiesce’ was made) then, joy of joys, Adam and Joe are finally back off holiday to save us from hopeless twunt Danny Wallace. It’s all very schmindie, but schmindie has at least got a bit of ein groovybeat ja on now, in places, you know, like robot electropop from 1984? So yeah.

Enjoy Boggins! Wuzza.
[/tedious music commentary]

It’s THE BANK HOLIDAY WEEKEND, and excitement reigns.