Weather for Chickens - Permutations 1

I am not a summer person; I also know we haven’t quite got there yet except meteorologically, but yesterday and Thursday we definitely had the kind of day that passes for summer in these islands. I am itching already and the bits of me that have caught the sun are turning spotty. I can’t abide getting sweaty just breathing.

 It has to be said, however, that you get a better class of weeds in summer than at any other time. 

I had an errand at the other end of the village, all of ten minutes walk away if you use the High Street, but I chose the scenic route, which takes another five minutes each way. and to distract myself from the heat of the morning I took pictures, while dodging sunlit open spaces and seeking any kind of shade I could find along the way. Millie came too and she was huffing and puffing, her tongue flopping at the side of her mouth and her pace leisurely. No mad dashing about following smells, more a patient and long-suffering acceptance expressed in every flap of ear and flick of tail. A less superior being would have raised its eyes and sighed deeply at the imposition.

Not exactly a weed, this laburnum tree, but there it was, hanging over the wall by the petrol station. Yes we have one of those; it sells bread and a few other kinds of long-life groceries and you can rent videos too.  Although the pumps are set in concrete, the surrounding yard is tufty grass and there is a flower bed in front of it and round the back and sides you have hedges. And a laburnum tree. Gardener calls it Chains.There is a big shed where you have repairs done and buy 4x4s and trucks, old ones, of course. A small Jack Russell, one of the yapping, bossy kind, guards the forecourt. I am surprised to see he has lasted as long as he has without getting squashed. I don’t like Jack Russells, they attack Millie.

Gardener isn’t very well again. I rang his wife this morning to see if he was coming and she said “oh no, he won’t”. Bang, just like that. She sounded really cross. “Oh?” I said, putting a whole questionnaire into the sound.

“He’s not well, he’s had a turn.”
“What kind of turn?” She really was making me earn every utterance.
“Same as before.” She was unbending just a smidgen. “He hasn’t worked all week.”
“Has he seen a doctor?”
“No”,  a bark; back to basics.
“Can’t you send him?”
“No.”
“Have your tried?”
“No, I’ve given up on him. He’s worked too much, and when he works, he works like a maniac. Just won’t listen. I’ve given up.”

Since the weather has warmed up I’ve noticed Gardener sitting down more. You are my witness, I have said before that he’s not the man he used to be. And I’ve been happy to sit with him. Neither am I the woman I once was.

What with Gardener and Paul’s frequent ’turns’ not much gets done.  It seems to be time that I hired myself a gardener, a fit and able one who will last at least as long as me. Number three. I’ll try not to get confused. Poor Austin, I shall miss him. Dreadfully. I love the contrary old goat. (Did you notice I called him by his name? First time ever)

Anyway I am still on my errand. Right opposite the garage, in  Hospital Lane, on the wall surrounding the Methodist Church, a whole long and wide swathe of campanula has taken up residence without a by-your-leave. Nobody’s planted it, it just arrived years ago and has settled in nicely, thank you. It probably escaped from somebody’s rockery originally and cannot be called a weed either.

That reminds me, this was to be a post about weeds, among other things. I’ll have to come back to you on that. Tomorrow. I wonder how many posts I can get out of a 30 minutes’ walk.