Sing a rainbow...

Day one of my weekend screeched to a halt when the rain tipped up (tipped being the precise word as I bent over my border trying to extract a rather reluctant nettle from its family home, where three generations of nettles have lived in isolated splendour).  

I'd hit the garden centre on the way to family breakfast, so the bootfull of plants were now in the borders, the weeds were a thing of the past (except for the buttercups which got a stay of execution as they add some well needed colour) and I all I need to do now is just wait for the full explosion of colour round June (I am hoping the colours will be pink, yellow and red, and not a mixture of brown as the plants wither and die though).

I was with Mrs S on Thursday, and I chanced to say that I had planted some holly hocks in my borders.  'You're brave', she said, 'you know they can grow up to 8' tall don't you?'  Well of course I didn't, so these were dug up yesterday and re-positioned at the back of the border against the fence, rather than in a small pot on the patio.  I must learn to look at that daft bit of plastic in the pots instead of just thinking I know what I'm doing.  If I'd left them there, they might have wiped out the conservatory in a stiff wind.

The good news is that daughter number two has started to feel a bit better, but I am concerned that this might be a false start on the recuperation front.  Her slight improvement goes against everything ever written on the subject of tonsil removal, and I am putting it down to the calm before the storm. So the sou'wester and wellies are ready at the front door along with a 48 packet of ibuprofen and some odd mouth wash which numbs anything it comes into contact with.

Let's see what Sunday brings...