It's amazing what a bit of sun and warmth does for your soul. It's worked wonders for mine I must say. I've been outside as much as possible these past few days, soaking up the vitamin D and dreaming about wafting spires of pollinator friendly flowers in the garden. We have already had some visitors; a few ladybirds, big, fat, drowsy bumbles, honey bees and other flying lovelies. Even a small tortoiseshell flew past the front of the house at the weekend. Yesterday I was sat in the conservatory having my mid morning cup of builder's tea, listening to a Mistle Thrush singing his heart out. He was sat in the plum tree and bold as brass. I've always thought of them as timid birds. In fact thy are normally chased away by the territorial Blackbird. But this one was doing his thing with gay abandon. It was wonderful.
The frogs have laid their eggs, and the pond is awash with spawn. Olly and me have paid daily visits to check their progress. There are newts in the pond, and we fear that they will devour the tadpoles. They did last year. I get the feeling that Olly would quite like to see this in action, but is sparing my feelings and pretending to be concerned about those poor dots encased in their jelly sacs. As he gets older, my boy is displaying those ancient male characteristics that sent them running down the hills from their forts into battle. He loves a scrap, and these days it's all about death and destruction, I'm afraid.
Olly turns six tomorrow. I can hardly believe it. Six is a very grown up number, don't you think? He's getting tall. His legs are growing long and lanky, like both his brothers. He is fab at reading, but crap at spelling. It's boring, apparently. I agree. He is maturing emotionally, and has a tight little circle of school friends. His best friend, Finley is coming for birthday tea. I say tea. I'm taking them to MacDonald's. They've discussed their menu options in great depth. They both want a McFlurry, and are hopeful there will be balloons. He has Lego (more Lego), some Minecraft figures and a new ball. He lost his old one over the cliff edge at Godrevy, on Sunday. The pictures above are from then (you can see the ball in the picture of Olly and the caterpillar). Honestly there I am berating the world and his wife about the amount of filthy plastic in our seas, and then we go and plop a great sphere of the stuff into it.
We did climb down the cliff to see whether we could find it. But to no avail. I'm hoping that it washed in on the tide, and some other child retrieved it and took it home. That would be the best ending all round. Because honestly the amount of plastic that has been washed up onto the beaches lately has been horrific. We've had extremes of tides, and that combined with some rough seas has hurled all this plastic stuff up and out of the sea. Last week I saw toothbrushes, lighters, dummies, shoe inserts and lots of bright pink plastic that is probably those Vanish bottles breaking up in the water. They were washed ashore on the East coast, but have obviously travelled around and are now being dumped on the West.
I do my bit to clean and take some of it home, but the other day it was overwhelming awful. I decided to see how much I could collect from a small area in fifteen minutes. It was staggering how much there was. And this was just the stuff I could readily see and pick up. Look closer, and there was hundreds of teeny tiny bits. It doesn't degrade. It just becomes microscopic dust. It gets into the food chain. It causes untold damage. You already know all of this of course. But boy does it make my blood boil to see it. When I took Honey for a walk on the beach this afternoon, it was pristine. The sea has swallowed it all up again, and carried it back out to its' depths. Poor sea. A passer by commented about how at least Porthmeor was looking nice for the Easter visitors. That's not quite the point, I thought. I guess it's all out of sight, out of mind for some.
My sweet peas are gambolling away in the greenhouse. I'm hopeful that there were soon be Dahlia seedlings joining them. I've never grown Dahlias from seed before, but thought I'd have a go. The back of the packet blurbed about polythene and constant temperatures. I've flown in the face of convention, and popped a bit of plastic (plastic!!) on top of the seed trays. I'm a lucky gardener, so I reckon it will do the trick. I've been planting out a big border at the bottom of the garden. It was made inadvertently last year, when we cut away some rotten decking. I've transferred some shrubs from elsewhere in the garden, popped in loads of perennials that I have been stockpiling and also most of the Foxgloves seedlings that have sprouted up down the side of the house. I'm hoping to pop in plants to try and attract different types of butterfly. We did quite well last year with our fluttery visitors. I counted eight different types. But I reckon we could do better this year. Any suggestions, CT?
My trials and tribulations with technology continue. I now have a new phone, but it doesn't recognise my Microsoft account, and so I cannot install any apps. This means that I am without Instagram, and people, I am bereft. I love my little world of IG, and all those lovely squares. And I am missing the lovely people that I have connected with there. I've likened it to popping my head over the garden wall to say hello. I'm missing doing that. I'm missing people saying hello back. I'm wondering how they all are, and I'm missing those gorgeous mantel displays. You all know how I envy those with a mantel.
This morning my iron pressed it's last shirt. It started smoking ominously in my hand, and so I did what every government information advert from the seventies told you NOT to do; I threw it out of the back door. It was only last week that my hair dryer literally blew up in my hand, so I was taking no chances. My bedroom carpet bears the blackened scars of that incident. Alfie was appalled. He was waiting his turn, so that he could do that quiffy thing to his hair that teenage boys aspire to these days. I wish he would aspire to something a little more worthy. But what do I know? I'm happy if I leave the house in the morning with my bra on frankly. Most days I can't be arsed.
Finally I'd like to thank you all for your wonderful responses regarding my fear of invisibility. You do flatter me with your conviction that I most definitely am not. I certainly wasn't yesterday when I did the mother of all falls up the flight of steps leading to Olly's classroom. My friend Caroline laughed the loudest. Mrs Pulley the longest.
Right I'm off to blow up balloons. I bloody hate balloons.
Have a lovely rest of your week.