John Pidge Reporting For Duty

We are very lucky to have a large garden, which has meant that we really have stayed at home for the last three weeks. Hearth-Father has done our shopping, and I have taken the dog for a short walk most days.

The kids actually haven't been anywhere at all since schools closed. Gilby came with me on a short dog walk for the first time in the week and returned home boasting to his siblings, 'I've walked on actual pavement!'

So life beats to a far gentler rhythm. But there have been some home improvements. Or at least some gardeny ones: the lockdown has thus far generated a new garage roof, a revitalised rockery and a reseeded garden lawn. 

(The proposed 'deep clean' of the house room by room has temporarily been put on hold due to inclement weather. Inclement weather for cleaning the house, that is - it's been glorious in sunny Sussex, so all activities have been directed outside. Not complaining.)

But the pigeons, it has to be said, are no great respectors of a reseeded lawn. In fact, given the numbers in which they are congregating (with no regard whatsoever for social distancing), I can only conclude that it must simply look like a luxury banquet of the pigeon variety. We have had trouble keeping them off and trouble keeping Hearth-Father calm as he sees his work undone and flaps around the garden chasing them off.

Enter John Pidge, as our scarecrow has been affectionately named.

Although he may display a 'touch of the Isadora Duncans' as one FB friend kindly put it, he did take a morning's enthusiastic creating and was installed at around midday yesterday.

And Hearth-Father has just returned from his morning pitch inspection with a broad smile and a thumbs up, so our new family member must be doing his job. 'Outstanding,' is the verdict.

Currently reading:  Can you ever forgive me? Memoirs of a Literary Forger by Lee Israel. 

Storm Katie and the Easter Bunny

Good Friday saw us enjoying our first al fresco lunch of the year.  In the garden, tablecloths ahoy. The daffodils were dancing and the light was glorious. Might we even need some sunscreen? Summer was so coming.

Easter Saturday was wet and wild and the Easter bunny was definitely doing her work indoors on Easter Sunday itself.

By Easter Monday morning Storm Katie had done her work. Two fence panels needed replacing, the trampoline had battled the acer in the garden (it was a comprehensive victory for the trampoline) and we were without power for many hours. It felt like a return to the dark ages.

The only thing missing was the snow - I think that last happened at Easter in 2012.



Currently reading: Year of Wonders: A Novel of the Plague by Geraldine Brooks

How Do You Eat Yours?

Eddie would not, it's fair to say, fare well in the infamous 'marshmallow test'.

After his Easter Egg hunt he was allowed to choose one thing to eat straight away.  He promptly selected the largest egg, sat in the middle of the kitchen floor and ate the whole thing top down without pause.

Later, when he was having a tantrum - can't remember what it was about, but it would have been something like having the wrong-coloured straw in his drink or having been given the Octonauts plate instead of the tractor one, that sort of thing - I made the mistake of saying, "I think chocolate makes you grumpy."

He stopped sobbing for a moment, looked me squarely in the eye and replied. "No, it doesn't. You make me grumpy." Which rather told me.

Happy Easter!


Currently reading: The Lie by Helen Dunmore