Blowy
Yesterday, it poured down all morning. On the plus side, the Aga Man came, and now my bum warmer is back in action. I suspect that, when he next comes to service it, we'll need to arrange to be busy doing other things: he charges by the hour, and never stopped talking (except possibly while he was using the vacuum cleaner. I couldn't be sure, though). I suspect that the bill will be smaller if he doesn't have an audience to pontificate to....
On the plus side, the sun came out after lunch. I double-checked the rain radar, and popped out with the pooch. Mrs Next Door had had the same idea (even though Mr Next Door has banned her from going up there on her own, now that the baby's dropped), so we had a nice walk in the woods.
When we got back, I guilt-tripped Mike (and myself) into jumping on the boys so that they could get a bit of exercise:
I was a little concerned that, when Mike asked for a canter transition, the Baby threw a tiny buck and then carried on as before: he's done it to me a couple of times, but always then picked up the canter immediately, so I was working on the basis that it was only a tiny buck and we could get rid of it later when the canter was more reliable. I'm alarmed that he's doing it and then not striking off, though, and worry that he's going to learn to use it as an evasion when Mike's on him. Will discuss with the riding instructor tomorrow, assuming that the sleet forecast goes away and we actually have a lesson.
Today, it's rather blustery out there: it was definitely one of those days when I wished that the speaker on my iPhone went up to eleven had another notch. Sheila Dillon on the Food Programme was ok just about ok, but Helen Mark on Open Country is very softly spoken, and I gave up after about ten minutes when the only thing I'd actually managed to take in was that someone had carved a statue out of local stone. In the time since we got back, it's got distinctly gloomy, so I would imagine that the rain will be here shortly. The boys, naturally, are not out, poor things.
Now then, sweet peas. I planted some in the autumn, as Country Life told me that I'd get much better results if I did (I'm going to plant some more, possibly this afternoon, to compare), and they came up nicely and started sprawling over the table looking worryingly healthy. Then they stopped growing and just had a rest, but now they're going a bit pale and fragile looking:
(Ignore the failed attempt at winter salad on down the side of the table: that was planted too late to be viable, I fear. It came up nicely and then immediately keeled over from lack of light.)
I note that the most pathetic looking ones (and bits of ones: some have one tendril that's very perky and one that's all shrivelled) are both nearer to the closest window and furthest from what little sun they get. I'm assuming it's one or more of too cold, not enough sun, too much water, not enough water, needing feeding and being pot-bound*, but would anyone like to take a punt at which, so that I can try to perk them up, or at least stop the rest of them from going all sad?
* I couldn't find the tall pots that you're supposed to use in the local garden centre.
Mike's off in London, today, so I'm mostly hoping that nothing happens to disrupt his journey home (eg, tree across the High Speed lines, sink hole opening up on the other of the two nearby motorways). The rain's started, now, so I think that pooch and I will have a fire and stay close to home for the rest of the day.
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comment(s). Add comments here or there, if you feel like it.
On the plus side, the sun came out after lunch. I double-checked the rain radar, and popped out with the pooch. Mrs Next Door had had the same idea (even though Mr Next Door has banned her from going up there on her own, now that the baby's dropped), so we had a nice walk in the woods.
When we got back, I guilt-tripped Mike (and myself) into jumping on the boys so that they could get a bit of exercise:
I was a little concerned that, when Mike asked for a canter transition, the Baby threw a tiny buck and then carried on as before: he's done it to me a couple of times, but always then picked up the canter immediately, so I was working on the basis that it was only a tiny buck and we could get rid of it later when the canter was more reliable. I'm alarmed that he's doing it and then not striking off, though, and worry that he's going to learn to use it as an evasion when Mike's on him. Will discuss with the riding instructor tomorrow, assuming that the sleet forecast goes away and we actually have a lesson.
Today, it's rather blustery out there: it was definitely one of those days when I wished that the speaker on my iPhone went up to eleven had another notch. Sheila Dillon on the Food Programme was ok just about ok, but Helen Mark on Open Country is very softly spoken, and I gave up after about ten minutes when the only thing I'd actually managed to take in was that someone had carved a statue out of local stone. In the time since we got back, it's got distinctly gloomy, so I would imagine that the rain will be here shortly. The boys, naturally, are not out, poor things.
Now then, sweet peas. I planted some in the autumn, as Country Life told me that I'd get much better results if I did (I'm going to plant some more, possibly this afternoon, to compare), and they came up nicely and started sprawling over the table looking worryingly healthy. Then they stopped growing and just had a rest, but now they're going a bit pale and fragile looking:
(Ignore the failed attempt at winter salad on down the side of the table: that was planted too late to be viable, I fear. It came up nicely and then immediately keeled over from lack of light.)
I note that the most pathetic looking ones (and bits of ones: some have one tendril that's very perky and one that's all shrivelled) are both nearer to the closest window and furthest from what little sun they get. I'm assuming it's one or more of too cold, not enough sun, too much water, not enough water, needing feeding and being pot-bound*, but would anyone like to take a punt at which, so that I can try to perk them up, or at least stop the rest of them from going all sad?
* I couldn't find the tall pots that you're supposed to use in the local garden centre.
Mike's off in London, today, so I'm mostly hoping that nothing happens to disrupt his journey home (eg, tree across the High Speed lines, sink hole opening up on the other of the two nearby motorways). The rain's started, now, so I think that pooch and I will have a fire and stay close to home for the rest of the day.
This entry was originally posted at http://flick.dreamwidth.org/937359.html, where it has
comment(s). Add comments here or there, if you feel like it.