Those horsetails are bastards, aren't they? Survivors from the cretaceous, apparently. Bastards, anyhow. Bullying my fennel, bothering my onions, and pissing off my potatoes. Dad's been keeping things together for me, but turn your back for a few days and the weeds start owning the place.
The good news is, thirty of the black currant cuttings I put in last winter have taken, so there are thirty new bushes in the offing. A dozen elder trees, ditto.
I'm knackered now, only a couple of hours work. That's because I've had no real exercise for the last two months. Ah well, schwey-schwey.
New blogroll policy: twelve blogs. Anybody gets irksome or boring, then away they go. Greengalloway, for example, looked promising, but posted nowt for a week, so he's away. Incurable-hippy, on the other hand, has a fantastically unexpected post on Christian tattoos. Brilliant. And Dawdon has such good pictures, and such a homely feel.