Frost and Whisky of a Sunday
First real frost of the winter. To the left is a photo of the cuttings from the fruit bushes, which I'm leaving put until spring, as a refuge for anything that needs it over the cold months, and then it'll be firewood. The allotment I used to share with Dad, when I moved north of the border he started to share with a family. They're bloody good gardeners. Disapprove of glyphosate, yet there's not a weed in sight. Anyway, one of them makes wood burning stoves out of calor gas bottles. I've put in a request for one, and that's what all this wood is for. Of course, I have to sort the shed out before I can put a stove in, and I'm too busy now to be drinking tea. But next winter will be slower. The ground was frozen, but only and inch or two down. So I set about the fruit bushes again. It's a bugger. My theory of what's happened is: bushes were planted some years ago, and everything was fine. But when The Predecessor, (I'm going to refer to him as...