There Is A Garden Out There – And Its Name is ‘Hell’
It’s that time of year here in the U.K.
As I write the sun is shining, the days are getting longer and there’s a buzz in the air. (Remind me to get the electrician in to re-wire the house)….yes, spring approacheth. Well, in a month or so anyway. Time to take a look through the window at…..the garden from hell.
Actually, it’s not that bad, but it will require urgent attention soon. It will definitely eat into my ‘writing hours’.
As far as writing is concerned I quite like winter and the dark nights. I enjoy bunkering down, drawing the curtains, igniting an extra bar on the two bar electric fire and huddling over a warm computer for warmth and comfort. (Remind me to give that woman a phonecall who is always friendly and chatty in the butcher’s). I digress again.
No, I really do like winters. I write better in cold weather. That bunkering down mentality seems to bring out the best in me. If there is such a thing.
Spring and Summer are time thieves. They demand attention. (Remind me not to give that woman in the butcher’s a phonecall).
The garden will cry out for some TLC and will not stop. Even if I draw the curtains it will still be out there – sulking.
Worse still, I can already hear the evil roots of that Triffid-like alien plant that lives in my soil twisting and flexing its limbs. Within weeks it will be at it again strangling the life out of my sweet peas. I hate gardens. Well actually that’s not strictly true. I quite like gardens. Other people’s.
So here in the U.K. it’s time to get writing projects finished, illustrations done, books published, before the spring and summer set in and I am obliged to, dare I say it, venture outside into the real world and do some gardening. Roll on November.