Today I hoped to:
prune a camellia that has finished flowering and is now 20 feet tall.
transform an overgrown flowerbed to a neatly planted drift of pink ,white and blue.
write scintillatingly, eloquently for my blog and a chapter of my new book.
instead I have:
watched my mother growing pink in the June sunshine and turning the pages of Nick Hornby, ‘How to be Good,’
cooked a roast dinner and
pondered the similarities of writing and gardening: both can be put off indefinitely.
At least I did dig out two tree stumps that have been on the list for years.
(one big tick.)