Seeking the seasons

The weather has been just shocking. Rain and the wildest of winds - enough to send my new potted willow tree half way down the garden, scattering it's pretty shades of grey pebbles (not those shades of grey) skyward; raining down like confetti whipped up in a mini garden maelstrom. I exaggerate a little bit, by maelstrom I mean that a few stones were flung across the garden but watching them tumble and turn in their tumult made me feel all the cosier, sat as I was in the safety of the kitchen. Still, it had to be rescued so I popped on my bright yellow sailors mac - you can't miss me in that, I'm a beacon of barminess in it, but I love it. My requirement at the time, was that I wanted to look like a fisherman. Don't ask me why, I was in Cornwall at the time and it was all stripey tops, denim, jute bags and the aforementioned jacket. By this you can tell that I can commit to a look. And it was strong. Very strong. Back to the garden and said willow tree was pu

My head is spinning today, I'm a whirligig of the dreaded big dark creeping through the night thoughts. If I'm honest, I want to hide under the duvet, which honestly again, I'll probably do for a bit later. But I will try the garden first. I trust it to offer me something. If nothing else, I'll be outside, I'll have moved and my scandi side tells me this in itself will help. It's a little chillier today and it takes a herculean effort. It's one of those lovely September days that requires a jumper and sunglasses, because the sun is there, streaming into my little green world. It is there! It takes me a while to step outside, I'm a bit slow on days like these and I'm jam-packed full of self-loathing for not grabbing this precious day. Nevertheless here I am and I want to try and make today OK or at least to be able to tell myself I've done something worthwhile. I decide to pick some of the late flowering big yellow daisies, I've j

All I want to eat are my home grown toms, sprinkled with a little salt on buttery bread. Or perhaps I'll savour these little plump gems with a lump of cheddar or cooked gently and covered in olive oil and oregano from the herb patch. They've done well the old toms; a few weeks ago I thought we were destined for fried green tomatoes, whistle stop café styley. Maybe I'd have to make my own pickle, a worrying thought for my loved ones as I'm really not the best chef. Lately I've been feeling a bit sick and I need my garden aid more than ever. The toms are a god send and I actually find I'm craving them. They are all I want. It's a joyful act bringing them inside too. Me and one of my cats, usually Ziggy oversee tomato production. First we sniff them and give them a gentle squeeze and then we declare them ready or not to pick. We've done very well this year, from early cherry toms in the hanging baskets - thanks Homebase, to the juicy heirloom va

Mornings used to be a little bit gruesome. My mind would be churning away with work, it was most likely that I wouldn't have had enough zzzzzs which meant I'd oversleep a bit, then it would be one big rush, all guns blazing to get out of the door and drive to work. I was a 9.05 girl. Yes one of those. Brekkie would be al desko and something grabbed, it was normal for most of us. These days, these happy freelance days, it's rare that I'm overtired, I don't really worry too much about my work being my own boss, but no matter what my circumstances, I don't think I'll ever truly be a morning person, but I'm working on it. I'm still trying to get it right and this is where my garden helps me and steps up to the plate. If I'm very honest with myself, I actually miss a little of that manic, blood pumping, shouty, sweary (I'm a morning delight) rush. I used to feel important, weirdly productive - I was needed somewhere. I'd told myself that