Across the pond

The last stage of Spring has come with a great rush in the last few days. Last weekend I thought the beech tree had died. There was not a leaf in sight This morning it is covered by its summer green overcoat. And the huge old apple tree has produced splashes of pink, a long way from the kitchen sink. You can just about see them on my picture if you have a decent computer. And behind the chimney, impossible to photograph, a seagull has nested. Any day now we shall have the first seagulls born in the Obama age flying around the garden.

I have had no time to blog about Obama’s first hundred days. My priorities are to vanish the horrors in the garden. The old grey shed which is falling down. The bamboo which dominated one side of the garden and was suffocating other plants. And, sadly, the holly tree, because it lifting the paving slabs on my neighbour’s path. Hopefully it will survive replanting.

This morning it is more like mid-summer. The thermometer on the terrace was just over 60 degrees at 9 AM. Just the right kind of day for croissants for breakfast. We had got in a supply because we have a French family visiting. But Pere decided that in Britain he would do as the Brits do. So he sampled some of my black treacle on toast.