Today I should have spent the first part of the morning making cheese straws, and then gone to a recital of baroque music, but my cold is runnier than ever and I did neither. In the garden the camellias and witch hazels are coming out, but all I've seen of them is a quick glimpse when tottering out to switch the heaters on and off. That's the third day of my life that I won't see again. Although the Systems Administrator says the time to start worrying about my health is when I stop grumbling, so on that basis the SA is pretty relaxed so far.
I have been reading Margaret Willes' The Gardens of the British Working Class in a slow and ineffectual way, and wonder whether the influx of Dutch protestant immigrants to East Anglia in the second half of the sixteenth century that she describes is one reason why in the following half century it tended to the puritan side in the civil war.
And that's it, really, as I haven't done or seen anything to blog about. Nothing will come from nothing.
My nose hurts.
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