I am thoroughly confused by the clocks changing. I'm not sure whether we ate lunch at twelve or two by stomach time, and the cats are no guide because they will always tell you that they are hungry. I'll get used to it in a few days, though it is a complete nuisance that it now gets dark so early. I know that in theory I could just get up earlier to compensate, since as a politician arguing on the Today programme for the clocks not to change said (with withering and unnecessary scorn) the day won't get any shorter, you know. But it's difficult keeping up a day that's out of synch with everybody else, not to mention the radio, and in the end you end up going with the flow. If The World At One has just started then it must be one.
I have finally finished putting the pots of tender things under cover. At last. Bring on the cold nights, I'm ready for them. Night time temperatures are forecast to drop by mid week, so I may be none too early. I eyed up the remaining space and the pots of dahlias that are still standing outside the greenhouse waiting for the frost to blacken their leaves, and tried to decide whether they were going to fit. It is going to be nip and tuck, but I think they will. I had better look through the bedraggled collection of things propagated from seeds and cuttings and check what ought to go into a cold frame sooner rather than later. Belamcanda chinensis, or Iris domestica as I am supposed to learn to call it, probably doesn't want to be frozen in its pots, and nor do the penstemons. The iris (I still can't think of it as an iris but I must try to do so) has attractive amber flowers spotted with orange-red. It is not difficult to raise from seed and this isn't the first time I've grown some, but I have never worked out a good place to put it.
Continued: And that's all there is, because after typing the last paragraph I had to go out because I was meeting a friend in Colchester to go to Jenny Eclair's show, How To Be a Middle Aged Woman (without going insane). She was very, very funny. The Arts Centre was sold out, and about ninety-eight per cent of the audience were women. And now, although the clock says it is only eight minutes to eleven, it is really eight minutes to midnight and time to go to bed.