You didn't miss much, not getting a post-match analysis of my day at work yesterday. I spent most of it stuck on the till (I suppose somebody had to be on the till), and there were rather too many customers who wanted to help, or interfere, depending on your point of view, while I was ringing their items up. There were several who tried to start putting things back into their trolley, which I had taken out, before I had finished working my way through the rest of their shopping. If plants already charged for, and which are standing on the counter, find their way back into the trolley before I've finished, this is a recipe for double-charging. Then there were the 'I've got four of those' brigade, when in fact they had two of those in 1L pots at £3.50 and another two in 9cm pots at £2.95. Also the 'I've got three of those' variety, when two of the three are right at the other end of the trolley, and when I get to them I am supposed to remember that I've put them through the till already, and not charge for them twice. And the ones who picked plants up randomly out of the trolley and waved the label helpfully (not) under my nose, when I was trying to go through the whole thing systematically. And the ones who insisted on telling me they had two of these, four of those and three of the other, when I could see they had mainly 1L pots from the same two suppliers, which were all going to be £3.50, irrespective of species or variety. Please don't try to help. By all means refrain from hiding packets of labels under bulky bags of compost and little pots of herbs under big pots of Rodgersia leaves, just don't try to help. And don't leave piles of plants and large pink plastic trugs in front of the till while you go and choose more things. People are trying to use that checkout.
The concert in Hadleigh was very good. The friend who came with me said so too, which was a relief, since it is unfortunate to induce one's friends to waste an evening of their lives and fifteen quid. She went to music college and understands choral singing and the workings of a baroque orchestra far better than I do, being an escaped folkie and new wave fan who merely knows what they like when it comes to classical music (although as my aunt said to me, who played with the Halle Orchestra in her youth, 'at least you are an audience').
It rained 3mm yesterday evening, better than nothing but still not nearly enough. Over lunchtime today we have had three sharp showers, one with a little hail mixed in, and one managing to come out of an entirely blue sky. They are not enough to do the garden any good at all, and just enough to wet the ground and the foliage and so make my gloves and knees soggy and uncomfortable. (If it were not raining there is no way I would be sitting at my computer at 15.06).
The long-tailed tits seem to have a good breeding season, which is lovely. The garden is full of them. They dash around in little flocks, making a frenetic high-pitched squeaking sound. There are convoys of blackbirds, too, flying solemnly around the garden on what look like test flights. As I look out of the window now (15.12) there is a preposterously small bluetit on the bird table. I had to rescue a bird from the conservatory. It had gone up high, and was banging against the glass, so it never got close to either door. Our Ginger came to join in, which was not helpful, but the bird eventually crash-landed between two pots on the floor, saw the open door, and dashed into the trees. I don't know species what it was. Small and brown with huge eyes. I guess it was a youngster as for most of the year we don't have any problems with birds in the conservatory, and they have presumably learnt where the door is. When the robin was nesting in the greenhouse she had mastered the art of flitting out through the louvred vents.
It has now (15.19) stopped raining and I shall get back to the deadheading, weeding and watering.
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