when the days begin to lengthen

When the days begin to lengthen then the cold begins to strengthen, so the old saying goes.  And it's often true.  Last night was the coldest of the year, and I ran the heaters in the greenhouse and conservatory for the first time.  It was rather a half hearted effort, admittedly, since I didn't bother checking that they worked apart from testing the conservatory heater in a desultory way yesterday morning while I was tidying up in there, so if either had failed to come on, or emitted a puff of smoke and some sparks when plugged in before working no more, I'd have been stuck.

The Met Office and media are getting a bit carried away with their warnings and reporting.  The Met Office had a Yellow Warning out for Essex.  Be Aware.  I looked up the details and discovered that it might be frosty overnight, so the roads might be icy.  In the middle of winter.  In England, which is as far north as Moscow and Newfoundland, even if we do have the gulf stream.  Who'd have thought it?  The newspapers were full of their new phrase, the weather bomb.  The north was hit by one.  Meaning that it wasn't snowing, and then suddenly it was, and they had, oh, four inches in Leek.  Four inches of snow in December in a Midlands town six hundred feet above sea level.  I think that's just normal snowfall.  Two feet of snow in two hours, that would be a weather bomb, or a hurricane like we had in 1987.

It is quite chilly, though.  We spent yesterday evening in front of the log fire in the sitting room so as to get some more use out of the Christmas tree, and the Systems Administrator's not so tiny hands remained frozen.  Tonight we are retreating to the study before making a final festive push to see us through to the New Year.  After that it might be bye bye tree.  It is shedding needles as generously as Our Ginger moults orange and white fur.

The flower buds of hellebores are starting to show, and I've been busy chopping off the old foliage and picking up fallen mahonia leaves from around them so that the open flowers will appear to best advantage.  It's a fiddly job, because you have to make sure not to step on any of the buds, which are not very easy to see once the surrounding cluster of leaves has gone, when you are standing bent half double under a mahonia with your breath steaming your glasses up.  Some were lying broken and scattered in places where I was sure I hadn't trodden at all, and I'm afraid the mice have been at them.  They will eat hellebore buds.  I had no display at all in the ditch bed a couple of years ago.

The light on the mouse trap in the greenhouse was flashing this morning, but it was a false alarm. At least the bait was still there, so they haven't learned how to trip the thing at arms length with a twig before going in to rob the peanuts in safety.  Mice that will eat Luftwaffe blue paint could be capable of anything.  I've caught five in seven nights, plus the one that drowned in the watering can, and have just bought yet another trap so that I can set one in the garage as well.  I don't like the way the cats go bustling down there and stare meaningfully at my pile of beehive parts.