what eclipse?

I kept half an eye on the window as I sat at the kitchen table writing up the minutes of yesterday afternoon's music society committee meeting and sorting out various bits of beekeepers' admin, in case I could see any signs of the eclipse.  It was a very grey and murky morning, and as twenty past eight approached I couldn't detect any difference in the light at all.  By nine I had to conclude that I'd missed it.  The Systems Administrator had heard an explanation from Brian Cox and Dara O'Briain (who read mathematics and theoretical physics at University College Dublin, making him one of the go-to comedians of choice when the media is trying to make science palatable) on R2 explaining that the loss of light would be about twenty per cent during the eclipse, but happen so gradually that our eyes and brains would compensate and we wouldn't notice the difference on a dull day. They were right, I didn't.

Having missed the once-in-a-lifetime astronomical event, I nipped around the corner to Beth Chatto's to see if they had any Anemone pavonina, and was in luck.  There on a bench immediately opposite the entrance to the nursery were two trays of them.  Some were red, some pink, some yellow, and quite a few weren't quite open yet, but I managed to pick out four in my chosen colour range.  A stray Cardamine quinquefolia found its way into the basket as well, and then I went to pay before I could look at any more plants.  The Cardamine is for a very shady corner at the bottom of the back garden, where the existing one is doing well but not covering the entire space as quickly as I'd like.  It has ferny leaves and pink flowers in early spring, and disappears for much of the rest of the year, so is a good thing for quiet corners where you can enjoy it while it's out, and not worry about its absence the rest of the time.

There was another customer already hovering to pay, while the person nominally on the till was stuck on the telephone.  He looked into my basket and remarked that we both had the same idea, and I saw that his too contained pink and pale yellow Anemone pavonina.  I asked if he didn't like the red so much, and he replied that had them and did like them but wanted some other colours. He had succeeded in growing them from seed and said that you could get a flowering size plant in two years, so I must not allow myself to be put off by the mould episode.

There were not very many customers there.  I am afraid that the British are becoming a nation of fair weather gardeners.  Mind you, it was awfully cold, with a sort of raw dampness in the air.