the days draw in

I was puzzled when I woke up that I had slept so late, until the Systems Administrator pointed out to me that because the clocks had changed it was only ten past seven in biological time, not ten past eight.  Ah.  That would explain why I woke previously at what my digital clock radio, that had recalibrated itself in the night, told me was only ten to six.  Believing it, I went back to sleep for another hour, otherwise I'd have got up then.

I spent a chunk of the day moving the tender plants in pots into the greenhouse and the conservatory, just in case there is a frost tonight.  Even if the thermometer doesn't dip to zero yet, still we are nearly into November and it's high time the pelargoniums and aeoniums were under cover.  Before packing up in the garden for the day I closed the greenhouse and conservatory doors, and as I was about to shut the conservatory I unplugged the water feature.  I like the constant trickle of water playing into a trough, but by this stage of the year and once I start shutting the doors I certainly don't want to raise the humidity in there.  I had already shut the greenhouse when I remembered that Our Ginger was curled up asleep on a partly used bag of compost, and had to go and rescue him.

Thence to Wrabness, where there was another youngish string quartet playing in the church.  They gave us Haydn, Borodin, and Beethoven, and I liked the reason they gave why the Borodin had replaced whatever else it was they were originally due to perform, which was that they'd had so many concerts this month they simply hadn't had time to learn the advertised piece.

I originally heard about the concerts at Wrabness during a visit to their garden club, and this afternoon one of the concerts returned the favour, as there was a pile of fliers at the door for a lecture next month by Fergus Garrett of Great Dixter fame.  There was an illustrated invitation to Colchester's Firstsite as well, because Firstsite is staging a Grayson Perry exhibition based on the holiday house he designed in Wrabness.  At last.  Firstsite is supposed to stage contemporary art (that is why almost none of the interior walls are vertical, to discourage anybody who should want to do anything as old-fashioned as hang a painting on them) and Grayson Perry is a major, Turner Prize winning contemporary artist and cultural commentator who grew up and still lives in Essex.  Really, what took them so long?