My little seeds have come to life!
The first few leaves are up. They belong to the sweet peas and the mangetout, and are called dicotyledons, which is Latin for ‘first two new leaves that a plant ever grows which look completely different from all the ones that come afterwards so if you want to know what it is at this stage you need to label the pot’. I don’t know why this is but it is enormously exciting.
I have planted a hundred freesia corms and a hundred and fifty little plant pots with seeds, and have saved some empty ones ready for when the tiniest seeds, like the poppies, which are in trays all together separate from the plant pots, germinate. The poppies like it to be warmer than it is in the shed, especially at night at the moment, so they are on my office windowsill in an old ginger biscuit box and a juice bottle, because I had run out of seed trays. Actually I didn’t have any seed trays at all. The rest are planted in saved takeaway tins from the Emperor of India from last summer when we had some money.
None of the tiniest seeds are doing anything at all yet, and I am a bit worried about the marigolds, which are left over from last year and may not come up at all. I will have to get some more if that happens, because I have always liked having marigolds growing ever since we went to India, and Delhi had little marigold offerings in baskets hanging on all of the power lines to try and persuade the Electricity Gods to keep them in business. I don’t suppose it works but I think it is a lovely idea and will try it in our house with the Money Gods if I can get enough seeds to germinate. We can run it side by side with our usual practice of lighting a hopeful candle when we are desperate and see if it helps.
I had an entertaining half hour this morning playing the washing-on-the-line game with the Rain Gods this morning. Eventually they won and I hung it over the stove and then the sun came out and Mark could get on with taking his car to bits for his own game of MOT Challenge tomorrow.
I pottered about the house for a bit, I made a big mixing bowl full of Chinese rice which I put in the fridge so that we would have some instant microwave dinners for emergencies, by which I mean for the rest of the week, and took the dog for a walk, and hoovered and tidied things until I felt virtuous and grown up and responsible and in proper control of everything, and then I could go to work.
Lucy bathed the dog. Mark lay underneath the car and swore. I sat on Bowness taxi rank not going anywhere much with all the other drivers, and looked at the lake and listened to fascinating stories about Paul’s visit to the doctor. I won’t go into detail, to spare his manly blushes, but I am glad I haven’t got any of those bits, it sounds ghastly. I was completely riveted, of course, as one always is about medical things. Richard’s story of the difficulties involved in growing his new beard just couldn’t compete.
I popped in at home to see how everything was going before my swim, Lucy seemed to be back in bed and Mark was filling the alley at the back of the house with bits he had removed from his car. The dog was lying on the sofa smelling much better but sunk into a deep gloom. He barely lifted his nose and the tip of his tail to say hello. This was sad, because usually he bounces with happiness like a rabbit on a trampoline when he sees me, so clearly the bathing process has dampened his spirits a bit. I am not sorry, however, he was beginning to be undesirable at close range, a bit like Sellafield in the days when everybody thought that it used to leak a bit.
He had recovered by the time I got home in the end, and was happy to see me again, and I was pleased because now he smells like coconut shampoo and not like something that has gone off in the fridge.
Mark lit a candle tonight, since the marigolds haven’t grown yet.
It always works.
