Snow is forming pie tops on the pots and troughs but I know what the filling is and I am glad I made the effort. I planted about 300 bulbs in the Autumn knowing that if anything would get me through these endless dark, wet, cold, windy, winter days, the promise of emerging flowers would. I am not such a horti-nurd that I make notes or even try and remember what I planted where, but I know there are iris reticula in two or three different shades of purple, almost black tulips (scented), alium in all sorts of shapes and sizes and the finale, orange Turk's Head lillies. The show will kick off in February and continue with raft after raft of explosions of colour and smells through until July, by which time the garden proper will have joined in for the final chorus which it hums away while we pack up the folding chairs and retreat indoors. Just like a Hogmannay firework display, only better.
So, it would appear that the box of frogs that live between my ears are very quiet today. Barely a croak or leap. More Carla Carlisle than Amy Winebox.