Grey, grey day

I'm sad. and the weather seems sad as well. Certainly it's crying all over the garden. It's cold indoors, as well, so I'm huddled in a jumper trying to cheer myself up. I have done NO WORK AT ALL. Grief just chases me around at certain times of the year, and this is one of them. I miss Léonie. 

So, I'm reporting on the garden instead. We have some raised beds out the front, and the youngest kids and husband moved about a million tons of homemade compost (possibly less) and several bags of manure onto them ready from plants and seeds and vegetables. They looked great, and some wigwams for mangetout peas and french beans have also gone out. My baby plants are all looking great and some are already big enough to transplant into pots in the conservatory, like cucumbers chilli peppers, and flowers are ready to be potted up outside (for the slugs to eat, I realise this. maybe they won't eat the vegetables). 

Then in an effort not to pig out on chocolate, I made bread. Beautiful, fat freshly baked rolls, and a lovely recipe for pesto with vegetables and pasta from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's Veg book, which I've already enjoyed four recipes from. That's my mark of a good cookbook - how many stained pages/bookmarks does it merit? Anyway, the smell of warm rolls just cheered me up, not to mention the squishy dough. Maybe I'll get back to work tomorrow. Maybe I'll just have to start posting word counts again, that always helps me.