Garden Talk

It was all about her slugs and snails yesterday. They are ravaging their vegetables. She doesn’t want to use anything chemical (to protect the chickens) and we discussed a variety of ways of discouraging them from garlic salt to egg shells. Nothing, as yet, seems to work, they munch away regardless. Another friend talked of the impact of the wind and rain on their garden, the vegetables in particular. The cauliflower has bolted and the gooseberries haven’t come.

I didn’t catch hold of my dreams last night, just a residue of the first one before I went for a wee at 10. Something to do with an inheritance and a long cotton nightdress ‘this much wide by this much’. The second one I lost. Gone.

The lifeguard hut has been erected on South Beach. A portent of summer. Wales is open to visitors from this weekend, he said at breakfast. I suppose it has to start sometime. Will it ever be the same again? A broken umbrella had been shoved into a bin along the Prom, just below the castle. Several of its metal spokes lay like spillikins on the ground, the rest of the structure, blue, draped from the mouth of the bin.

Rain and more rain. A grey morning. I don’t think he will walk.