Tuesday 29th 33F, 1C, cold, still and clear at first. Wind and cloud expected later. It was 26F, -3C at bedtime last night. Another day of hectic activity in the garden.
Wednesday 30th 41F, 5C, very heavy overcast and windy but dry for the moment. A stiff wind for company as I walked my usual loop up through the woods and back along the road. A forlorn excavator guarded the heavily scarred field where the drainage project continues. Feeling tired and aching after yesterday's exertion with the chainsaw. Cue a chorus or two of: "I'm a lumberjack..." I was far too depressed by the heavy grey skies to bother with photography of the all too familiar landscape.
My emails were entirely absent this morning. The email service has been demanding payment for a once free service which I have now paid twice just to avoid being cut off. Despite being a paying customer for two years they still switched me off. Update: It seems they had a technical fault which was not of my own making. Have you ever tried remembering a 13 digit number, seen only briefly, so you can collect a parcel from what now passes for the village post office? Thought not.
Spent the morning chainsawing again with frequent technical problems of my own. Mainly a lack of oil and chain shedding. Though I did enough sawing, intermittently, to finally complete the task my clothes stank of 2-stroke oil and petrol. [again] The Head Laundress was not well pleased. Though today I actually remembered to fit my walking gaiters to keep my socks free of wood chips. Well, one has to make every effort to maintain diplomatic relations with one's superiors. As under-gardener I hardly register on the radar of domestic, hierarchical machinations.
Short afternoon ride in wind and driving rain to the shops. My cheapo, supermarket bought, X-Rage, cycling rain jacket worked perfectly. I was comfortable without overheating nor the slightest dampness on the winter cycling jacket underneath. Though my be-tighted knees were occasionally a bit 'noticeable' in the wet. Passing 7-axle lorries were offering free, dirty showers of diluted farmer's mud. They did not seem to care if I declined their kind offer. I was glad it was only seven, rather damp miles, fighting the elements in the name of belated, package procurement.