Monday 10th May,

Day 21

While I’m driving my husband to the station at 7.30 am summer slips quietly and unexpectedly into the morning. Like a torch out of yesterday’s gloom.

I immerse myself in the garden. I hear lawn mowers humming in every direction. In the front garden I prune a viburnum, plant a helibore, pull up a bramble, weed everything. At the back I move pots of de-headed tulips, plant some stocks, leave swathes of chopped up daisies on the lawn. From under the brim of my straw hat, bought on the Greek island where we honeymooned, I notice the oregano is spreading like a springy yellow green carpet in the corner of a bed. In a violet blue glazed pot an oak seedling has grown two wiggly edged leaves.It was a gift from my nephew’s wedding and I thought it had died.

Geranium mallow leaves wilt in the sun and apple blossom drifts down onto mangled daisies.

When I come inside for my solitary lunch I know the tom cat is back. I smell his telltale calling card - this time on the wall by the patio doors. And on the curtain. Right by where we eat. We have been keeping him locked out at night. But summer heat means open doors and for him it’s open house. Our pussy cat continues his snooze on the bed upstairs, oblivious. I don’t know how to protect him now.

Dark clouds smother the sun so I bring in the washing and start chopping leeks and red peppers for a dear friend who is coming to supper. I want to ginger up the remains of Saturday’s Thai fish curry. And mask the smell of bleach on the walls.

Day 21 - my last day. But I’m excited by this new groove I’m making and I don’t want to stop now. So I’m laying track for another 21 days. And then maybe I’ll discover where this journey is taking me. An untried recipe so far. Monday 10th May,

Day 21

While I’m driving my husband to the station at 7.30 am summer slips quietly and unexpectedly into the morning. Like a torch out of yesterday’s gloom.

I immerse myself in the garden. I hear lawn mowers humming in every direction. In the front garden I prune a viburnum, plant a helibore, pull up a bramble, weed everything. At the back I move pots of de-headed tulips, plant some stocks, leave swathes of chopped up daisies on the lawn. From under the brim of my straw hat, bought on the Greek island where we honeymooned, I notice the oregano is spreading like a springy yellow green carpet in the corner of a bed. In a violet blue glazed pot an oak seedling has grown two wiggly edged leaves.It was a gift from my nephew’s wedding and I thought it had died.

Geranium mallow leaves wilt in the sun and apple blossom drifts down onto mangled daisies.

When I come inside for my solitary lunch I know the tom cat is back. I smell his telltale calling card - this time on the wall by the patio doors. And on the curtain. Right by where we eat. We have been keeping him locked out at night. But summer heat means open doors and for him it’s open house. Our pussy cat continues his snooze on the bed upstairs, oblivious. I don’t know how to protect him now.

Dark clouds smother the sun so I bring in the washing and start chopping leeks and red peppers for a dear friend who is coming to supper. I want to ginger up the remains of Saturday’s Thai fish curry. And mask the smell of bleach on the walls.

Day 21 - my last day. But I’m excited by this new groove I’m making and I don’t want to stop now. So I’m laying track for another 21 days. And then maybe I’ll discover where this journey is taking me. An untried recipe so far.