The snow has arrived - again. Just a light dusting in West London, which has cheered things up immensely. Everything looked pinched and cold in the frosty greyness of the morning. Now the garden looks snug and cosy under the snow and the skies have gone blue and bright. It really is alpine fresh. And I'm enjoying the incongruity of the test match coverage burbling away in the background on the radio.
There have been a few days this week when the ground softened enough to get a few more broad beans in, dig up some leeks and prepare the ground for some promised garlic - exceedingly late, I know. The clayey builders-rubble soil at the allotment was even quite good to dig, the big clods broken up by the frost and easier to turn over.
I was particularly glad about this as I was nursing a hangover of the variety that can only be induced by a fatal combination of a work Christmas party, involving chinese food and karaoke (the less said the better). I don't think it's been very well documented, but aside from coffee, chocolate and a fry up, digging has to be the finest remedy for a hangover.
Writer, gardener and lover of gardens, plants and all green spaces, especially in cities where grass really does seem all the greener when it has concrete as a companion. I have a small back garden, shared with my husband and dog. A bigger space is a long way off, so for now I'm happy gardening in the neighbourhood and at work, whenever I can and discovering new greenery around town. This blog is about how I get my garden fix in London.