What a busy week! The garden has burst into life and everything, especially the weeds, are growing like… well… weeds. Due to the fact that we are in England, I try to spend every possible hour outdoors ‘before the weather turns again’ and so this week I missed out on Gardener’s World. And as sad as I am, I watched it on the catch up service.

And there I found that I have it all wrong! Of course I have heard that herbs need poor soil and don’t like to be pampered, but I just couldn’t help it. Which would explain why my herbs are miserable. They should be in the back veg bed that is full of stones and roots, instead of the miniature salads that are perishing there at the moment. Those, in turn, should be thriving in the well looked after trough under the window. I have ordered a book on herbs (a girl can’t have too many of those) and now I am determined to put things right.

All this is going through my head as I try to block out the calling of the two lambs. They have been with us for four weeks and we are supposed to be weaning them of milk. That really feels cruel. Number 14 (I haven’t given them names this year, for that makes them pets…) tried to jump over the fence of their little pen just now. They bleat in unison as soon as they see me. So I spend all my lovely moments in the garden ‘walking’ the lambs and teaching them about grass. Crazy sheep lady, at your service.

Lamb feeding and lamb outings are closely supervised by the two hens and their new (very assertive) cockerel. You might remember that a couple of blogs ago their previous husband was murdered by a hungry fox. Since then they have let this young upstart boss them around without even a second of mourning period, the hussies.

To confirm that we are moving out of the dreary, grey winter, the Tamarisk in the garden has come out in flower. The pink haze-like blossom is beautiful albeit short lived. Just thought I’d mention it since the tree made it into the photo…

Fred the dog and I are in demand. We currently feed my brother’s chickens (yes, it’s a poultry mania around here) and his cat. By the time eight in the morning comes, we have woken up and fed and walked everything and we are exhausted. Fred goes back to bed. I put the kettle on and begin to prepare for the day. At least there’s always an egg for breakfast.