Books, Mud and Compost. And Horses.

"That's not going to sell the house," said my OH, after looking at my last blog post on the garden . Well, I suppose he has a point. The garden is looking a bit better now: I'd like to say this is entirely and absolutely by our own now blistered hands, but stuff just growing and hiding other stuff that shouldn't be there has had quite a bit to do with it too. Not that the house is for sale: after the estate agent's visit (your chimneys, your pointing, your acros, your fencing..... oh yes, we know, we know), we're still here and likely to be for a bit. Some views of the garden - alas not all - make it look quite good, and this is one. and another: The dog is stealing a pear which I had hoped the birds would eat. The very dead thing you can see below is our curry plant, which is alas showing no signs of life at all, which is a real shame as it was a lovely plant, with silvery-blue foliage through most of the year. Deserted flower pot stil...

I have become a bit obsessive of late. Every time I trot backwards and forwards through the garden, great fat pigeons hurtle out of the shrubbery and fly away in a panic, en route to my vegetable patch. Everytime I go up to the hens even fatter pigeons hurtle out from where they have been filching the hens' food. Ha.

No this isn't (cheap shot coming) another post about teenagers. I was in church on Sunday and we sang He Who Would Valiant Be . This is a hymn I have not sung for years, but I was pretty certain I remembered it from my childhood. Well, I sort of did: what I actually remembered, I found out in a bit of post-church research, after being thoroughly confused by the complete absence of the hobgoblins and foul fiends I was convinced should have been there, was the original by John Bunyan: Who Would True Valour See , rather a different beast to the 1906 version by Percy Dearmer which is all we're now allowed. The two different versions are given here . This disconnect between what I think should be there and what actually is happens quite often. "Oh good," I think, as the organ starts the next hymn. And off I launch, only to find that as I am often singing from memory, I'm not singing quite what I am now supposed to. Complete Anglican Hymns Old and New , which is the...

I don't know what made me pick this book up, but I'm very glad I did. Mrs Fytton's Country Life , by Mavis Cheek is one of the best things I've read in ages. It is about Angela Fytton, who married young, and dedicated her life to raising her family, and working with her husband to develop his business, waiting only for the point when the children left and they could enjoy being with each other. However, Ian Fytton had other ideas, and left her for Binnie, a dentist who provided him with a baby. The book opens with Angela's negotiations as she moves out of London and into the country. She has a misty, romantic vision of country life and the Dignity of Honest Toil, but beneath all that is a cast iron determination to get her husband back. Her teenagers are 17 and 18, and she knows perfectly well the last thing they will want to do is move out of London to live with her, stuck out in the middle of nowhere. So where will her little darlings go? To live with her hus...

You might remember I waffled on about how much I enjoyed this book , but what a pity it was there was no sequel. Well, Alison Hart has emailed me, and there will be one in 2010. It will be called Whirlwind , and will be published by Random House. Can't wait! I think pony and horse book fans are very lucky: unlike the fan of the school story, which is pretty much moribund in its traditional format, horse books keep being published.

This actually happened on Tuesday. I haven't been on this walk for a week, and the crop (whatever it is) has shot up. It's well past my waist now. I love this time of year with all the different wild flowers. Jack-in-the-hedge is below (which I know has lots of other names but I can't remember even one other at the moment) Daisies not yet awake: I was born in Bedfordshire, where we called this Cow parsley. In Northants, it's Kek. I do know it's also called Queen Anne's Lace, but I've never actually heard anyone call it that. Elderflower just starting to sprout. Elder is supposed to be such a wonderful tree you are not supposed to cut it down. When we moved here, the garden was full of self-set elder, and we cut it all down. Er hum. Perhaps that might explain the dicey state of our chimneys; the parlous condition of our pointing, or the acros which have been faithfully propping up the cow byre for the last 10 years. Or perhaps not. Anywa...

A couple of weeks ago I went out to buy feed at Dodson and Horrell. When I drove up, what should they have but a poultry event. I couldn't of course, walk by the hens and ducks on display without having a jolly good look, but I was strong. I didn't buy anything. Then. But I went back the next day and bought myself an early birthday present: two point of lay Black Rocks. They are hardy hybrids who are supposed to be able to cope with cold, and bearing in mind our field is always windy, and in winter is positively Arctic, they seemed a sensible choice. I got them home and fetched daughter to name one (had already decided on the drive back that one would be Black Bess - she's below). The hens erupted out of the carrier into the stable, and Miranda promptly named the other one Tiger. And what a prophetic name that was. Poor Scrabbles, my head hen, has been demoted. Tiger is now top of the pecking order. She's more likely to jump on the others that stop fights, b...