I have been having a good clear out – although I have to confess that one corner of my bedroom is still a mess of old clothes waiting to be bundled up and taken to the charity shop.
Oh, well, at least they are no longer malingering at the back of an already crowded wardrobe. While I was foraging, (literally, so dense was the undergrowth) I discovered items of clothing that I forgotten I had even bought – which perhaps reveals what an extravagant slattern I am.
When I was in hospital last year, a friend wrote to me. She wanted to send me flowers but they were not allowed on the ward I was in. Rules is rules so, instead, she said she was going to plant up pots of tulips so I had something lovely to look forward to in the spring. The months passed and I rather forgot about it, but one morning, huge pots of tulips arrived at my door.
When my daughter was a teenager, she spent a great deal of time thinking about appearance, just like every other teenage girl in the known universe. I’m too fat, my hair is too frizzy, my face is too round, and my eyes are too small.
This is my favourite time of year, when Mother Nature wakes from the long, deep sleep of winter. The branches of trees are dusted with fresh new green, and the woods are alive with the gentle colours of primroses and bluebells.
There is something so optimistic about the coming of the light, and the understanding that life always, always emerges from darkness. I am (you might have guessed) a passionate gardener, constantly amazed that a few bulbs planted in a pot should bring such beauty. A little love and attention is rewarded with extraordinary generosity.