Last Sunday’s almost daffodil.

It’s been a glorious weekend, weatherwise, and it was fabulous to feel the sun on my face while I was out in the garden yesterday (even though it did tint my nose ever-so-slightly pink; there’s no escaping that hole in the ozone layer, even in the midst of winter).

Plugged into my iPod I spent hours hacking back the bracken which was threatening to smother the driveway, then I dealt to a wayward wisteria which had designs on strangling the hydrangea next to it. Heave! Ho! Puuuulll! Bloody thing, it wouldn’t come without a fight, and today I have some seriously aching muscles to prove it. Massage? Viggo? Anyone?

After the wisteria wrestling, I deheaded the hydrangea (which now has the forlorn demeanour of a freshly shorn sheep) then attended to the three rose bushes that grow up the verandah posts along the front of the house. Rust, aphids, dead foliage, weeds; they were feeling very sorry for themselves indeed and it was all my fault. Bad, bad gardener!

Apart from all the horticulture, I’ve also been all domestimacated in the kitchen with too much fruit. Namely, a big sack full of oranges and a surplus of apples. I spent a couple of hours juicing the oranges – the juice was delicious; tart with a hint of sweet, *perfect* in my opinion but Miss 8.10 declared it was “Eeeoooo! Too bitter! Bleurgh!” so all the more for the Other Harf and me – and slicing up the apples for tonight’s apple and boysenberry crumble which no doubt Miss 8.10 will have zero complaints about, especially as she shovels it down her gob with lashings of custard.

So, what did you get up to in this weekend?