Much

At last, a bit of proper Yorkshire rain. It's been snow, hail, and so blooming cold it's a wonder me snail's still intact. Now it's just raining, which is what it's supposed to do here in t'Pennines. Good old rain. Tony turned me round yesterday, so I can see some white flowery stuff and a few daffs, blimey I thought them daffs was off on holiday. And I wouldn't blame 'em.

Now that 'er's back from Omsk, Tomsk, and all points East. 'er's prowling round the garden looking for stuff to tinker about with. No, says she a couple of month ago, I'm not spending money on the garden this year, not as we're moving out in the summer. And now it's, 'we could do with a few bedding pansies for 'ere and there, they don't cost much'. I've 'eard that before. It'll be 'alf a dozen pansies, some of that fluffy purply stuff, bit of mimmyluss, something else that 'er can't remember the name of but 'er says it's pretty, and a tree.

Any excuse and the two of 'em will be off to that 'arlow, beg yer pardon, Harlow Carr place near 'arrogate, or as yer might say, Harrogate. Sunny day, couple of hours wandering round the gardens, tea in Betty's, then she gets 'old of one of them great big trolleys and blimey, it's like watching a tank going into action. Everyone, get out the way. She'll 'ave that trolley loaded up with bits of jungle till 'er can't see over the top, honest, it's all trying to climb out the car window on the way home Then er'll get it all out and walk around the garden, and yer know what she's thinking. 'Where am I going to put this lot?'