This is an autumnal experiment. I am sitting in my garden, looking at a fabulous expanse of clear blue sky, with only the haziest trace of a cotton wool attempting a slow scud from left to right. I am seated on a sun lounger, even though I have chosen a shady spot. The reason for this is that it is difficult to see computer screens in the sun. In fact my notepad screen is barely visible as it is. I think my touch typing skills do help in this regard. Maybe I could come out here and do a blog on Guy Fawkes night and tell you about the pretty fireworks. I might need some fingerless gloves for that. That would be an interesting experiment, too.
Anyway, I have checked my garden thermometer and it is 11 degrees Centigrade. I am wearing: thermal undershirt, cotton shirt, thin woollen cardigan, thick woollen sweater, an old padded gillet, a woolly hat, underpants, jeans, socks and trainers. I am just about warm enough. Five more degrees and I would consider a BBQ but to have one in these conditions might be thought a little eccentric.
Earlier this morning I went for my piano lesson. My teacher was very patient and managed to find something positive to say about my playing as I mangled my way through the exercises that I had been learning this past week. She made a few suggestions for me to try in terms of my vamping technique when I play my internet concerts and I shall think about them later today.
Veg patch full of hope & promise
When I got home, I came straight out into the garden and planted three rows of onion bulbs in my vegetable patch. I also put down a couple of rows of spinach seeds, since it said on the packet that you could over-winter them. Once they left my hand, they take their Darwinian chances.
I do have a pair of trainers I keep especially for garden work but this morning, in my eagerness to get planting, I was too lazy to put them on. The result was that my general purpose household trainers became caked with mud from the vegetable patch. I then needed to sit down and scrape this off each boot with a knife and a stiff brush. It would have been much better to have changed shoes in the first place. However, the activity sparked a memory of sitting on the stone steps at my junior school, scraping mud off a pair of football boots.
Of all the many, many, many things I hate about my schooldays, playing bloody football comes pretty high on the list. Looking back, I bitterly resent having being forced to run around after an inflated leather ball for what must have amounted to hundreds, if not thousands of hours. It constituted a complete and utter waste of time and opportunity in terms of my childhood development, although I accept that hanging about at square leg or whatever on the cricket field was almost as bad, if not worse. These recollections have put me in a really foul mood. I think I’ll go indoors and play a bit of piano. Speak to you later.
John's Quavering Pencil 
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