I love it when a plan starts to come together…

And one has, as long as you squint optimistically and while bearing in mind that one of February’s two books is set in Windy Bay and features a garden designer hero. (Think of a younger Monty Don crossed with Adam Frost. Try not to drool too obviously as you imagine a hot summer's day with him bar- chested and wearing cut-off, ancient but nicely fitting faded jeans. That book’s going to be called ‘Too Good to be True,’ and you can pre-order it or sign up to follow me as an author on Amazon so they’ll email you when it’s out.)

Anyway, back to my garden, which, sadly, does not come with a handsome and highly skilled gardener but does have a gorgeous husband indoors who makes tea and puts up signs and builds stuff when needed. Speaking of which, two of my six raised bed kits have arrived, are exactly what I want, are built and look great. Yes, I’m waiting for two big plant pots, one of which will be a wildlife pond, but that area already looks so much better. Here it is in progress, becaue I have to work a little at a time courtesy of stupid joints and freezing cold

Where’s the ‘but’, I hear you ask? Well, the other four are definitely somewhere. The seller says Royal Mail have them. Royal Mail say they don’t have them. All I can be sure of is that, as of today, I don’t have them, which is probably just as well, because I got quite cold enough while I was planting those two up.

Here’s a picture of the slate area, midway through. Soon I’ll be using the plastic bottles of water to clean the furniture and taking down and rebuilding the greenhouse and topping up the slate, but I want it to be warmer first. I’m only doing this now because the planters were in the sale, so they came in well under budget, which means I could afford more slate to top it up and a new table for that area.

It’s still definitely still too cold to get out for a proper walk, but I’m getting exercise in the garden and I got washing mostly dry on the line and bought a new clothesline. (Let no one say I don’t know how to indulge myself! But it’s one that racks up on a pulley so the washing catches all the wind, especially with an equally old-fashioned clothes prop. I bought two of those when I was researching washing in wartime and the 1950’s and they’re great too.

I’m just starting next year’s Esther, so I’m happily engrossed in research. Or I would be, if the firm had sent me the right book about GIs in Britain and then GI brides. Since it isn’t here, I’m reading what I’ve got and will add in the research in the second draft.

Is it me, or are more and more things going astray? Mind you, I’ll never be able to work for a parcel company because I went across the road and delivered the parcel that had been left on my doorstep. I didn’t throw it over the wall or hide it under a bush. I rang the doorbell, and we talked like civilised human beings and looked forward to the spring when sensible people will be doing their front gardens. We all get out there over the same weekends, with our mugs of coffee and cake, and we chat as we work and cuttings and treats are exchanged before we order a big load of gravel for all of us to share. Then the husbands get recruited, but they also get cake, so all’s well. A couple of them will bring their flamethrowers out and kill off all the weeds. No, they’re not big ones, but their owners are Royal Marine Commandos, just like Luke Grant and Tony Hammond in my Lucy Williams and Amy Hammond series. If I was a weed and saw them coming towards me, armed and dangerous, I think I’d give up and shrivel up painlessly.

So that’s about it for today. Who knows, by the time we meet again on Sunday, I may have some more raised beds. Either that, or I’ll be wishing I had Peter Cunningham’s devious skills and good contacts, because I do find it annoying when things go missing.