One minute, it was winter. The next minute, it was high summer. And I’m writing this evening, at the Parsonage, next to a fire, with cold grey clouds scudding across the sky and a chill wind blowing from the north. Not feeling very springlike… although spring is everywhere now, at last.
I’m sorry for not posting. I’m really not sure where the time has flown. Charlie and I have been around and about quite a lot, hardly in Dorset at all, it feels. And perhaps it’s as simple as that.
During the great heatwave of a couple of weeks ago, when high summer deliciously, suddenly hit London, I did find myself down in North Dorset for work. Strictly speaking I should have jumped on the train at Salisbury back to the office again, but I called Charlie and somehow persuaded him to come and collect me and bring me home, all so that we could get up at an excruciatingly early hour for me to catch the first train up the following morning. But so worth it – for that beautiful warm evening. Charlie’s tulips, which had been keeping themselves pretty quiet during the cold weather beforehand, suddenly all came into flower at once. The garden was looking amazing.
We were back in London on Friday night for a dreamy, balmy birthday party for a friend, with a nautical theme (did you guess?), in one of the garden squares in Notting Hill. 
It felt like being in an Edwardian film by Merchant Ivory. The following morning, Charlie and the dogs went west, but I was heading up to Suffolk for the ‘Gavin’s day’, a lunch we hold every year with my old office in memory of one of our colleagues who died – far too young – of cancer, a few years ago now. We get together every year. It was a good day of memory and catching up with old friends, and realising that we all worked together some 25 years ago now – how time flies.
The blackthorn was out and looking beautiful.
I stayed for a night with Charles and Rachel. The following morning, a little walk around their beautiful garden before I took the train back down to London.
Looking down to the veg garden, and up to Blythburgh church tower, from the new tree house.
Bridie and I had a late lunch and a long catch up and brainstorm on shop plans for the rest of the year – lots of exciting ideas are happening.
Then another week rushes by; this weekend, back to Dorset – cold, grey, but full of tulips, and, blissfully, with no plans whatsoever.
The veg patch is like a candy store. Charlie has worked wonders this year. 
A cold walk on Saturday. 
Lunch in the pub with Mum and Dad at Powerstock.
A little walk around Powerstock, popping into the serene church:
And back, via Wynford Eagle Manor, on our way home – my dream house, like something out of a picture book.
Mum was as sad as ever to say goodbye to Sibyl.
This afternoon, a walk in the woods to pick wild garlic leaves, carpeting the woodland floor this week and next.
And home, and sleeping, napping, reading, a bit of writing, and catching up. I cleared the attic this morning, which had gone crazy. The quietest weekend in weeks has just passed by, and it feels very good.
Finally, please if you have not already done so, I’d be so grateful if you could consider a donation to our church roof fund. Not shown in the totals on that page are the many, many generous cheques that we have received in the office as well (details below). We are doing very well!
Thank you all for your amazing generosity.
To donate by cheque, please send a cheque made to: The Parochial Church Council of Littlebredy – and you could send to me c/o Ben Pentreath Ltd., 3 Lamp Office Court, London WC1N 3NF.
