I did gardening in the rain this afternoon. Double eeeurgh. We have at least two resident robins, but this is the bolder one – it barely waits for us to get out of the way before checking any freshly turned
mud soil for tasty invertebrates. Here it’s standing on what we ironically call “the lawn”, in a patch that’s been pecked bare underneath the seed feeders – but it’s still clearly unconcerned by my proximity.
Personally I don’t see the point of lawns. Given the choice (and the funds) I’d have the whole area landscaped into a water garden – as a soakaway runs through it, it’s generally an utter swamp at this time of year anyway, so putting the water to use would make sense – but I think R likes the whole Noisy Man Machine business of mowing grass, and any suggestion that we have too much of it is met with bemusement. So I nibble away at the edges, slowly expanding the borders at the expense of the “lawn”, and just hope he doesn’t notice.
Choir Two this evening: I’m still loving the Brahms, but somewhat worryingly I seem to be getting worse at singing it, rather than better. Perhaps I should be spending less time in the garden, and more time practising?