Wonderful bluebells at Nymans. 
Later in the week I watched a deer wandering into my eldest son’s garden. Apparently deer love to feast on roses!
I went along to see the children’s parade the start of the Brighton Festival. This year the theme was paintings so local schools provided wonderful representations from a whole range of painters including Freda Khol, Monet, Chagall, Hockney, Van Gogh and many more. The Festival programme itself is full of art, performance, music and exhibitions.
I’ve been lacking energy recently probably because there has been lots to in the garden. it’s a tough life! But managed to get to a few Fringe festival events, including a session on publishing and another ‘Come Rhyme With Me’ with Dean Atta and Deanna Rodger at New Writing South. I even managed to be one of the open mic appetisers with a poem about ‘Temporary Employment’ forcing myself to read something written recently. The evening includes a wonderful Carribean dinner, so they describe the show in foody terms! The Starter: Daisy Behagg Main course: Potent Whisper Dessert: Usaama Minahs.
There are still plently of events on offer and loads of ‘Open Houses’ to catch up on. Tomorrow I’ve booked for Roy Hutchins and company with a show that includes music and poetry which should be fun
Less dramatic on Tuesday we had to re-line our pond on our allotment because it had sprung a substantial leak!
We got our plot eight years ago after being on the council list for three years! In truth it was a muddy field with a sad frog sitting in a dried out pond. But we inherited an apple and a sour cherry tree and have grown plenty of vegetables over the years. But frogs and newts create responsibilities hence so much watery enterprise.
In the Balance
May, they say, is full of promise
we have just two straggly bluebells and how long
before a late frost saps newly planted fragile shoots
and will the robin’s eggs in the nest survive, balanced
precariously between tins of fertiliser and a ball
of string on a shelf in the greenhouse?
A sleek ginger tom eyes the birds eagerly
from under the hedge, whilst I like a demented
guardian angel, attempt to fix an accessible
temporary door with sticks and chicken wire.
Now the growbags will not get planted and dreams
of the heady fragrance of ripening tomatoes
all summer long, drift into the mist of secret longings.
The robins’ beaks now full of curious green insects,
cautious at first, fly through gaps in the wire.
The cat stiffens, glares, his mouth tightens, he crawls
reluctantly back under the hedge.
The following piece is three years ago and the following year a bumble bee made a nest in a corner of the greenhouse, which also created havoc with my planting plans.
Ann Perrin 