A wise old gardener would tell you with an intake of breath and a knowing shake of the head that it’s customary to sow maincrop potatoes by Easter.
Well, as Easter is a moveable feast that lets me off the hook slightly, but yes, I promise I will plant mine today. If I’m looking for excuses, I’d say that I’d been been waiting, hoping for a good downpour so that I could feasibly ease my fork into our heavy clay soil.
I’m loitering in the vegetable garden, triumphant! I’ve just planted all my potatoes, to the centuries old accompaniment of all good gardening…
...a pair of inseperable collared doves chatting gently in the birch tree and a hovering skylark, quivering and trilling, transcending the tuneless crow and it’s stupid caw.