Taking the air

Whichever way you look at it, Valentine’s Day has a murky past. At least two beheadings of Roman priests who bore the name. Martyrdoms. Medieval bishops called Valentine burned to a crisp. Add to these ancient miseries, blisteringly tortuous tales of unrequited this and mistaken-identity that. It’s a wonder that February 14th became a source of celebration at all. Back when screens existed solely to prevent the driver’s glasses blowing off when she or he was at the wheel of a car, news was something you could touch. In our house, there was much anticipation of hilarity on February 14th when time came to turn to the Valentine’s notices in the classified section of The Times. ‘Squidgy tells Squashy that his heart remains hers’, ‘Little bunny keep your eyes open for a tiger on the 6.15 at Paddington’. I don’t do them justice, but you get the idea. The notices went on for pages and the pages weren’t titchy tabloid. There is more anonymity on paper, it’s a gentler m...

Green shoots, new dawns, fresh starts. Like all clichés, they stem from the truth. Humans have an in-built need to believe that dark times will become brighter.  We need to know that we can begin afresh. At first glance, the garden looks mostly brown.   Damp and squidgy underfoot. Too much grey mist. Once you see a green shoot, I find that you can't stop seeing them.  In the garden, green shoots are literal indicators that brighter things are on their way.  The winter is a strengthening time in the garden. Roots are put down in the dark days when less energy is needed to support the plants above ground. By rocking the plants, wind strengthens the roots.  Plants do much of their most important stuff quietly and completely out of sight. Let's learn from that. It's still time to hunker down, rest what needs to be rested, quietly build what needs to be built. This year, some of those that I love have started building new lives and new b...

This morning, a large seal popped its head up out of the still cold sea and turned to watch us as we walked along. You have to keep walking in this weather. It’s too cold to stand still and wonder at just how long it can hold its breath before it pokes its head up again. There are lots about, apparently. This winter, more grey seal pups were born at beautiful Blakeney Point Reserve than ever. We should take heart, I think, that some numbers are moving in the right direction. Those seals that swim round to Suffolk ‘plague’ the local fisherman. That’s the complaint of the fellas that like to spend their nights pointing rods into the North Sea, at least. I found a seal pup on the beach once, still not rid of all its baby down. Mother seals park them in safe spots in order to go out fishing. Like mothers everywhere, doubtless grateful for a moment to themselves. The pup looked like the sweetest thing you could imagine. Big eyes, round face with soft little ...

The ten-for-a-pound narcissus are now lush, green and eight inches tall.  Clearly they know nothing of backstops or lack of thereof; imminent weather beasts from the east and the north; or the apparent risks of deal or no deal. In fact the garden, although crunchier than I'd like, remains, to a plant, completely unaware of the chaos in which we risk becoming enveloped. And chaos it surely is. This week I visited a friend who asked me to help him find someone to do a couple of hours in his garden. My friend has recently returned from hospital with a new hip.  "Astonishing," he said, as we sipped our tea. "My brother was in one of the beds on the other side of the ward!" There was a pause. And then another before I replied rather hesitantly: "But, er, I thought you told me that your brother had passed away last summer?" "Exactly!" he said, "I hope to god that his dementia hasn't been resurrected along with him!...

There’s something about walking that makes talking easier. Rhythm certainly. Strolling along is comfortable. When you find your pace and match it to that of your companion, it can feel effortless and your words come more easily as a result. I suspect that it may also be about a subtle form of priority. Walking takes the lead, talking falls gently into second place. In second place, the pressure’s off. Talking isn’t the main thing; it’s not critical. Stop walking and you stop the walk. A massive point of emphasis, perhaps, but not one that’s valid once you’re over the age of 5. Stop talking and on you go. There is still progress, time perhaps to consider what’s been said or, in a matter of yards, forget it completely. The side-by-side aspect also helps, I think. No one’s facing anyone down. A glare looks pretty weird from the side and you can generally lose a shocked and horrified face by falling a step or two back, or forward, long enough to let it pass. Walk...

It’s not easy to find an incentive to embrace the outdoors right now. I don’t think that many people really love dark and gloomy fog-filled January. Walk if you can. It’s what we’re designed for. The gloom is often not as dire as it appears from the inside. There are bright spots too. They can be brief and you often have to make an effort to spot them. Perhaps that’s their purpose? They force you to lift your head and look up. Trouble is, if you get stuck inside this time of year you are bombarded with messages telling you you’re not good enough. Don’t believe a word of it. Journalists have to earn a living. Much of the ‘clean, fast, lean’ stuff was written after a chocolate biscuit and a glass of wine last October or before. We’re ok. Most people are ok. And if you need to lose a few pounds, or wash more often, you’ll probably have figured that out by now. Here’s an unbidden tip. Grit your teeth and make and effort to be kinder to yourself and others....