Mondays snow was gone from the pavements, but not so on the plot. We had been hoping to turn some soil, but everywhere was carpeted in a soft frozen white blanket, punctured only by the occasional snow capped chicory or chard. Instead spent time chatting and shaking the heavier snowy caps from chards, beans and chicories. The plot was covered in hundreds of fox foot prints, and grey dirty patch of excavated soil next to the hole he/she had been trying to dig.
There wasn’t much going on, the birds preferring to sit, puff up and keep warm rather than waste their energy singing. We stayed for three quarters of an hour. It was Allan’s birthday, family and chocolate cake awaited him back down the hill.