canny granny

The amaryllis is coming up in my garden. Do my garden bulbs know more than I do about the seasons? Golly, it was 33 celsius today, that’s over 91 degrees in the old measurement. And my garden thinks the Summer is over?

In any case, I should be putting in my bulbs for Spring. You know what a bulb is? It’s a potential flower buried in Autumn, never to be seen again.

I’ve got these daffodils to go in, on the packet they’re described as “Carefree” and “Grandma’s Favourite”. Carefree usually refers more to the plant’s attitude than to my workload, and Grandma’s Favourite were the bulbs she planted until she discovered the free-flowering, disease-resistant hybrids.

Ah well, this is the time of year I remember that I have knees. (Knee: a device for finding rocks in your garden)

I thought there were only two kinds of Poppies. The narcotic one they make films in strange countries about, and the poppy of wartime remembrance, the red corn poppy, Papaver rhoeas, a common weed across Europe.

But there are more poppies than this. Apart from Nero’s wife (the one who liked the milk baths, I bet she never had to clean her own bathtub) there is another one - the Buxom Poppy.

The Buxom Poppy has a whole blog Horrifying Foodstuffs on the topic of, basically, nausea. It takes all types to make a world and if the poor dear girl wants to hoard recipes that would make you feel guilty just buying the ingredients much less serving them up to people, I’m sure it’s not my place to criticise.

She even wants to make her blog as horrible looking as she can, and to this end is talking about choosing a colour scheme of avocado green, harvest gold, and burnt pumpkin. Her mother should tell her those colours are in fact, not horrible, but very soothing and nostalgic. A slight hint of puce would add the crowning touch.

For those who want to know about the milk bath, just ask the ladies who made it a daily routine. Even though their milk of choice came from an ass, a cow is just as good (and much cheaper then asses’ milk), and you can still Bathe like Cleo and Poppy.

I interrupt this blog to thank the kind lady over at In a Coma who chipped in for a glass of sherry.

She’s a Melbourne girl, and understands the plight of the pensioners who find it increasingly difficult these days with the cost of living increases to get a good bottle of sherry. Dear me, last week, what with the gas bill, the arthritis pills and the cat license, I had to get a bottle of cooking sherry. The young chap in the bottleshop asked me what I was going to cook. What a drongo. Young people of today have no idea of hardship. In my day we would never waste a drop of cooking sherry on cooking.

I’m just about to have a little sip now with my slippers off

After my morning nap and a small glass of Seppelts Purple Para Port, I got my notebook and pen and looked at the colour arrangements again in Incogblogo where the young lass allows you to ‘change skins”. (If only) (I like to see how she’s getting along in her quest to achieve 4000 comments. Apparently she needs only 92 more.)

I found this particularly valuable in choosing a new scheme for my kitchen. She has a couple of lovely mauve and lilac shades that would be just perfect. I think the colour purple is very me. Sort of royal. And my name is Queenie after all.

Cleopatra loved purple too. To obtain one ounce of Tyrian purple dye, she had her servants soak 20,000 Purpura snails for 10 days.

I wonder if my garden snails would produce the same results.