Tomatoes (plus a little DIY and writing) rule my life

Now that the DIY on our two rotten windowsills, after much resin filler and elbow-grease, is nearing completion, I can concentrate on my writing…

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Except that last year my new greenhouse was a pitiful desert. All I managed to grow were three sweet peppers (on one plant). Everything else got fried or damped off as I was ignorant about managing the ventilation. So this spring, I sowed madly… perhaps a little too madly. I was miffed when tomatoes failed to germinate, so I sowed more. Various seedlings got potted on and moved into the garden and veg plot, but new tomato seedlings – unlabelled – kept popping up in unlikely places.

Apart from three pepper plants, tomatoes now rule the greenhouse and my life. There are more than 34 plants. The greenhouse ones need constant  water, and ventilation and they all need non-stop disbudding (a skill I have acquired late in life, but will lead, I am assured, to more tomatoes and less greenery).

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Pedants revolt – honing, homing and homing in (and waterlilies).

Sorry, I have to get this off my chest.

Honing = to sharpen

Homing = to (instinctively) return to the nest

Homing in = to converge on

So:

You hone your knife on a whetstone, or your critical faculties on a course in logic.

You home, after you have delivered your message, to the loft – you are a pigeon.

You home in on a solution after racking your brains.

And yes, I know, the misuse of honing is now so common that it will probably be accepted soon, but you can’t sharpen in on something, it does make sense and please think of pedants like me who get a pain in the head every time they see it.

Rant over. Some soothing waterlilies from Kew Gardens to follow.

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Marketing, a necessary pain?

Last autumn I went on writing course run by Patricia Mullin at The Sainsbury Centre in the University of East Anglia. This was a fun and positive experience and Patricia packed in an immense amount of information and writing practise and managed our diverse group in the gentlest, most effective way. She has kindly posted a guest blog from me on her website:

One October day I found myself, aged 52, standing on top of a telegraph pole. Below me the rest of my ‘team’, five youngsters half my age, two of them clinging to the free end of my safety harness, were urging me to jump. At eye level to my right, but way out of reach, dangled the bar of a trapeze.

Another 867 words at Patricia’s blog