12.11.24

in the soil

I cannot sleep and so for once I come here early as my father would, not to be honest in the first of the dawn but still early enough that the low morning sun is yet to break over the hedge and so my plot is still in shadow, the grass on it heavy with dew, and though it will be a bright morning for half an hour it is as if this corner is shrouded in mist. A perfect morning for working in the soil although unfortunately I have nothing much to do and so I walk up and down the plot and wonder to myself when the broad beans will come up, why only three cloves of garlic have sprouted so far, if the asparagus will next spring begin to produce in earnest, if the false spring that has sent the nettles up again will trick any other plants into fresh greenery – the ramsons, perhaps – and am happy to just witness the plot, content in my uselessness. To the stunted fig tree shedding its yellow leaves I say tomorrow will be your year, and I am still tired enough that this seems to mean something.

in the kitchen

Because I cook mainly as a job I do sometimes forget that I also enjoy doing it as a hobby, by which I mean I enjoy the actual processes of it – chopping and stirring and browning – as a way to spend time. Stuck in the house all day, I think, both by the weather and by necessity, and then I think it would be a perfect day to slowly put together a braise, browning a plump mallard and sweating onion-celery-carrot with a stick of cinnamon and a bay leaf, tomato, the end of some wine, trotter gear that a friend has given me, and let it sit on the stove while I wait for the flat inspection and the engineer to come and change the meter and write this down.

on the page

I am trying with varying success to read my way through my extensive pile of unread books instead of buying any more and so I pick up Cynan Jones’ The Dig which is nothing to do with archaeology but rather a compellingly unpleasant portrait of rural Wales, a grieving sheep farmer and a man who catches badgers to bait them. One of those books so short you know it has no time for happy endings, but you read it in hope nonetheless.