It’s gone 1am. He’s just emerged from under the bed to take a drink from his water bowl in the study/dressing room thing. And now, after a number of attempts, he’s jumped onto the freshly made bed. He smells. He smells really bad.

The sunshine came back today and energised my soul from the moment I awoke and saw the bright blue skies through the partially open slats of my bedroom blinds. It’s been a busy day. It’s been a beautiful day.

We walked, me and the Little Dog. We walked for miles along the river and back on the opposite bank. We walked to a place I recalled from my childhood, past a place where both my parents worked, where I used to go as a child myself; cared for by the laundry ladies in lieu of a crèche.

The remnants of the industrial heritage still remain: factories long closed, now deserted as if suddenly evacuated; the aqueduct now dry; the magnificent railway viaduct, silenced for many decades.

They served a purpose for a time, but that time has passed and all that’s left is for us to marvel at the achievements in engineering in the nineteenth century.

So, we wandered back along the river, my feet now burning from the distance and the uneven ground. But we walked with a purpose! The Little Dog always has a purpose: he must run and sniff. He ran and sniffed, I plodded… and sniffed… but in mind of one thing: pretty flowers. The car was parked near the garden centre and so it was convenient to go there and pick up the flowering bedding plants whose purpose would be to fill my summer with colour and joy.

I have absolutely no idea about plants, simply buying things that look pretty, colourful and low maintenance. After the initial burst of energy to establish the things in my borders and pots, I don’t want to have to deal with them until it’s time to remove their lignified remnants at the end of the season.

So I spent the afternoon clearing my border of things that were dead and things that might have been weeds. I didn’t really have a clue about the latter, but I attempted to guide myself based on where I thought I might have, maybe, put things in last year… and whether it looked like it had the potential to grow pretty flowers somewhere down the line.

There’s such a sense of achievement and anticipation to be gained from putting things in the ground that you really don’t have a clue about. There were some pansies and lobelia, but I have no idea about what the potential is for floral magnificence or disappointment as spring turns to summer, slugs and snails permitting of course.

So now I sit and wait, and that’s the most fun part of gardening (in the loosest sense of the word) – just waiting to see what happens.

The Little Dog is snoring loudly, it’s been a tiring day for him. I ache in the nicest possible way, but I do believe my body and mind are begging me to sleep.

And I shall sleep knowing that tomorrow, I shall look out onto my little patch of land and be met by little spots of colour. Those little spots of colour, they do bring such joy.