Primroses, Mud and the Escape of the Little People

What a week we've had here at the Twiggly Hoose. It has rained constantly since Sunday due, in no small part, to me spending some of my hard-earned Child Tax Credits on a garden fork, sieve thing and some cheapy primroses for my hanging basket. The primroses got planted up on the kitchen table, Twiglet transferring most of the compost very successfully to the living-room carpet, walls, paintwork and, I suspect, his stomach judging by the mess on his t-shirt and face. Still, at least it is organic compost. And I always wanted a red and muddy-brown swirled carpet - 70s style is making a come-back, after all.
The garden fork and sieve remain in the boot of Davey the Dilapidated Hyundai from Hell on the grounds that retreiving them means wading through what used to be the garden (but now resembles a Lido, I fully expect to see German beachtowels strewn all over my path very soon) to the chaos that is the World's smallest and fullest garden shed.
My primroses do look very pretty though, I am the envy of the local pensioners.

Stuck in the house all week with a bored, listless toddler does not make for particularly interesting reading. Books have been torn, Fisher Price Little People have been despatched through the letterbox, dinner has been thrown in disgust across the kitchen. The living-room looks as though it has been ram-raided by 200 Haribo-crazed toddlers with ADHD. Fingers have been trapped and hair has been coated in Weetabix. (I have discovered that Weetabix would make an excellent eco-friendly and biodegradable alternative to super-glue).

Favourite Twiglet phrases this week:
'Dooby Dooby Daaaaaaaaaay'
'Baaa Baaaaa BUGGY!' (no idea what this is supposed to mean, but it is, apparently, hilarious).
Still no real, proper, big-boy words. Apart from, when asked by a lady what his name was, he fixed is huge blue eyes on her, smiled his bestest smile and sagely said 'Bugger'.

We did do some cake-making. Well, I say 'we'... I did the work, Twiglet smeared flour across every conceivable surface and consumed so much raw egg that I'm amazed Edwina Curry didn't pop by with the Health Visitor and a contingent from Social Services. Twiglet decided that he preferred the Welshcakes uncooked, obviously. And, after my disasterous attempt at multi-tasking (nattering on phone, using a too-hot and very cheap frying pan and trying to clean a squirming Twiglet), so did I.

Got a very nice email from Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall this morning, as I'm sure did around 177,000 other people who have committed to the Chicken Out! Campaign. We have been asked to take a photo of the free-range aisle of our local supermarket to send in to the site. The camera is ready for our soujourn to the delights of Asda Hamilton tonight, the jute bag and ultra-cheapskate shopping list is waiting in the hall....all I need to do is actually locate said free-range aisle, as last week it seemed to have disappeared completely. Does anyone have satnav and a magnifying glass I could borrow? A sherpa hanging around, perchance?

On a good note.....it has been snowing today. Everything is so drenched with rainwater that, of course, it hasn't stuck, but we are due more snowfall tomorrow and Saturday, so the Farmers' Market might have to miss our presence this week.

On a bad note....Saturday is actually Imbolc, the first day of Spring in the Pagan calendar (Christians celebrate it as St Bride's or St Brigit's Day, incidentally). One has a feeling that I will not be skipping happily around a green and pleasant garden praising and thanking the Goddess for the first warm rays of sun. I will be cowering indoors with a mug of hot-chocolate watching Wales get pumped to within an inch of their overpaid lives in the Six Nations.