Not one of my best efforts, this photo, but full of Spring nonetheless, in the ?person? of a scarpering bee, which until I approached with my phone was busily doing what bees do in the catkins whose furriness matched his/her own. (I think I ought not to anthropomorphise a bee, but once you start ...) Anyway, it was a glorious afternoon; the temperature climbed, albeit briefly, into double figures, and I found myself tempted to enjoy the late afternoon sun with a little pruning. Bad move. The sun sets and you're left chilled and stabbed with tiny prickles as you collect the debris. But I feel that pruning is something that lets you be outside purposefully at this time of year - maybe one of the reasons why I don't do it in November.It was a good day in another way. The young woman who was at the checkout in the supermarket (a) packed my bags as she scanned them through (this happens elsewhere, but seldom in our local) and (b) told me that I was responsible for her wanting to write. She'd been in my class at some point - I could remember her, but recall a sullen indifference, studiously maintained. Now she's a smiling and helpful person with the confidence to pay a spontaneous compliment. Some days I used to moan that teaching was a mug's game. Not today.
