The veg garden is looking exceptionally woolly and wind-blown at the moment as it subsides gradually into its winter hibernation: good sprouts under them nets though

It’s been November for a whole four weeks now. Season of dreary rain and hat-snatching wind: season of no gardening and damply sloshing wellington boots and mud and dead brown sadly broken stems.

But let’s not get depressed. There are still reasons to be cheerful (honest!):

• I’ve done it! Against all the odds, I have posted every day this month and completed NaBloPoMo, along the way retrieving my blogging mojo and having a thoroughly interesting time

…and the spring cabbages are coming along nicely

• I have handed in the manuscript of my book! At last! Somewhat late but more or less intact. They tell me now comes the difficult bit – bashing it into shape before publication next Easter; but I don’t care. I’m just really, really happy I’ve finished writing it.

The terrace garden… oh dear.

• It’s nearly Christmas! (Don’t care what all you grumpy bumpies say: I love it)
• And it’s nearly the winter solstice! Which means we only have a few more weeks to wait till the evenings get brighter

…but the yellow-stemmed chard is a bit fabulous and still going strong…

• My sprouts are HUGE! The hugest, in fact, I think I’ve ever grown
• I own a piano for the first time in about 20 years. Now all I need is some sheet music.

…and one of my best-ever leek crops is in this bit too

• The sweet rocket is still flowering (even though I couldn’t get a picture of it: you’ll just have to take my word for that one)
• The prickly pear cactus didn’t get frosted even though I left it outside in minus-one temperatures

The back garden sagging slightly under the weight of all that rain…

• I have planted a LOT of tulips
• I am booked in for three slap-up Christmas dinners in the next few weeks. And that doesn’t even count the real one.


…but even on the drabbest of days these two cheer me up. Ewok and Custard, enjoying their winter break eating the hedges and occasionally the lawn (the bit they’re meant to eat)