We were debating last night whether it was not a bit too early for the lilies and the fig tree to go outside. Well, to be honest, we didn't debate, I just politely expressed my opinion without unduly raising my voice (too much) that they should stay in the laundry for a bit longer, that I smug as I am know more about winter in this part of the world than R will ever do. Even after all these years. Spring in Ireland may start on Feb 1st but we are not in Co. Dublin, aren't we.
So we wake up to -4°C and now what? I suppose this is what gives the edge to a gardener's year. And I am not the gardener in this set up. Who is getting obviously restless.
Yesterday morning I woke up with the dreadful image of R collapsing on the road and so I got dressed and cycled at slow speed behind and in front of him while he did his training for the half marathon. I could see the steam coming off him while I tried to huff and blow some warmth into my frozen fingers. But I am not convinced. Or rather: I have no idea what makes completing a half marathon in a sweaty crowd attractive. But I probably have to cycle along now with him until this is over and done with.