The title of this post is a perhaps witty allusion to the properties of sap at this time of year – the observation that THINGS are, notwithstanding inasmuch as which, starting to throw off the stultifying shackles of winter. Why, just this morning in the Jardin Des Girrafes I observed the two bunnies, at it, like, well, bunnies. I could only prise them apart by tempting them with breakfast. They are mother and son. I think they’ve been at it quite a lot, but the fruits of their Oedipal burrow, if any have issued thusfar hexadigitally and henceforthward, have been consumèd by the cat Naughtypants (Not His Real Name). The burrow itself – well, that has been extinguishèd by the activities of the builders.
As I might have mentioned in an earlier effusion, the Jardin Des Girrafes is currently in the throes of a massive extension. After many months of planning, dreaming and the scraping together of cash, our conservatory out back
has been removèd
and is being replaced by this ongoing erection
which, like the eructations of Mr Blackmore and his Rhythm Rainbows, is rising at a prodigious, puissant, and – I dare to say – tumescent rate. The groundwork was laid with care by a team of builders of a certain age and deliberation, but when they’d done, they gave way to a team of young, virile bricklayers who move so fast that it’s impossible to capture them on film (despite entreaties from Frank). One hardly dares venture outdoors during the week lest one is fair mown down by a barrowful of wet cement or buried under a pile of bricks toted in haste by a youth of Ganymedean proportions. Now that the extension is – against all hope – actually underway, I am even as we speak haunting the alleys and byways for a decent secondhand aga with a ‘balanced’ flue – I’ve been researching these things, you know – that can be transported from distant parts with the help of my friend Mr M. P. of Cromer and his Trusty Vehicle.
What with all this foam and fury of business, I have suddenly found myself in THE ZONE, so, yesterday, as the builders were finishing up for the day, I broke ground at last on the first draft of my new book. I am now 947 words in. My friend Dr J. G. of Sussex, a prodigious science writer, says that 1000 words a day is a good rate, and I am inclined to agree. I can write 1000 words rather easily, but tend to stop after that as my mind wanders into teh silliness.
Even so, I can still get away to enjoy the glories of the coast at this time of year. Here is a snap from yesterday’s lunchtime walk, from Cromer lighthouse, looking westward (Dog in foreground for scale).
The wind had dropped, the sun was shining so brightly that it actually cast shadows (I’d forgotten what these were) and one didn’t feel that one had to wear a deep-sea-diving costume outdoors for fear of being exfoliated to the bone by just standing in the breeze. Spring has, as they say, Sprung.