January 25th. The Festive Season seems like about ten years ago. The New Year already old, gnarled and bitter. It must have opened its eyes and said "Not Again!" Then gone on a little about "who will release me" before taking to the Schnapps, Lobster Tails and the You Tube comment sections.
But fear not, my own views are never well defined, and entirely possible the New
Year is actually busy in the potting shed, its eyes agleam with the
possibilities around Apache Beggarticks in the perennial border, and the burdens
of calculating the number Summer Dance Cucumber to plant.