Foxes & Chickens.

Yesterday, I spent four straight hours raking up and gathering the fallen leaves of autumn, from just one garden. I’ve promised to never again blissfully kick through a neatly piled-up heap of leaves, now I know how much effort is involved. However, the upshot is I now sport biceps as big as Popeye’s.

Last week, while sweeping up even more leaves to the side of a clients house, I jumped when I came upon a dead fox. It was young and probably dead no more than two days, lying there under a covered area, I reckoned it must have eaten something poisonous.

I’ve never seen such healthy looking foxes as I’ve seen here in London (well OK, not this poor chap), no, not even in the countryside. Bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and sporting shiny burnt orange coats, they’re prolific around here, due to several railway lines crisscrossing the area.

I’ve always wished I could keep a few chickens, they’re sociable creatures, hilarious to watch and they like to eat the slugs too. Unfortunately, they wouldn’t last very long around here, as at the bottom of the garden are rail tracks with steep embankments, where foxes seem to live.

It’s mid-December and there are still a few packets of daff’s and tulip bulbs left on the garden centre shelves and at half-price, I find the temptation too irresistible to ignore. Then, I have to try to find the time and space to plant them amongst the hundreds I’ve already planted this year.

Oh well, having missed a trip to Amsterdam this year to see their breath-taking tulip (and hyacinth) displays, I may well have created my own bountiful Amsterdam flower show.