Sunday 15th March 2026

It’s Mothering Sunday here in the UK. One of those movable feasts, which depends on the phase of the moon. It’s early this year - not quite spring, if you go by the equinoctial date. It is cold and blustery - hail is not far away. I ventured out earlier, in my pyjamas, Wellingtons, and a big coat, for a quick look around, opened up the polycrubs, and cut myself a couple of sprigs of hellebore. I have them now on the bookcase beside me, high enough that I can admire their bashful faces. They look beautiful in the green vase.

I’ve not gone to church, but given myself a day at home. Last week was so busy, and the emails were intense. I am involved in numerous community groups and boards; one particular project is at a critical stage right now, and we are all getting battle weary. “Courage, Brother, do not stumble…” as the good Dr Macleod exhorted those Edinburgh workers, 150 years ago.

For dinner, I have a nice bit of rolled lamb to roast with potatoes, and I will make a bramble and apple crumble for dessert. Served with ice cream. Maybe a glass of wine - go on then.

So, I decided to come back to the blog. It’s a seasonal thing with me, as you will know if you have been around for any time. Bursts of activity when I witter on about whatever, then months and months of silence. Well, that’s just how it is, and today I thought - why not?

I tried Substack for a while, but it wasn’t for me. I know this platform isn’t easy to leave a comment on or to “build community”, but I’m only really pleasing myself here. Delighted to have you along, if you find the ramblings of a housewife in her sixties interesting. I quite enjoy them.