Soilman

I’m stunned how early it’s come. After the winter we’ve endured, I didn’t expect to see any asparagus until May.

Did a few hours at the plot today, but without enthusiasm. The piercing wind and grey skies got to me. If it were July, I’d have ignored it. But after five months of winter – and a tough old winter, at that – I’m just sick of it. Enough already.

That’s the thing with winter: like radiation exposure, it’s cumulative. I totally get what happened to Van Gogh. Always a tad unstable, the poor bastard painted one too many wacky clouds from his garret window and thought: “Right, fuck it. That’s it. Can’t take it any more. Where did I put that gun?”