Later flowering asters

Boy I’m procrastinating.  This should be a portrait of me hard at work – tapping madly at the keys; wrestling the story of two bishops Adam Orleton and Richard de Bury (fourteenth century bishops – don’t ask) from books and websites into natty summarized prose.

Instead there has been a lot of this:


and even this:


Yes; even gardening in London. Mowing, pruning, cutting back the wisteria, weeding the raised beds.  I have sent seeds to Robyn at Kookootonga (sunflowers)  and to Betina (dwarf French beans) and I have even contemplated a bit of tax return work. Yes, I have elevated procrastination to a fine art this morning.

If I decide it is time to file all my photos for this blog into the master folder I will know I have really gone over to the Dark Side of Bad Researcher.  And it’s not even that the project is dull. It’s marvellous.  Even the bishops.

So I’m giving myself ten minutes to write about asters, make a cup of tea and then finally park myself sternly at the desk and finish my bishops.

Asters. Marvellous. Drought tolerant, grow like weeds, beloved of bees.



The end.