Potting up dahlias and other bulbs

Well that’s a dull old title. I could have done – darning my dacks.  Because that is what I did in between blog posts today.  I’m determined not to lose my secateurs out of the back pocket of my gardening trousers ever again.

That’s a scrap of Marrimekko fabric leftover from a tablecloth I sewed.

So there have been repairs in the rents of the garments. And there was a sneaky bit of this:

But to the bulbs.

A quick reminder. This is what might emerge – gaze upon promise and drool.

And these are some of the charming little desiccated delights that I buried, labelled this time, in the pots.

Do I show you the frankly priapic dahlia bulb?

Go on.

I much prefer the crustacean one. It felt like I was burying a crab.

And this is the charming stack of potted bulbs on the (utterly sorted and tidy) potting shed bench.

Add water, warmth and wait for proper Spring weather.

And in the meantime keep on weeding.

There now. You’ve had a visual treat.  More news on the weekend when I may have returned to France in one piece. It took me three hours to snake through customs on Sunday.

This French customs work to rule has a fabulous name : Grêve du zèle. Which fascinates me (sad, I know) because you can see that zèle has the same root as zealous.  Enthusiasm.  Zeal. But it is the contrary. Does this mean they were working with enthusiasm before?  All I know is until Brexit is decided there will be strikes with yet more zeal and I shall be trying my hardest to avoid them.