I have a strange feeling, from time to time, judging from the comments pages, that some readers might have decided to lie in bed for a whole weekend, turn off the phone, and read all 429 posts that I've apparently written (this one will be number 430, and for number crunchers there are apparently 4,478 comments which I think is rather wonderful in its way).
If you are one of those readers you will no doubt know that I've got a bit of a thing for tulips. "Tulips or Dahlias" I said to Charlie early this morning as we walked down Great Ormond Street. I suppose it's just one of those questions isn't it, in a list to which one must add sweet peas, lupins, bearded iris, hollyhocks and foxgloves. "Dahlias", he replied, which I think if I was very honest I must agree with. But there's something nice about the two isn't there? Tulips are coming up about the time that the dahlia tubers must be planted, and vice versa. So the finest hour of both is well separated by six months and we have completely forgotten how much we love the other when it is time for their moment in the sun.
So anyway, if you've navigated your way through the blog archive, you won't need pointing in the direction of Tulip Time, Tulip Time 2, Easter Garden, Any colour so long as it's black, Normal Service Resuming, or On the Cusp to know that it's the time of the year when, if I have nothing else to say or to write about... It's going to be blog about tulips.