Spring is springing. We were sitting in the garden this evening, in warm sunshine, at half past six, thinking how strange it is that only a month ago it would have been cold and dark and we’d have been inside. The valley is filled with birdsong morning and night. I’ve even managed to get up and take Mavis for a walk in the mornings, it’s been so beautiful… But other than that, we’ve been staying put.
STOP TAKING PHOTOS AND THROW ME A BALL:
Down at the bottom of the meadow, cowslips are really getting settled in. 
And pheasants eye, my favourite daffodil.
We have one snakeshead and one white fritillary. Both are in severe danger of being squashed in the relentless Mavis ball and stick games, but they’ve survived so far.
Have you noticed a couple of days now of clear, intense sunsets?
The light at the end of the guest bedroom corridor on Saturday evening was like being a Barragan house in Mexico. Radiant.
This morning the light was particularly soft up on the hills.
I would say that the oak is out before the ash, again. Another early, warm spring already?
We went for lunch today with Jasper and Oisin. Charlie had picked a modest bucket of flowers:
Their new house is more beautiful than anything you could imagine. I’m afraid in a weekend of pottering around the Parsonage and garden, and just generally catching up, this magical, magical place was the only actually new thing that we saw and did. Which was pretty much perfect, but you will understand if I don’t post too many photographs.
Heavenly. Lunch turned in to tea. We got back home around six, just as the sun came bursting through clouds again.
Tulip time has arrived in the vegetable garden this week. 
First of the parrots:
And as the sun went down, and the garden was filled with the sound of evening birdsong, and the church bell striking seven, then eight o clock – at that moment, London felt a very long way away, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so glad not to be on a train back up to the city tonight.
