More flowers. And death cleaning.

This is the time of year when my amaryllises (is that the plural?) flower all at once and I don't really know what to do with them, because they're huge. I have three pots of them and they sit in a spare room looking boringly leafy for 11 months, and then have their fortnight of glory downstairs. In fact, they badly need to be repotted and split into at least 8 pots, but do I want 8 leafy pots sitting around all year? I do not. The year before last, I did some splitting, and got rid of 3 pots to friends. Next year I must do more of this! The trouble is that I can't bear to throw them away. And you can't really persuade people to accept them apart from when they're in bud and look promising. I've had the original bulb for... oh, it must be twenty or more years. 

Talking of getting rid of things, I've made a resolution that every Monday morning I'm going to throw something away or take it to a charity shop. Thus if I live to, oh, 96, my children won't have much to do with my stuff when I die. So far we've kept this up for two weeks but I'm determined to continue. Books don't count. We do take books to charity shops anyway. But we have a lot of books. 

A member of the choir of which I'm chair died suddenly on Saturday. She felt unwell all week, then felt better, then felt worse and died on the way to hospital. She was at choir the previous week, apparently fine. Keep decluttering, Pam. I mean, she was 78, but I'm 75. 

It's spring in the garden. 

Lovely lovely. 

I've done quite a bit of tidying, but there's still more to do. However, weeding this hyacinth bed was a pleasure. The scent!

This is my little shady reading corner for hot weather. But it's not hot yet. 

Pink and yellow don't really go together, but I think they're fine here. Every year I buy quite a few hyacinths at the supermarket to have in the house over a couple of months, and then I plant them in the garden afterwards. We've been in the house for 36 years, so it's quite a hyacinthy garden. I  hope the people who come after us in the house don't concrete the whole thing over. 

In London, Littlest Granddaughter looks at a new book on the stairs. 

In Dundee Botanic Gardens yesterday, Small Grandson runs on stepping stones. We were up to see the family, which was very nice, though Dundee Botanics aren't a patch on the Edinburgh ones, and they charge you £5 entry fee, while the Edinburgh ones are free. I think the Edinburgh ones should charge, really; but I'm very glad they don't.