God's in his heaven ...

Yesterday, I decided to go on a hunt for yet more bluebells; bluebells, those merry harbingers of Spring, though actually the native bluebell is a bit more dispirited than its Iberian cousin, that's one of the ways you tell them apart - Spanish, perky - English, droopy (there's some sort of metaphor here).
Anyway, it was lunchtime, or in retirement parlance, just after breakfast, so the forest was deserted apart from me and about twenty deer, as I pedalled along in the sunshine the coconutty smell of gorse wafted over me, causing great angst. Why? Let me pontificate.
Surely in colonial or maritime circles the coconut was discovered by said settlers or shipmen familiar with the smell of gorse, so why isn't it the  gorsey smell of the coconut?
Over the past three days the oak had produced new leaf, so that the bare trees of Thursday were now covered in brilliant lime green (Goddamit, there's another one, surely it should be new oak green) foliage. Thus buoyed by the sun, the trees, the turning wheel of the seasons, and the azure undergrowth, I continued on my way, only stopping to berate some children intent on making a foray off-piste, irrevocably damaging my droopy blue friends. Yes, I was happy!

Naughty Doris takes the cake.

Here in the UK storm Doris is battering away at my home and castle, more specifically she's destroying my fence, aided by the neighbours sodden peat hanging baskets, now removed. U had finished the painting, though I'll have to do another coat tomorrow (hence Facebookers, I'm not making a cake - as promised), and went out to survey the blusteriness, it was then I noticed my poor fence swaying like a Dad at a disco. "Hmm?" I thunk "That's gonna go." I apologise for my contractions - I was distraught. Reaching over the fence I removed said baskets, but the damage had been done. "Hmm? How can I stop the fencepost breaking and the fencing taking off like a murderous sort of kite, visions of Gordon Kaye in 1987?"

The answer popped into my noggin (rather like the fencepost and Gordon Kaye in 1987) - rope. Somewhere I have shockcord, somewhere I have 5mm rope! I searched, thoroughly and after 10 minutes obscenely, eventually I unearthed (see pic) my SRT gear and two luggage straps, whereon I dispatched myself to the garden and tied the fencepost to the cherry tree. At the moment both are holding, but so's Doris.

 Wish me (and the tree) luck.