Welsh onions have always been in my garden as long as I have been gardening. You pull away the shoots that you want when you want them and they quickly restore themselves. They have small bulbs and the leaves are similar to those of spring onions but fuller flavoured, more like chives. They are doing well this year being fond of cold and wet weather it seems.
The plant-stand in the farmers' market is unusually busy and the stall holder on her own as usual is under pressure. It is a though the public eager to catch up with gardening routines is imitating the urgency of shoots and buds to make up for the restraints of the delayed spring.
Thomas the Tank Engine is running between Tunbridge Wells West Station and Groombridge this weekend on the single track line. It has been transported from Didcot in Oxfordshire where the replica of the engine featured in the children's stories has its permanent home. Every how and then we hear its homely whistle drift across the town.
You may, if you wish, bring these sounds (which may have their origins in the curious choice of language in the comics of our youth, eg: "Yaroo!" he ejaculated,) to an end. The system seems to have righted itself.
Crikey! Pity in a way because I was enjoying myself.
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