Couldn’t Think Up A Clover Pun

If you’re a glass-half-full person, you’d declare this a crisp January morning. If you’re from the North like Frances and Steve, you might use phrases such as ‘nithered’. Especially if these veteran, dependable GoodGymmers had both forgotten their gardening gloves. The shame!

Mrs W has a bit of difficulty getting around and so her carers showed us in and out to the garden, which had some wild clover slowly making a takeover bid for flower bed dominance. Light on tools but high in spirits, Frances and Steve set to work, chatting about GoodGym, Christmas, Parties and of course Brexit. We were provided a welcome cup of tea that doubled up nicely as a hand warmer.

We improvised on the lack of bags by ferrying large flower pots full of compressed and compacted displaced clover, and had shifted a fair old amount by the time the carers had to leave and we had to go. Without being able to trowel and fork the beds, they didn’t look as fantastic as we’d like, but we let Mrs W know that we’d be happy to come back another time and get the beds set for spring. Bring on the warm weather!