One of those days

Most days I sit at the keyboard and know just what I intend to write about. That's not to say I actually do end up writing about what I had intended as my subject: my grasshopper mind frequently takes me in a completely different direction and what ends up on the blog bears no resemblance to what I had meant to write. I understand some authors of fiction find this happens with their books. There are those authors, or so I understand, who plan their novels scene by scene and know exactly what is going to happen before they write even the opening sentence. Other authors start off with an idea of the plot but find the characters they have invented take control of the story which then just writes itself. Don't misunderstand me: I'm not putting myself in the same class as many published authors, although there are some whose books are so dire that I consider myself in a class above them. Why their publishers think the books will sell is completely beyond me.

See? It's happened again. I started out with absolutely no intention of slagging off writers or publishers.

Well, our resident blackbird has been perched high in the sycamore singing lustily for most of the weekend. When he takes a break to nip off for a juicy worm steak or snail fritter or whatever the garden seems almost eerily silent. I was in the vegetable garden yesterday afternoon and enjoyed a pleasant serenade as I sowed the parsnip seeds. Fern, our springer spaniel, enjoys gardening and delights in accompanying the Old Bat or me when we are working out there. She especially enjoys weeding, sticking her nose in to see what is being pulled out and generally making a nuisance of herself. Many years ago I constructed a picket fence across the garden to keep dogs off the vegetable plot. When I am down there digging or whatever, Fern lies as close as she can get to the fence, much of the time at the gate with her nose poked underneath as far as it will go.

I built an archway over the gate which we call a pergola although it isn't really large enough to merit the description. Now I always though the word 'pergola' should be pronounced with the stress on the second syllable but I looked it up in the dictionary yesterday and found I have been wrong all these years: the stress is on the first syllable. That pergola is covered by a clematis, another word I was unsure about pronouncing. I have always said 'clem-eight-iss' with the stress on the second syllable (again) but I have heard it said 'clem-at-iss' with the first syllable stressed. I find that both are correct. As somebody remarked on another blog the other day, English is an odd language.

I seem to have meandered through several subjects today so I will finish now before I get myself in too much of a tangle and you, dear reader, hopelessly confused.