Wish list - Forsythia

Does anyone else remember the old-style Woman and Home magazine, that our mothers and their friends used to get? Before its makeover into empowered womanhood and a 'brand new attitude'? It was a 1950's time capsule of household hints, knitting patterns, soft-focus short stories, and flower arranging. Even in my childhood I knew this magazine was seriously out of date, but there was a certain comfort about it. Most of all, it has left me with a love of Forsythia, that brave winter flower that seemed to feature in all the 'arrangements' between November and March.

I long to have Forsythia in my garden or at the allotment. Not that I am into flower arranging, but a few sprays of it in an IKEA vase would brighten up the gloomiest December day. And hurtle me right back to my childhood.

For the moment I have to make do with this sunny patch at the entrance to the allotment site.

Wish list - water butt

The standpipes at our site still haven't been turned on yet - or at least they hadn't last weekend. With shallots to water in during a dry spell that was a problem. Luckily a neighbour who has his plot behind ours came to our rescue, and invited us to use water from his rain butt - featured above in all its unshowy, practical glory. It seems like tempting fate after last summer's deluge to say that this is top of my wish list, but I think we have to get moving on this soon.

Today was to have been my one chance this week to get along to the plot for a digging and hoeing session. I'm on taxi and harp-carrying duty for my daughter, who is taking part in the Edinburgh International Harp Festival. However, yesterday I hit my head, hard, on a table while helping my daughter to pack her harp, and I spent much of the afternoon in Accident and Emergency. I missed the concert by the Brandywine Harp Orchestra from Delaware, USA. A&E was populated by spring Sunday walking wounded. Many footballing and gardening injuries. I don't know if I was the only person there wounded by a table. And today I'm meant to be resting, which I must admit I'm finding it hard to do with a dry, calm spring day calling outside.

Wish list - a greenhouse

With thoughts turning towards the new growing season, a certain amount of wishful thinking creeps in. My wish list isn't huge. More time is an intangible that I struggled to find a photo to fit. A summer without constant rain is outwith my control, but I'm aware that some parts of the world would gladly have our downpours: Arija, for example, in Australia, has just seen her garden die after 6 consecutive years of drought.

Top of my realistic wish list would be a greenhouse. I grew up taking the existence of a greenhouse for granted. Until I was five I lived in a big house in the country, that not only had a greenhouse but also a workshop and woodstore, a wash house with copper kettle for boiling linen in and a ferocious hand-cranked mangle, stables that had become garages, and a hen house. The greenhouse I remember as a tropical world apart, complete with a rampant grape vine. When we moved to a house in a nearby village the greenhouse was a place of warmth in chill spring days, as I watched my father sow seeds into trays of fragrant compost. When my parents moved to a new house just as I left home for university my mother very swiftly bought my father a greenhouse, as he was suffering severe withdrawal from his greenhouse habit.

Now with a pocket handkerchief city front-and-back garden I have little room for a greenhouse without unbalancing things. A greenhouse at the allotment is perhaps a better option, but as will be obvious I don't manage to get along to the plot every day, and greater heat also means greater need for watering. So I'm still working out what to do, but meantime I long for more room for seeds, indoor tomatoes, perhaps peppers and cucumbers which don't tolerate the Scottish climate. And most of all that unique smell of a warm greenhouse on a cold, bright spring day.

The photo is my father's current greenhouse, all whitened with frost last Christmas Day. I think my daughter took this photo - I'm not sure why. Perhaps so that the greenhouse didn't feel left out of the festivities. Perhaps it was the russet glow of the larches on the hillside as the Christmas Day sun rose. Anyway - Happy Christmas, greenhouse.