On a train to London, I want to be walking in those fields, hills and woods.

 

 Right plant, wrong place. I spotted the rosettes of five Ornopordum acanthum self-seeded behind one of the buildings at the music school. Not a prominent spot for this tall, architectural biennial which is worthy of a place in any herbaceous border. Sometimes called the Scotch Thistle or the Cotton Thistle it can grow up to three metres with vivid purple thistle-like flower heads.

 So I carefully dug them up, teasing the tap root out of the soil and replanted them in a mixed border among ornamental grasses. I notice the Beth Chatto nursery is selling O. acanthum at £10.90 a pot so that would be fifty quid's worth! 

 Here is some of the good stuff. Lovely loamy, crumbly, well-rotted compost. About two years old, a mixture of garden 'waste' and kitchen scraps. 

 

 An annual ritual. I hard prune the enormous Fig tree (planted by my father several decades ago). Then I put the branches through the shredder which produces several barrow loads of wood chip. I wheel them down to the allotment and mulch the Rhubarb patch. Locally sourced, zero air miles!

 

 I left the dry stems to overwinter in the meadow at the music school. With new growth well underway at ground level I cut them down with the brushcutter this morning. It would be traditional to use a scythe, then again this is an area sowed with wildflower seed rather than an ancient natural meadow.

 When I see frogspawn I know spring has arrived.

 

Spring has sprung.