Lynda Snell has a point.

The unctuous Lynda Snell - who regular listeners to the Archers would happily strangle - was recently on the search for a new dog. Scruff, her previous one, had been lost in a flood and she was discussing with her husband what attributes the new one should have. One that floated, he suggested. She wasn’t amused but did go on to insist that its rear view was perhaps as important as anything. After all, she said, on walks that’s what you see most of the time. And she’s quite right. Compare the elegance of our two with a couple of others I regularly follow in the forest:

Not that Lynda Snell has anything to do with ‘Views from our bathroom window’ which was my original headline but I just thought you’d like to know her thoughts on dogs’ backsides. Much more interesting are the photos that show how our paddock changes character throughout the year. Standing in my shower I see mown grass in the winter (with picturesque snow if we’re lucky) before snowdrops begin to appear in early February. Then week by week emerge the hundreds of bulbs we’ve planted - daffodils, narcissi, camassias, alliums, tulips, bluebells, byzantine gladiolas - to bring a wide variety of yellows, whites, blues and purples until in mid-April the grass begin to grow and the yellows of rattle, primroses, buttercups and dandelions take over.

 And by June, the whole area is alive with the buzzing of insects and bees and the fluttering of butterflies as the downland wild flowers and grasses run riot. 

Sadly, by mid August, the spectacle is over and everything needs a major haircut, but given decent weather even this hard task is an enjoyable one. Thereafter it’s a matter of keeping the grass short till autumn abdicates and everything stops growing. 

Which gives me the chance to plant a few more bulbs and wait till the whole wonderful performance starts again. 

Cue Louis Armstrong: