Plans for the day were somewhat derailed by the discovery that the Refugee Gardener had made various preparations for planting dahlias, but had not in fact planted them. Since this meant that grown-on plants were busily drying out in the shed, we ended up doing it ourselves. It’s been dodgy weather, very heavy, with the sky looking as if it is about to open but not in fact doing so. I do not, unless things go badly wrong, anticipate a dahlia famine. Thirty have been planted, and if the pictures on the packets are anything to go by, the bed is going to be a pulsating spectacle of colour; maroon, bright red, bright orange, and purple. I didn’t manage to get all the ones I wanted and some of them were acquired somewhat at random, but they’re something to look forward to all the same. Otherwise, I’m trying to sort myself out for Oslo. I haven’t done my ironing, or decided what to take, or read up on the three different seminars I’m involved with, though I have at least found my passport which is a start. With any luck, I should get Spring all over again, but this makes it if anything even more difficult to decide on appropriate garments — it’s not a question of fashion statements, but merely of, am I going to be freezing cold, or too hot? I don’t want to take very much if I can avoid it, not least because Scandinavia is a great place for big girls’ blouses in more senses than one, & with any luck, I will return with one or two more nicely cut plain linen items in good colours than I set out with. Maroon, bright red, orange and purple are all right if you are a dahlia bed but not otherwise, and they seem to flourish in shops for large ladies’ clothing in this sceptred isle (which also exhibit a depressing mania for synthetic fabrics). Past experience suggests that I might do better in Norway.