Gosh, during Holy Week I feel as if I'm never away from the church! Today I was up there along with Chris transforming the Gethsemane garden into an Easter garden. It's much more fun than flower arranging and saves me from thinking of myself of a worthy 'lady of the church' *g* The great clods of dripping moss gathered from Puck's Glen are hardly authentic for a desert garden, but we have to rely on artistic licence. We do that a lot. We plotted how to depict Mark's account tomorrow morning and John's tomorrow night. The young man in white robes is played by a rather coy angel who could do with his wings clipped. The folded grave clothes (a folded hanky) are a little small to accommodate the Risen Christ who waits in the wings to replace the coy angel tomorrow evening.

Tonight we will light the new fire with a wonderful big bonfire under the trees (hoping not to set either them or the rector alight) and then renew our baptismal vows by candlelight. Magic.

Thing is, so few folk actually take part in all this. After the bittersweetness of Maundy Thursday and the bleak despair of Good Friday the feeling of release and renewal as Easter morning arrives with such joy and hope is something I couldn't bear to miss. But IMO you have to experience the down before you can appreciate the up. You have to suffer with Jesus as well as rejoice with him.

On the Heathbank garden front, Rob and I, with some help from Michael who just thought he was coming to walk the dogs, shifted four tonnes of stones from the gate into the new parking bay in our drive yesterday. Despite my specific instructions to the supplier to send the 'wee' lorry, they sent the big one that can't get through the gate. I even measured the darn gate for them! My muscles are reminding me that I'm not as young as I think. See, I'm really 15 - this grey hair's a mistake.