Yesterday, I woke up, looking forward, with possibly more ardour than anything else in my day to come, to digging a hole.
The hole would be required as part of the process of transplanting a large choisya ternata from the back garden where I felt it had been overloading the summer palate with too much yellow to the front, where it would be set against an infinite regress of concrete driveways, and where, I hoped, it would have a better chance of coming into its own.