Friday, 3 May 2013


Bramblin' Rose, bramblin' Rose
How you do it, heaven knows,
Though the thorns scratch, they are no match,
They can't defeat a bramblin' Rose?

I should explain - my wife, formerly known as R is actually Rosey to her close family, Rose to her sister and cousins and Rosemary to others.
She attacks the tip rooting monsters in the upper garden with vigour and they have to give sway.
She divides snowdrops and primroses and spreads joy and makes me a cuppa when I am fatigued.
When she spins I wonder if she will change into a superheroine (can I say that?) superhero.

The swallows are back, a pair orbiting the house getting back their energy for eggs and stuff. Mrs Pheasant has gone awol so she must be sitting. He is still strutting his stuff. We had a moorhen on the pond this morning. 

The daffs have been fantastic this year though late and the persistent autumn planting of a sack a year has payed off. Soon the deadheading will begin, then a feed just to get the bulbs nice and fat for next year.
My sweet peas are trying to get out of the shed but it is too early at the moment so they will have to bide their time.
Seeds have been sown in the cutting bed - Ammi, Love-in-a-mist, Sweet Williams, Wallflowers, Honesty, Calendulas, Green zinnias, Rhidolphia and larkspur, hesperis and sunflowers. I know - capital letters all over the place but you cannot have everything.

The willow tunnel, more like a willow avenue now, is lined with daffs as shown (and mole hills) (hidden). The honeysuckles and clematis planted to clamber over the willows are doing ok and should look good later in the year.

I have a confession to make - I have fallen for an advert on the telly. In amongst some plants, especially the raspberries are some tenacious weeds - nettles, buttercups, ground elder and so on. I do not want to dig the lot up at this moment and replant so have succumbed to a small pot of Roundup gel. You spread it on the individual leaves and hope the victim does not suffer too much. I intend to try it on the bindweed amongst the herbaceous borders later on - will report back. 
I know - it is not all compost and organic stuff and that but I tried to live with the weeds and do best I could but it did not work.

Back to Brambles and stuff - time for a love poem from our distant youth -


We were in love
and blackberrying in the rain.
One wisp of hair
lay soaked upon her forehead
and water sequins
crystalised her eyebrows:
though we were drenched 
we did not care about the damp -
kisses laced with drizzle
are strangely sweet
like mulled bramble wine;
our lips and chins
were stained with juice
and all the furrows of our hands
were dyed deep red -
we did not care,
we were in love
and blackberrying in the rain.

Bramblin' Rose, bramblin' Rose . . . . . . . . . 

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