North to Scotland and hope for a fine day, that was the plan.
Come day two we went south down the Mull of Kintyre, a quick ferry crossing and voila!
The only good weather day this year and we were on the Isle of Gigha - not in the garden working hard as we should have been. Good weather, good friends and a great garden.
We had stayed at Achamore House some years ago and the whole time there it rained, and rained. This time the sun was out and the day was glorious.
The work done to the gardens there was amazing. So much achieved since our last visit.
The viewpoint at the top of the garden revealed the western coast, a seal on a rock, head up, tail up and buzzards wheeling.
The rhododendrons were two weeks ahead of home and bursting with colour, especially the deep reds.
Camera was out taking visual notes - the pond, camellia walk, walled garden, bamboo tunnel - ears bathing in birdsong.
Summer was on its way.
But it did not arrive!
Next day was back to rain and cold and so on. We fled to Arran on a wallowing ferry, two of us looked a little green.
We fled home a day early - well, we could tidy up the garden.
It was raining, is raining and the grass has grown six inches, most of the daffs are dead (R deadheaded them yesterday), it is too wet to cut the lawn so I have to just watch the jungle rising from the turf.
It is amazing how much change can come to a garden with a day of warmth. The cherries, pear, plum and greengage are in blossom as are two of our damsons. Flowerbeds, empty a few weeks ago, are tumbling with growth. Forgetmenots seem to have seeded themselves everywhere (or did I scatter the seed?) They are in the rose bed, up the bankings, in the wood, down the bankings, everywhere and wonderful. Other surprises reveal themselves on closer inspection - two teasels in the main beds - they can stay, the japanese anemones I removed from the rose bed have come forth - must have left a smidgeon of root behind.
All in all it is so difficult to leave one's garden - the control freak in me - to its own machinations.
On a final note - the cling film on the back windows seems to have deterred the blackbird from attacking its reflection, the human hair down the mole holes has not worked too well. Mowdy is tunnelling away with renewed vigour.
At least one good thing - the previous owner had planted Spanish bluebells near the gate - I assassinated them last year and they seem to have disappeared. I can almost hear our native bluebells in the wood breath a sigh of relief.