. . . if I know why I am blogging away about an unruly jungle turned into a monster by the manure I covered it with. And then the bits that escaped have gone barmy too - except the asparagus.
There are times I long for three plant pots containing shrivelled remnants of some plant or other and a paved yard. Then I would just visit other gardens - go out to Holker Hall and break their rules eating a surreptitious lunch on the big seat, back to the wall, soaking sun and scent . . .
Anyway it is raining, it is dull and dreary and who wants to wander through a wood dripping water down one's neck. This is not good news for the sun dial but as it is in the shade it does not matter. It will need moving from its overgrown location.
The roses are out at last but William Shakespeare has put on so much growth that his branches are bent to the ground. The oriental poppies are a sad collapsed mess except where supported by the tangle of grass on the upper banking and the crambe had gone askew despite staking.
The thoughts of strimmers hang over me, cutting back the grass beside the paths and the stream. R has trimmed the upper beech hedge and cleared some of the mess from underneath, I have tidied the paths, mown the lawns and emptied the two big containers that had been planted with tulips and pansies. The tulips have been popped in spaces in the cutting garden and the pansies in any spare bits of bed such as at the back of the house.
Granny's Bonnets are going over but I will not cut them back yet - want the seeds both to store and allow to scatter for next year. Other self sowers like foxgloves and poppies are now coming out and livening up the garden.
Growth has been so great this year that paths are becoming impassable especially if it has been raining (or is like now). The alchemilla, particularly, holds water to its hairy leaves and decants it on the unwary passer-by.
Elderflower is with us promising another crop for the cordial. We still have some left from last year but, as the summer was so dreadful, we did not have the hot weather it deserved.
I forgot to net the broccoli so it is broccoli and caterpillars for supper! The little wrigglers get everywhere.
I look out of my window and it is so dark, wet and forbidding up in the wood I think I will put Wimbledon on the television, but then they are playing with the roof closed. Of course, silly me, it is Wimbledon Fortnight - that is why it is raining.
Then I look at this blog and all the pictures are of sunshine and colour!
I am blogged if I know why I am blogging away about one (2,3,4,5 . . . ) bad day.
There are things to do - in the word of that star of the television, Bill and Ben's friend, 'Weeeeeed'.
There are times I long for three plant pots containing shrivelled remnants of some plant or other and a paved yard. Then I would just visit other gardens - go out to Holker Hall and break their rules eating a surreptitious lunch on the big seat, back to the wall, soaking sun and scent . . .
Anyway it is raining, it is dull and dreary and who wants to wander through a wood dripping water down one's neck. This is not good news for the sun dial but as it is in the shade it does not matter. It will need moving from its overgrown location.The roses are out at last but William Shakespeare has put on so much growth that his branches are bent to the ground. The oriental poppies are a sad collapsed mess except where supported by the tangle of grass on the upper banking and the crambe had gone askew despite staking.
The thoughts of strimmers hang over me, cutting back the grass beside the paths and the stream. R has trimmed the upper beech hedge and cleared some of the mess from underneath, I have tidied the paths, mown the lawns and emptied the two big containers that had been planted with tulips and pansies. The tulips have been popped in spaces in the cutting garden and the pansies in any spare bits of bed such as at the back of the house.
Growth has been so great this year that paths are becoming impassable especially if it has been raining (or is like now). The alchemilla, particularly, holds water to its hairy leaves and decants it on the unwary passer-by.
Elderflower is with us promising another crop for the cordial. We still have some left from last year but, as the summer was so dreadful, we did not have the hot weather it deserved.
I forgot to net the broccoli so it is broccoli and caterpillars for supper! The little wrigglers get everywhere.
I look out of my window and it is so dark, wet and forbidding up in the wood I think I will put Wimbledon on the television, but then they are playing with the roof closed. Of course, silly me, it is Wimbledon Fortnight - that is why it is raining.
Then I look at this blog and all the pictures are of sunshine and colour!
I am blogged if I know why I am blogging away about one (2,3,4,5 . . . ) bad day.
There are things to do - in the word of that star of the television, Bill and Ben's friend, 'Weeeeeed'.
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