It got me in the end. The dreaded Covid. Stopped in my tracks. Unsure quite how, but still, it got me. After two years and several months, I have fallen. And here we are in poorly-land. It will be obvious that, due to my ability to scribble (metaphorically speaking) a spartan blog, I am not desperately ill, and for that I am thankful. Still, there is gardening that can’t be done, gigs not attended, family outings to forgo. Luckily I am surrounded by the warm arms of my family. When I told Peggy she said “Well, at least you’ll have time to turn up the hems of the two pairs of trousers I gave you to alter.” Hopefully all is well with the rest of the gang, pop over to The Prop’s site and all will be revealed. Shall we get on? I’ve got coughing and feeling miserable to get on with.
First we have the annual SoS display of Rhoodohypoxis baurii (or similar). They are looking a real treat at the moment. Joy to my heart.
Next, Viola ‘Molly Sanderson’, a happy discovery in a garden centre bargain bin. I have grown this lovely lady once before and she was lost along the wayside. Yes, friends, I killed her! Possibly best not to mention that fact in front of the new girl.
More joy, in the unlikely form of a greenhouse base. Now I just have to worry that it is in the right place, big enough, the actually greenhouse will turn up, the actual greenhouse putter-upper will bother coming. And breathe.
Onto another newby and perhaps a new obsession. Not that I have room for any more. I love this little nemesia!
One of the great pleasures of the garden is to see the wildlife beginning to use it. What was once a virtual desert is becoming an oasis. This Allium roseum is providing sustenance for both the bee and my tortured soul. I may be getting carried away.
Finally, the most glorious Rosa ‘Gertrude Jekyll’, another rescued rose, but this time from Zeus’ mum in Ilfracombe. I’m feeling better already.
That is that. Tired now. ‘Til next time.