This is one of Nancy Nightingale’s purchases. I like to call it the brain plant. That is because I have no idea of the true name. I am not sure that I want to know.
However the more I look at its bizarre folds of scarlet, and in spite of myself, I am beginning to find it strangely attractive. It is intriguing. And a little bit scary.
This is Nancy Nightingale’s garden. After a whole month of total neglect. Yes four full weeks of being ignored.
Our very own NN has been abroad on a secret mission and her home in the meantime been home to wannabe surfers and possibly hipsters. Not a gardener in sight.
When I visited yesterday I was expecting carnage, instead I was met with voluptuous, marginally anarchic, beauty. The cosmos and dahlias, asters and sunflowers, agapanthus and canna, gladioli and lavatera, were tangled together in a deep pile carpet of pure joy.
After a dead-head-athon, the purple beans and plum tomatoes were harvested and a few of the most obvious weeds tugged.
All is ready for her return.