Off The Edge Gardening

Using my previous post Top Ten* as reference I will sum up yesterday’s visit to Rosemoor with All Horts as follows:

1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 and 10.

* In the event that you haven’t committed this post to memory (shame on you) here is a link for your convenience  https://offtheedgegardening.wordpress.com/2015/10/16/top-ten/

 

 

Day out.  Brilliant.  Now tired.  Pretty flower.  More tomorrow.  Goodnight.

The internet is evil.  Nothing but bad can come of it.  You meet people who you are unlikely to come across in the real world.  Strange virtual folk with strange virtual habits.  Unknown, scary, likely to have hidden agendas and devilment on their minds.   But I have found these demons to be kind and generous.  They speak my language.  They enhance my life.  It doesn’t matter where they come from,  what colour they are, their religion, inside leg measurement or favourite member of Take That.  They are trusting and trustful. The few that aren’t exist in the real world too and are probably just as malevolent.

Thank you to my blogging pal Chloris from http://www.thebloominggarden.wordpress.com for a most welcome parcel of seed and cuttings that arrived today.

Beware the evil internet. You have been warned.

I was meant to be working in Lavinia and Lionel’s garden today.  Yesterday I was due at The Farm and the day before Max’s was scheduled.   None of these obligations were completed.

At least I made it to Max’s.  Here I struggled on pathetically for an hour before throwing in the towel and staggered home, drooping tail between my leaden legs.  I was poorly.   Proper “not being able to get out of bed” poorly.  Of course it was just one of these virus malarkeys, but it was a truly mean and nasty one.  Firstly it replaced the skin on the back of my throat with acid infused sandpaper and neatly partnered this with a rasping hack.  It then swiftly moved down the alimentary canal to bring nausea and stomach cramps.  The inability to lift my head or keep my eyes open was exacerbated by a raging thirst that could not be quenched.  As these symptoms eased a little, it heralded the arrival of a Godzilla versus King Kong headache and I mean H E A D ache, every sinus in my cranium was imploding as they battled it out.  Faster than the Barnstaple to Exeter Express this shot down the track of my spine to linger in the lumber region, making lying or sitting painful and standing impossible.  Enough now before the word “mucus” or “phlegm” offends anyone.  I expect you get the picture.  I was poorly.

So what has this meant.  Well; no gardening (definitely a bad thing, I have missed being outside, my folk, my cake), no computer (not necessarily a bad thing, in fact a very good thing), lots of sleep (good, but being unconscious for 20 hours a day is not the most thrilling way to get through the week), a detox (also good, but perhaps you should do it for more than 3 days and now I need to build up my strength), an appreciation of my health and how important it is (much-needed and a fine lesson indeed).

This quince lives at L&L’s house.  Where I should have been today.  But I was poorly.

ps  You probably guessed, I am feeling much better.

 

There has been significant progress in the Case of the Stolen Pasty.  Some new evidence has come to light which has led to an arrest.  We received a tip-off from Mrs G sorry, an undisclosed member of the public.  For her own safety she is presently in a witness protection programme at Carol the Cake’s house oops, an unidentified location.  It appears that shortly after the said incident Mr G left the country.  Suspicious by his sudden desire to camp in the pouring rain in France, I delved deeper into Mr G’s murky past. It seems that he has “form” in the pasty department.  A self-confessed pastyaholic and founder member of the Pasty Liberation Front, he has been under surveillance by the Pasty Police for some time now.  All the evidence pointed to the fact that the Pony Posse, not lily-white angels themselves, were set up by Mr G who ate the pasty himself.  To prove this theory a trap was set for the ruthless villain.  An unattended Traditional pasty was left on the bench outside the office whilst I hid in the feed shed.  As expected it didn’t take long for his well-developed pasty sensors to locate the bait.  He sidled up and pounced like a lion on a wildebeest, there was no hope for the incident victim.  “You’re nicked”, I shrieked, as he was caught in the heinous act of stuffing the pasty sideways into his mouth.  “Its a fair cop” he sniggered, and shortcrust pastry, potato, swede, a nice bit of beef skirt seasoned with a generous sprinkling of black pepper was spat vehemently in my direction.   He threw back his head and emitted a spine-tingling evil cackle and headed at speed towards his getaway tractor clutching onto what remained of his spoils. Unfortunately, for him, the tractor wouldn’t start (might I suggest checking the alternator) which made an arrest quite straightforward.  No remorse has been shown. He will be offered full rehabilitation.  The ponies have been given a full pardon and an extra apple each.  Case closed.

This hydrangea head is possibly the most beautiful spent flower in the world.  Of course I am open to correction about this outrageous claim, but today at L&L’s it seemed that way.  My morning spent digging out a raspberry (and ground elder) bed was enhanced by the sight of its gloriously maturing blooms.  If Helen Mirren was a flower, then this would be her, confident in her ripe beauty.

Whilst remembering the forbidden fruit that I had sampled just a few weeks ago from these canes, I asked Lionel if scrumping referred only to apples.  “Well” he told me “When I was a boy I would scrump apples, pears, plums and cherries.”  This made me feel much better about my foraging. However I cannot blame the impetuosity of youth, just the devil-may-care of age.