I have failed. I can’t for the life of me remember what this rose in Max’s garden is called. Luckily its beauty makes up for any of my shortcomings.
A splendid day at The Buns. The sun shone, a breeze cooled, flowers bloomed.
But something was amiss in the Land of Lemon Drizzle. Was there an inkling of strain in the sultry air? What could the problem possibly be? I think I have been forgiven for relegating their lavender from No. 1 in the hit parade to equal status with the French example. However, I’m not so sure that Mrs B has forgiven me for telling everyone about her rejection of my geum pressie, and by association of me and my undying love and loyalty, as documented in a recent Six on Saturday.
Perhaps I should stop mentioning it, that might help. One more time wouldn’t hurt.
The other day I was admiring a row of Lavandula angustifolia in The Buns’ garden. “I was just thinking” I said to Mrs Bun, who was troubled that I had drifted into some kind of pollen induced coma “that you can’t beat good old English lavender.” Relieved that the body inaction was just due to brain over-action she replied “Definitely, I so agree”. It was decided.
Today on Button Moon I wondered if I had been a little rash in pinning down my affections to just one species. This French lavender, Lavandula stoechas, was doing its utmost to sway my opinion. And it succeeded.
I have determined that they are both wonderful. You don’t always have to have a favourite. And you can always change your mind. It is decided.
Whether you are calling it Stipa tenuissima or Nassella tenuissima, the combined effect of sun and wind on the Mexican feather grass is just the same. Poetry in motion.
Saturday is flying away and I can’t keep up. Unfortunately my usual weekend regime: dawntide 10k run followed by toasted quinoa breakfast with a quick scan of Plato’s Symposium, then a brisk hike up the Matterhorn, fitting in a visit to the local nursery on the descent and some hands on gardening when reaching home base, has meant that I have only just got around to writing my Six on Saturday. Oh, hang on a minute, I think I might be getting myself mixed up with our guru The Dalai Propa. My truth is that we went to Lidl and then on to ‘Spoons for a large glass of red and some chunky chips. Never mind, I am here now. It is Saturday and I have Six. Which, if I have interpreted the rules correctly, is all that is required.
Strawberries is a great place to start. Some have been munched already, which is fine. But not by me, which is not. I have picked a few to ripen fully indoors to foil the little slimy blighters.
Rosa ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ is flowering well, and not yet complaining for her pot restraints. Obviously not blue in even the widest sense of the word, but I do love this colour, a mauvish grey perhaps? The white stripes are also nice, but possibly indicate impending doom or nunglewurzles or even Serengeti fever.
Our shopping list today included beer, limes and donut peaches. We came home with all of the above plus Aloysia citrodora, Lemon Verbena, and an Arts and Crafts sideboard. These things happen.
Continuing in the herbalistic vein, is a beautifully variegated mint snuggling up to Viola ‘Molly Sanderson’. The mint came from Mrs Bun. It was very late on parade and we wondered if it had died “but you can’t kill mint!” we said. Then, giggling I believe, it popped up everywhere. This is a little that was destined for the green bin. Needless to say, it is corseted in a pot. Its name is out there somewhere.
Now we have Glumicalyx nutans bought last year at RHS Rosemoor’s garden show. I must hold my hand up and admit it was partly bought for its name, although I am very pleased that I did. It is now planted by the side of the steps, so we can look up into the wonderful pendulous rusty orange flowers.
And lastly the lily that wasn’t the lily that I wanted. It is forgiven.
All done, all dusted. Until next time!
It was a pretty good day in Max Land.
The sun warmed, the brisk breeze cooled. As well as the usual gardener creature there were plumbers to play with. Sticks were aplenty. Seagulls kept a respectful distance, taking it easy on account of the weather, but still you remained vigilant. Unless of course there was chance of a diverting stick throw. The fetid pond water was delicious to quench your thirst. That clean stuff from the tap rejected as poison. A sneaky mini pork pie a treat.
What more could a little dog ask for?
Rosa ‘Lady of Shalott’ was looking so perfect today it needed to be poked to ensure it was indeed real. Just gently of course. And I can confirm that it is, both real and perfect.