Roses, Roses, Roses

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.

Prerogative

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.

Six on Saturday – Regime

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!

 

 

A Day in the Life of Max Doginovich

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?

Six on Saturday – Downhill

Well it seems that is it.  The solstice has passed and we are now on the slippery slope to winter.   Passed in a jiffy didn’t it?   Here is my midsummer Six on Saturday.  And perversely it actually looks like a summer’s day out there.   It is where I should be, not here at my desk.   As my heart is elsewhere, to be on the safe side, we should proceed with great haste.  I’m sure our mentor The Prop is not sitting at his computer wasting sunlight hours thinking of things to say to his flock.  He will be prepared and have done all this silly writing stuff ages ago and at this very moment be hard at work in his garden.  Not me.  Not organised at all.  If we get on I might be able to steal a few moments of pottering later.

Here we are, my first photo, Simon the poppy.   Simon was trampled on by steel toe-capped builders and scaffolders until I pointed him out in the nicest possible way and asked them to try their very bestest to avoid stomping on his head again.  They did their best and here he is blooming well to tell the tale.  I do love a good red poppy and Simon is one of the best.

In my little garden I don’t have the benefit of potting shed or proper greenhouse.  When I do any potting up, pricking out or some such fiddlings, I sit on the bottom step of the set towards the top of the garden with my compost, pots and the “to be sorted” arranged about me.  I then settle down with a nice cup of coffee, which in matter of moments has compost floating on the top, and enter my own little world.   It was then that I noticed this chap on a Salvia elegans, possibly the diddiest grasshopper in the world.  Splendid antennae though.

Next Allium aflatunense ‘Purple Sensation’ which isn’t in the slightest bit sensational.    Perhaps it has a good excuse in failing to reach more than 20cm high.   They were planted late, they have been stood on (see above) and dug up by mistake (hangs head in shame).   Next year they will be wonderful, I can feel it in my bones.

A lovely surprise yesterday was to find that Peggy was flowering, albeit in a rather dishevelled way.  Like pancakes, the first dahlia flower is always a little bit dubious.

Next we have a horrid invasive geranium, it annoys me constantly by its continual march across the garden, swamping and strangling all that it passes.  Then the sun catches the veined indigo flowers and I am once more smitten.

Lastly the disgraceful sight of Big Ted after a night out on the tiles.   He has been severely reprimanded and is on house arrest for the foreseeable future.

All done, now let me out into the garden ……….

 

Beechgrove

It is raining.  Which means I have been cooking or thinking.  Unfortunately on this occasion, it is the latter.

I am a professional gardener.  When I am not being oh-so-professional in other peoples’ gardens, I write about plants for fun and for money.  It would appear that horticulture is my life, the be all and end all, that I am blinkered to anything lacking chlorophyll.  But you would be wrong.  Apocryphally my own garden is sorely neglected, staggering on with belligerent intent.  In my spare time I rarely read magazines or watch TV programmes about gardening.   Call me a lightweight, a half-cocked enthusiast, a traitor to the cause, but there are so many other things that interest me.  This isn’t helped by the fact that I find much gardening media repetitious or pompous or patronising or just not talking to me.

But there are exceptions, one of which is the BBC Scotland programme, Beechgrove.  For those of you not acquainted with this programme I will try to explain its attraction.  First of all it must be something special to extract me from my bed so we can breakfast early(ish) and settle down to watch the Sunday morning repeat for us softy southern Sassenachs.  Each half hour episode is over in a blink, packed full of delicious morsels.  However, if you are looking for breakdancing lycra clad dudes or indeed any kind of fashion statement you will be sorely disappointed.  There is a distinct lack of stage managed pets and no-one says “on-trend”.   In my opinion, and those of OH for those of you still not convinced, it the most enjoyable gardening programme in the known universe, although I am a little out of touch with the Venusian TV schedule.  It is not obviously concerned with demographics, everyone is included from young guns to elder statesmen, stately homes to allotments.  They experiment, have a few failures but many more successes.  What is more, they don’t pretend that the presenters do all the work!  They name check or feature the actual gardeners on a regular basis.  And very importantly they don’t take themselves too seriously.  It is funny and most of all throughly human.

I don’t know the whole story, the whys and the wherefores, but for some reason this diamond of a show is now off the air until the end of July.  Its 26 programme run has been streamlined to a measly 14, and in the meantime they “will be investing in more content on social media”.  I’m talking to you now, The Powers That Be.  This does not placate me, in fact it makes me want to laugh.  Or cry.  The point has been missed.  What I enjoy is sitting down with my partner, cup of tea in hand, to watch the interactions, the characters visited, the plants growing, listen to the advice tendered.  I use social media, perhaps a little too much, it has its place.  I am not however interested in, and will not be, having any interaction with the crew on line.  Beechgrove is going to be missed, and not only by myself.  It is about so much more than how to train your peach or when to sow your carrots.  It is what what we all need.  A little honesty in our lives.

The photo above is of a pretty pink dianthus, being held aloft by the soft foliage of a white heather.  Neither of these plants are à la mode, they are even better than that, they are timeless.