Out with the old

I’ve got a new camera.  Yes another one.  I don’t mean my big posh one, that is quite safe.  I’m taking about the little Canon Ixus I take to work with me.  The abused one.

The retiring camera somehow, I can’t remember quite when or where, sustained a chipped lens.  Ever since it has been tricky finding a photo that hasn’t got a sunburst or blur in a obvious place.  This accident happened way before Christmas, but I haven’t allowed myself a replacement because I was teaching myself a lesson.  If you don’t look after your toys, you can’t have nice new ones.  Up until now.  I think I have suffered enough.  A lesson has been learned.  And I have bought insurance.

This is the final photograph by last year’s model.  Now he will join his brothers in arms in the retirement home for mistreated Ixus.  I’m sure he will have a few tales to tell.

Surplus

Whilst roughly chopping vegetables (I always take this instruction as a suggestion of attitude as well as indicator of dice size) for our tea (sausage, haricot bean and harissa stew, since you ask) I noticed that seed in one of the tomatoes had germinated (excuse the blurry photo, I was stirring the onions at the same time).

Well I never, what a world, sack all the gardeners, we are surplus to requirements.

Hookey

I played hookey today.  I skived off.  There were things that should have been done and weren’t.  There is a deadline, don’t you know.  But I defiantly chose to ignore it.  Instead I visited the garden of some friends, the wonderful Round House.  I shared a cuppa with old mates and scoffed a chocolate brownie, chitty chatting.  On the way home we visited Max and drank more coffee and chewed more cud.  Once home, instead of attending to obligations, I went into my own garden and pottered and dithered.

That is what a little bit of sunshine does.  It leads me astray.  Just as well it doesn’t happen that often.

Six on Saturday – Another One

Another Six on Saturday.  Another introduction to main man, The Prop.  Another invitation to join us.  Another attempt to take photographs that conceal the slug ravaged, garden mayhem that is my reality.  Here we go ….

Firstly we have Rhodohypoxis baurii.  With minimum (read no) effort, these little charmers come up every spring and flower their little flower socks off.  Even the ones that mysteriously “fell” out of the greenhouse when OH walked by and were stuffed back in the pot, have done their very best.  Lovely.

Geum 'Blazing Sunset'

Next we have Geum ‘Blazing Sunset’, enjoying this morning’s early sunshine.  Enormous, great gallumping flowers, but definitely not as vigorous as it was last year.  Perhaps it is dwindling.  I will try to remember to collect some seed.

Sisyrinchium 'E K Balls'

Sisyrinchium ‘E K Balls’ has decided that he is quite happy in his new planter and will therefore show his pleasure the only way he can.  By blooming.  And being blooming lovely.

allium

This lone allium, planted in the garden before we were dropped off by the mother ship, is just beginning to reveal its violet stars.

Brachyscome 'Magenta Delight'

A few days ago I succumbed to temptation of the worse kind.  Yes, I am talking about The Half Price Offer.  I was putty in their hands.  When I returned from work yesterday, a large box was waiting for me.  Balm indeed.  Along with this gorgeous little Brachyscome ‘Magenta Delight’ came pentemon, gaura and bidens.  All I can say is “welcome”, and don’t expect any special attention after the honeymoon period is over.  Which most probably will be tomorrow.

Osteospermum

Lastly we have an osteospermum.  Not just any pretty pink daisy.  This is the sole survivor of cuttings donated by the Notorious Mr K.  Not dead, just accustoming herself to a new life across the channel.

Thanks to the The Duke of Prop – shimmy over to his blog to find out what has been going on this week across the universe and beyond.   Adieu!

 

 

 

 

 

Drained

By rights I should be a waif.  I barely eat a morsel and am on first name terms with each and every personal trainer at the gym.  Admittedly this is mostly in my dreams.  OK, totally in my dreams.  Instead I am sturdy.  Which is possibly a better physique for digging out agapanthus on the most humid, treacle-wading, head-thumpingly oppressive day of the year.  If not the century.  Definitely in living memory and since records began.

It has left me feeling a little drained.

Looks

This afternoon, at The Bun’s abode, I was greeted with a concerned “What shall we do?  The potatoes are growing too well!”.   The strange phenomenon of plants growing in the spring is something I have come across before.  However, it has never previously been considered a problem, especially when they are doing it “well”.  Needless to say, Mrs B was given one of my stern looks.

The look was soon on the other face.

As someone who has spoken previously, and possibly for too long, about the increasing need for spectacles, you would imagine I would be especially careful with them.  Wrong.  Approximately half an hour into my visit I realised I had mislaid them.  How difficult could it be to find them again?  Well the rain was pouring, my eye sight was diminished and the glasses were green rimmed.  Tricky.  We retraced my steps (which turned out to be a bit of roundabout route, it appears that I am easily distracted) and found nothing.  Never mind, they were only a cheap pair.  Perhaps best to avoid any precision work.  Like gardening.  No problem, I would wing it.

A little later a scream rang out from Mrs B.  I imagined it was of horror (she had perhaps found my sans-specs pruning) but was in fact one of delight.  Inside the compost bin, amongst the grass clippings, the dead armeria and althaea off-cuts, were my glasses.  How on earth did they get there?  I blame the chickens.  A quick wipe on my trousers and all came back into focus.

And yes, there was a retributional look.  And much deserved it was too.

A Little Walk

In an attempt to clear our stuffed-up heads we took off for a little walk after lunch.   Nothing too strenuous.  Just enough to raise the spirit but not to break the body.

First we nipped along the boundary of the rugby/cricket pitch where these wood sorrels nestled in a wide margin of unmown grass.  I am hoping that this strip had been intentionally left to the  wildflowers, not just a stay of execution.  Perhaps the mowers were having a tea break, or had run out of petrol, or had nipped down the road for a pasty.

Then down, past the community orchard to the beach and a blissful paddle in the sea.

Then up, up, up,

past the thorns in full bloom,

with occasional glimpses to the hills,

skirting Hillsborough’s buttercups and campions,

emerging with a bird’s eye view of the town below.

That will do.

Grim

I’ve got a cold.  Yes another one.  Yesterday I felt grim, today I feel grimmer.  I probably cast my clout too early or something.  As one of those folk who believe gardening is the cure for all ills, I ventured out despite my ailing body.  Deluded maybe but perhaps not. As it was half a day was quite enough.  Some potting on, a pathetic attempt at weeding and a fair amount of top quality mooching was achieved.  I also managed to fit in some pondering and scheming.  It didn’t kill me. But disappointingly I don’t feel much stronger.  I will have to have a word with whoever thought that one up.