Never mind green fingers – I am green with envy. My parents are, at this very moment, wandering around the Chelsea Flower show. I hope they’re having a great time. On Saturday, the last time I saw them, I kept interrupting the talk over our meal with blurted injunctions to make sure they look at things. Mostly in the show tents because I never see them on the TV coverage. They always swoop past the stands in a tantalizing fashion before focusing on Titchmarsh wittering on. Gah.
Steve is hoping my Dad may snap under the pressure of the crowds and go for him [A.T.] with a bamboo cane or whatever sharp object is to hand.
Does this mean I’m irredeemably middle-aged? Daydreaming about flower shows and banks of pristine alliums and sweet peas? (Not about Titchocide.) There’s something fascinating about all that strived for petal perfection. Balanced perfectly on the brink of something for a couple of days. The artifice of items, by definition, natural.
I like watching flowers decay. People may think my withered vases are down to being too lazy to sort them out but I genuinely enjoy the process.
Today I’ve been hovering around one of the foxglove clumps in the garden attempting to get a photograph of a bee. It wasn’t very successful but Z and I had a lovely time…
My poor little camera just isn’t up to the action. It’s just a point and click one but I’m sure if I was more patient I could get a better shot. Trouble is there’s so much good stuff to see.
The washing up bowl is teeming with life. There are, what we are reliably informed are, midge larvae squirming around in its clear water. The water mint has doubled in size and the thyme and salvia are covered in bees and hoverflies.
My lilies in their pot have burst triumphantly open;
and I love this dear little daisy, grown from a cutting from G’mas garden. She says it’s from a plant her mum grew from a cutting from her Grannie’s garden in Northumberland. This makes me happy. We’ve guarded it from slug attack by a bank of saved and baked eggshell. It seems to have worked. The unprotected lupin seedlings alongside it are goners.
Many, many beautiful things. I love them all. The kids shriek about collecting ants and dandelion heads. I wander in and out while cooking a roast chicken for dinner when Steve gets home. Our half term holiday starts this evening. While I wash up with Ida’s help I am relieved to feel the bluebird on my shoulder but am very careful not to look at it. In case I scare it away.