We’ve been having a superb summer here in Lewes, UK and my small urban garden has repsonded appropriately with garlands of flowers and vibrant greenery. I’ve been reduced to a bit of dead-heading, some fruit picking and the odd bit of weeding.
Otherwise, I’ve allowed myself to sit back and enjoy it while I get on with my Kindle journey through Marcel Proust’s In Search Of Lost Time (À la recherche du temps perdu) – I’m now half way through the punultimate volume and I too have lost track of the time.
I should have been doing my summer pruning now that my David Austin roses have finished their fist flush but it is all done with amazing speed and efficiency and now presents a fine hedge awaiting next months second batch of flowers.
This is all thanks to my danger-seeking neighbour, Harvey, who has bought himself some ferocious-looking electronic cutting gear including a hedge-strimmer which did my job in seconds. I decided that I would experiemtn with this method after reading that even David Austin says we can do it. It certainly cuts down on the several hours I usually spend cutting stem by stem with my secateurs. It was not a good idea anyway to prune the roses while I’m on anti-coagulant Warfarin tablets because my roses, love them as I do, are unforgiving with their thorns and, these days, my scratches turn into real flows of blood.
So my thanks to Harvey and I can return to my Proust – nothing like the peace and tranquility of n English garden on a hot summer afternoon.
Then, of course, well after so many weeks of sunshine and high temperatures, the inevitable happened. Thunder, lightning and torrential rain. Then again, that can be fun too.
I shan’t be sitting out here again today, I suspect.
Watering the garden might be unnecessary too.
Warm rain on a summer morning is pleasant enough but that lighning has to be watched.
I made a hasty retreat indoors but then it was time I went back to my computer to get on with my own writing.
I’m sure the sunshine will be back and then I shall try to resume my work alfresco.
Dear Wolfie Wolfgang,
I love your garden, the flint wall and the steps going up (and down). I love your office (the room with the books and the French doors and that straw hat) where you can when the fancy takes you, walk out into your lovely garden.
There’s quite a lot to look at and read on your website, which I shall do with pleasure.