A Bad Day in the garden

The hurricane is here.  It  has knocked down the bean tipi, smitten the amaranthus which are flaying their beards all over the place.  Time to retreat to the greenhouse.  No solace in there. The tomato plants  have gone crazy and limbered all over the cucumbers.  I could hardly get through the door.  The cucumbers in…

Garden centres deck the halls

I saw a nearly life size baby Jesus with Joseph worshipping at the alter of christmas tree lights, the fluffiest sneeze inducing selection of santas, and reindeers in white mink coats. And the price tags looked pretty too.  Steep that is.    Who buys this stuff?  By the way I am in one of the…

What isisisisis a Garden?

So What ISISISIS A Garden? Aldeburgh town, in the Empty Quarter of Suffolk,  and on threat  of being sucked into the waters of the North Sea,  is no everyday  resort.  Pole down the road across the marshes, past the flagged-up golf club and the brown mass of the sea drapes itself  in front of you….

10 reasons why I hate planting plans

1.  They create unreasonable expectation. 2.  They are totally static and nature is not. 3.  Planting plans have people drooling for the ultimate moment of peak perfection for that lovely flower only to have to stare at the wrong foliage or dead die back for almost all the rest of the year.

A boundary story

The truth of it is no-go, slow stasis and paralysis and so I am going to post this opalescent image by Char Faber of the east Sussex coast.   Hot off her iPad and winged around yesterday. By chance,  it is where we walked on the new year’s day.  Back then, sea spun green in…

Modern Technology? Get me out of here.

Utterly spangled and bedangled I am by trying to get up to date with my techno-efficiency.  It’s January init?  For once,  a post quite alien to green fingers prone to frostbite. As for  spades and forks, the icecap is tine-denting. Just listen  to this:  WYHDHY867ATY.  Try saying it  out loud very fast and with ritmo.  Toothbrushing…

So, David Hockney it is over, but not quite.

Thousands of us  stood and jostled  in the grand rooms up the stair of the Royal Academy to see the rendering of our countryside by David Hockney.  And returned home with eyes on stalks to stare at our surrounding woods and fields.  To look at them anew without the mind overpowering  the senses.  I have…