Today in the garden

June’s the month for roses, and this year they are doing well; perhaps all the better for the administration of a spot of good muck last year.  This one is Ingrid Bergman: we planted her in memory of our lovely neighbour Rowena, who succumbed to the same illness as Ingrid. 

The thing with roses is that they need good pruning, regular dead-heading and the occasional feed, so I tickled in a handful of blood, fish and bone at pruning time.  Even the miniature roses by the front door are doing well, since Ben put the last of last year’s muck round them.  We’ve yet to replace the climber killed by the fencing people.  Perhaps we’ll get a bare-root one later in the year.

The membrane and gravel at the front doesn’t really stop the weeds, but at least it makes them easier to pull up.  I’ve pulled out dozens more verbena bonariensis today, as well as the usual suspects: dandelions, willowherb and grass.

A first lot of tomatoes are now in their final growing pots: the tall chrysanthemum pots we’ve used in years past.  I’ve prepared some wider pots with the watering trays designed for growbags, so will harden off a few more tomatoes and try them with that method.  We’re a bit late with the tomatoes this year, but ought to get something of a crop.  The first sowings in a heated propagator failed almost completely.  I might have to break down and get some decent seed compost next year - if I’m spared!

Family and things

We took a ride over to Rochester yesterday to meet some of Martyn’s Canadian cousins, who have been visiting to hear another family member sing at Glyndbourne.  They’re a very musical family, the Relyeas, and really delightful people.  They currently live on Vancouver Island, where I have lots of friends and relatives: must renew contacts.

We all met in the cathedral, where Sandra gave a guided tour: she is one of the company of meet-and-greet volunteers there, so is well briefed.  (She and the late Michael were married there, having met in the cathedral’s choral society, and Michael’s funeral took place there.)  We repaired to the Royal George for lunch, then wandered round the castle grounds before going our separate ways.  

Driving around here is dire.  We’ve been over to mid- and north Kent twice of late, and the experience has been altogether dreadful.  Decades of neglect have left the roads in a terrible state, and overdue gas main replacements are screwing things up still further.  I wonder what our new far-right county council will do to remedy matters, and am not holding my breath.

More time out

We were Sandra’s guests yesterday for lunch and a show.  The D-day Darlings did a show at the Hazlitt theatre in Maidstone.  Great entertainers, and a whole lot of fun.  As ever, though, the amplification was almost painfully overdone, which detracted a whole lot from our enjoyment.  The traffic was about as bloody awful as usual - I really dislike driving these days.  The centre of Maidstone is pretty much closed off, so we decided to head north and pick up the motorway.  His Majesty’s armed forces, meanwhile, had managed to crash or break down at the motorway junction roundabout, so we had a long wait.

A simpler outing today.  Martyn’s bike’s gear change shifters have seized up, so we took it down to our local repair café, where bike fettler Chris took a look at it.  Following his diagnosis, and with his expert help, we have ordered the necessary spare parts, and will take them and the bike along in early July for him to do the necessary.  Wonderful institution, the repair café.  We’ve had a couple of clocks sorted there.  Of course, I barked my knuckles getting the bike out of the boot, and hadn’t got the right size of plaster in the car.  The repair café sewing desk kindly applied scissors to cut something suitable.  And our neighbour Rosemary presided as ever over the kettle.

With the exception of one very unpleasant foul-mouthed neighbour (she is plainly no right in the heid) our environment is about all we could wish for.  We don’t live in our neighbours’ pockets, but lend a hand when we can, and so do they.  You need to like aeroplanes, of course, since we’re on the Gatwick approach when the wind’s coming from the west.  We’re far enough from the main road not to be troubled with traffic noise much of the time.  And the village provides most of what we need from day to day, and a decent cultural agenda too.  

So things could be worse.  I spent a while at hospital yesterday, preparing for planned surgery.  (I first wrote ‘preparing the ground’, but don’t think we’re quite there yet!).  All very professional, thorough and friendly.  Since the hospital is so comfortable, I’m not dreading the experience.

Interesting few days

We took a trip up to London last week for an evening reception for promised benefactors of a certain Scottish institution.  They had organised a talk by their prof of international political theory on the subject of democracy in the USA.  The learned prof put a lot of emphasis on norms of political behaviour as much as on the constitutional checks and balances, neither of which seems to be thriving under the current administration.  Nice to have our own observations confirmed by someone who knows better than we.

The travelling was pretty awful.  Our train arrived late, and ran short, requiring a change at London Bridge.  I got a 25% rebate on the price of my ticket, but when Martyn undertook the same application, he was turned down, seemingly because both tickets were bought with the same card.  Hardly a  comfort when our lunch cost more than a similar meal would cost in Switzerland.  Glad to report that the journey home went as advertised.  I have to say I find London exhausting these days: one has endlessly to dodge people on the footways, and the constant noise is tiring.  But we did take a few minutes to rest in Hyde Park before the reception, and enjoyed a walk in the rose garden.

A couple of days later we had a visit from friends Jackie and Nigel for a simple lunch at home: hummus, our usual pizzas, and a fruit salad.  Most enjoyable catch-up. 

Saturday brought a visit from Paul the plasterer, who has patched up the hall ceiling following the leak from the alarmingly young hot water cylinder - it lasted less than three years.  Hoping for better from the stainless steel replacement.  That evening we went to a screening of Conclave at our village hall.  Excellent fillum: highly recommended: though the action was sometimes rather slow, the performances of Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci and Isabella Rossellini (who bears a startling resemblance to her late mother Ingrid Bergman) were superb.  The only downside was the bum-paralysing chairs!

Sunday we were off to East Kent for lunch as guests of cousin Philippa and her husband David, both of whom have recently celebrated biggish birthdays.  Good lunch at the Blue Anchor in Brabourne Leas, and a good catch up with family and old friends, and a chance to meet the next generation.  

Travelling is hellish hereabouts.  It’s bad enough getting out of the village at the moment while work continues on gas main replacement, but then the countless roadworks just add delay and frustration.  Years of neglect have left our roads in an appalling state, and the gas mains seem to need replacing just about everywhere.

Our ride over to Rochester today was just about as awful, but, thanks to various diversions we at least kept moving much of the time, unlike the poor souls on the M2: as we crossed it we could see all three lanes stationary: evidently there’s a fault on the Medway bridge.  Worth the journey, though: it was the first time we’d seen Martyn’s niece Fiona and Alexander in their new house.  Copious sandwich lunch: I fear I may have overdone it.  Egg mayonnaise and coronation chicken sandwiches are the sure way to my heart.  And to my belly, alas.

A good German conversation meeting on Tuesday.  Our host Dave had found a couple of texts from Deutsche Welle about (1) German reinforcement of the Lithuanian army and (2) the doubtful legality of sending away immigrants and asylum seekers at the country’s Schengen area borders.  A small group this time, just us four blokes, but it went well nevertheless.  An amusing incident afterwards: I had parked the far side of the railway bridge next to Dave’s house, and as it was raining I had the umbrella up.  A woman on a horse was coming the other way, and evidently the umbrella scared the horse: ‘would you mind taking your umbrella down: I can feel his heart really pounding!’  One gladly complied.

The garden is growing well - the weeds in particular.  The bees are having a good time too.  I haven’t seen too many honey bees in recent days, but we’ll surely see them in their dozens when the sedum comes into flower. 

The tomatoes are coming along well at the second attempt, so I’ll get them planted in their definitive pots in the coming days.  The spuds meanwhile are also doing well, so we’re hoping for a decent crop this year.  The apple tree has set a lot of fruit, but the June drop seems to have started a few days early!  Most of our strawberry plants have been eaten by slugs and snails, but we have a few plants left, and hope for the best.  We aren’t expecting much of a crop from the blueberries this year.  I think a combination of local competition and drought have sent it off into a sulk.  Ah, the frustrations of suburban gardening on heavy clay!

Garden

An encouraging time of year, as old favourites come back to life, and we find spaces for new ones.  This pink rose is Geoff Hamilton: we planted it almost 17 years ago in memory of Martyn’s mother shortly after she died.  It’s a bit sentimental, I suppose, but it’s better than sending cut flowers.  We planted a Compassion in memory of my sister-in-law Margaret, and it is growing strongly on a trellis at the side of the house.  Elsewhere in the garden we have creamy white Diamond Days Forever (for brother-in-law Michael), Phab Gold (for nephew Tim) and Ingrid Bergman (for neighbour Rowena).  They all help to bring back the good memories. 

We went looking today for a replacement climber for the one that the fencing people killed when they added a spur to our neighbours’ fence, but couldn’t find one that would tolerate the predominantly shady position it’ll occupy.  I’ll do a spot of research before we go looking again.

At the second attempt I’ve got some tomato seed to germinate.  It means that the crop will be late and smaller, but we hope to have a supply of delicious Sweet Olive tomatoes in the summer.  We have lots of potatoes coming on in the larger raised bed, and also in the bed where we grew spuds last year.  Not part of the plan: I’d intended it to be a herb bed, right at the kitchen door.  We obviously didn’t do a very good job of cropping last year’s spuds!  I have few hopes for them, though: the tomatoes we grew there later last year got blight.

The bulbs have finished flowering in the borders and containers, and the polyanthus are past their best.  We’ve started moving the latter to nursery beds for a bit of nurture before we plant them out again in the autumn.  In their place are petunias, nicotianas and trailing lobelias for summer colour.  The oriental poppies are coming into flower again, much to our delight - and that of the bees.  Unfortunately they have a short flowering season, but they are spectacular.  We have a pale pink one at the front of the house: it took a year or two off after we had the front garden laid to green slate clippings, but they are notoriously difficult to kill, I’m glad to say.  

Another short-life beauty is the iris sibirica.  We have a lot of the lighter blue kind, descended from my mother’s plants, but only one of this richer blue, given to us by my art teacher Pat.  

Another gift from her is a very vigorous sedum, but that’s a month or two off its rather longer flowering season.  That’s another subject that attracts dozens of honey bees in summer, so that’s something else to look forward to.  Unfortunately, the bees are as attractive  to the hornets as the sedum is to the bees, so we get to watch nature at its harshest as well as its most beautiful.

The grass is cut, the laundry is up to date, so we can take some time off.  Today we have taken a trip down to Rye Harbour for lunch at a favourite pub, the William the Conqueror.  Martyn can seldom resist fish and chips: I went for a rather good halloumi burger.  It came piled up with aubergine, tomato, red pepper and a big field mushroom, and was rather delicious.  Back to work tomorrow, I think:  there are lots more containers to plant up for summer colour.

 

EDF - ever get that sinking feeling?

When we got the solar panels fitted last year I registered with our energy supplier, Électricité de France, under the Smart Export Guarantee scheme, a process that took months.  I emailed a few days ago to ask where my money was, and got an automatic reply today, telling me how to register…. It doesn’t help that the phone number they gave in the email gets the ‘number not recognised’ tone.  I have fired off a terse email.  Watch this space.

I did not choose to get my supply from EDF: the regulator slammed us to them when our old supplier went tits-up.  It then took them getting on for a year to act on our direct debit mandate, so we finished up with a whopping first bill.  We have stayed with EDF so far because, with everything else that’s going on in our lives, switching is an ordeal we prefer to avoid.  But next time our contract ends, I think we’ll be changing supplier and export customer malgré tout.

Calamities come in threes - I hope…

The oven packing up was a minor inconvenience.  My tumble in the street is still bothering me ten days on.  And last Tuesday we came down to find water dripping from the hall ceiling.  Again.  We had a new hot water cylinder fitted barely three years ago, and the bugger was leaking already.  Anyway, the Taylor twins have fitted a new stainless steel cylinder which should, they assure us, see us out.  Famous last words.  Plasterer comes tomorrow, then we have to decide whether to repaint the ceiling ourselves or GSI.

Well, the fettled oven did its job yesterday, roasting a chicken for our lunch with Marion and Derry, and some amuse-bouche with the aperitifs.  Palmiers with red pesto and prosciutto: our usual ones use garlicky cream cheese and smoked salmon, but Marion can’t eat fish.  Nice afternoon in good company.  We have been dining since then on the leftovers!