Cancellations and delays

My post-flu jab sniffles having not really left me since last October, it was almost a relief when they developed into a well-engineered man flu, of which I'm over the worst, I hope.  Meanwhile, we've cancelled a meeting in London with Annie and postponed a couple of meals with family and friends, and I'm starting my way into the 100-day cough that always attends such things.  Martyn's cold is now starting - but he makes less of a fuss.

Still, between us, we moved a ton of rockery rocks yesterday the 25 metres from the driveway to their temporary stockage place on the terrace, and were relieved to find today that both pallets and the wire cylinder, the latter squashed, fitted in the back of the Egg for their trip to the tip.  This has all to do with Mr Capability Bishop's latest project to restore the stream and waterfall, following his herculean labours on the pond last year.

The local wildlife is being in parts charming and in others annoying.  The badgers are digging up the grass again, so I've been out there after dark a few times to administer the conventional discouragement agent.  The foxes seem somewhat, shall we say, loose at the moment, and something else has coped crappiously just outside the back door, so I'm doing rather a lot of shit-shovelling at the moment.  (Makes a change from doing so figuratively at the hobby....)  On the positive side, the blackbirds seem to be feeding young in the hedge at the back, and I'm pretty sure we have blue tit tenants in one of the boxes.

Various seedlings are coming along nicely in the sitooterie, having rocketed away in the heated propagator.  As regulars know, over-wintered potentilla, penstemon and cistus cuttings are doing well, and we have more iris sibirica splits than you can shake a stick at.  Most of the fuchsias we planted out are starting into growth again, and the five new plug plants are thriving.  The spuds are chitting along nicely in the garage, and I'll get the climbing courgettes started in the next day or two. 

Tomorrow HM Prime Minister will give notice to quit the European Union.  And the best the Daily Wail can do is post a photo of her and the First Minister of the Scottish Parliament, comparing their legs.  I can't help feeling that this sums up the mentality - if that isn't an overstatement - behind the vote that led to tomorrow's suicide note.  I gather that Le Pen is saying that her victory in the French presidentials would achieve the demise of the European Union and of 'wild' globalisation, as well as the unmasking of multi-culturalism.  She is tipped to lose to an ex-socialist moderate populist in the second round.  But these days, who knows?

St Patrick's Day musings

Well, penned the following day...  Yesterday, my late Ma's 99th birthday, was fine, and she'd have approved of my getting a couple of tablecloths, numerous tea towels and a week's worth of shirts and smalls dried on the line, not to mention four napkins ironed (a rare word in my vocabulary).  It was a damn' chilly process, though: even later when I was taking stuff off the line, it was still cold.  Still, we did give the barbecue its first exercise of the year at lunch time, grilling a packet of Fortnums' Nürnberger Bratwurst.  Garnished with salad, honest!

Our performance yesterday evening at the Citizens' Advice quiz was about on a par with last year's, when we finished fifth after a three-way tie for second out of 18 teams.  This time we were fourth after two drawn seconds out of 17 tables.  And just like last year, we had dreadful nights of indigestion from the fish and chips.  Oh well, all in a good cause.

Nice day with the Rayners on Tuesday.  We fed them after a fashion: roast squash etc soup, tarte soleil with pasta and Martyn's home-made pesto, rhubarb crumble.  They invariably have their five a day: that day, we did too, thanks to Martyn's efforts.  

The egregious social ineptitude of the US President in footage of his meeting with Chancellor Merkel would beggar belief were it not so predictable.  Official: I no longer value democracy.  And am increasingly glad I'm old and childless.

The only source of optimism is the garden.  The grass got its first cut on Wednesday when my day at the hobby had run short, as is so frequently the case.  The mower started once I had given it the correct treatment, and stopped when it ran out of fuel.  There was something approaching a pub gin measure of spirit in the can, and it was just enough to finish the job.  Just a high trim for the first cut, but it looks a bit better.  And the fuel can now contains 6l of Sainsbury's worst unleaded, ready for the next time.

First colour is showing on the magnolia, and the daphnes, presents from Mr & Mrs Engineer Smith a couple of years ago, are starting to flower.  The crocuses and snowdrops have pretty much come and gone, but we have the best show of daffodils we can remember.  The roses are shooting away well for the most part, and we're slowly making a start on the perpetual motion of weed-chasing. Next job will be to move the seedlings on to their next stage, and to get some more seeds sown.  The charlottes, meanwhile, are chitting away happily in an egg tray in the garage, and we'll no doubt get them started before our next trip south in five or six weeks' time.  And I suppose I ought to be re-potting and feeding the cuttings that have made it through the winter. Question: if I sell plants out the front with all proceeds to Disgustedville Citizens' Advice, is tax payable?

Gardening and stuff

The tarmac process was not too awful: the hoiking up of the old tarmac took half a day, including lots of hanging around waiting for the lorry to return for a second load of spoil.  Still, the hardcore and cement substrate was in by mid-afternoon, so we could get the cars off the street overnight.  Tarmac arrived next morning - eventually - and the two layers were down and rolled by lunchtime.  We were advised not to drive on it for a couple of days, so it wasn't until Thursday afternoon that we discovered that they have left far too much of a step up from the drive to the garage floors.  We can get the cars under cover, but the front-wheel drive car would soon chew up the tarmac, even if the 4x4 would transfer torque to the back end before too much harm was done.  Well, Mr Tarmac was here within an hour of my calling to report the above, and will get the chaps back to ramp it up a bit.  Whereupon, if work satisfactory, bill will be paid.  But it looks very smart, and the drain top no longer presents a trip hazard, so we're almost there.  The edgings are in new brick, and look rather smart, and the chaps helpfully filled in with topsoil between the bricks and the grass, now seeded. 

Anyway, the big box bush shifted a bit while the edgings were being hoiked out, but not, I hope, enough to do lasting harm.  The layered cutting I took before the work began looks OK, but, given the time box takes to do anything, I won't be too sanguine in relation to either.  We've had three deliveries lately from the seed merchant.  The charlottes are chitting in an egg tray out in the garage.  My new toy, a heated propagator, is working away out in the sitooterie, and the gazania seeds had germinated within 48 hours of sowing.  I think I see the odd sign of life from the rudbeckias, but the lobelias may take a bit longer.  The fuchsia plug plants are now in pots, and installed on the window ledge in the sitooterie.  If they live up to their billing, we should have a good display at the front door later in the year.

Of Tuesday's AGM of the Hobby, the most I'll say is that I shall not be campaigning to remain after the compulsory retirement age of 70, even if I make it to that point, one way or the other.

Pour passer aux choses sérieuses, most roses are now pruned, and I've hauled out the white potentilla together, I hope, with its infestation of pencil grass.  While I had the graip out, I hauled out a cistus that had turned its toes up in protest at a moderately severe haircut.  Plenty of cuttings of both are already well rooted in the cold frame, so we just need to decide whether to replace like with like.

After yesterday's immoderate gardening, a short pause had us back on form for lunch at the village's only pub with Sue and Bob, who had motored up from the Isle of Oxney.  Good meal, service vastly improved, and I've only myself to blame for the consequences of red onions done medium-rare in tempura.

Last week's trimming and pruning exercises reminded me how inactive I've been of late.  Without wishing to sound like a Dundee Courier leader one-sentence paragraph, This Idleness Must Cease.

Bend ze knees, bend ze knees!

Yesterday's gardening was a matter of necessity.  We had a call on Friday afternoon from the tarmac man to ask if he could re-surface the drive on Monday, so I'd to chop back some of the shrubs that were overhanging the edging blocks.  This of course meant getting down on the knees, which is no longer the easiest of tasks.  Well, the box that I've trained into something close to a sphere is now chopped back, and Mr Tarmac will be threatened with dire personal consequences if it is damaged.  The hebes on the other side are pretty well at the stage at which they need hoiking up and replacing, particularly now that the chopping back has exposed their legginess.

One of the bits of box that I'd to take out had layered itself, so is now in a pot in the cold frame, and I hope that the roots weren't too badly damaged when I hauled it out.  Martyn suggested that I train the box into the phallic shape so beloved of the inhabitants of the Hautes Corbières.  I think, given the rate at which box grows, that might take rather more years than I've got left, but I hope eventually to enter into the spirit of the game with a more or less spherical box bush either side of the drive....

Anyway, there are now pots of box and hebe cuttings in the cold frame.  It was good to see, while I was out there, that the potentilla cuttings have survived the winter.  (So far: we had a shower of hail this morning!)  Not that I deserve success, really: OK, I paid for the orange one, and the primrose one came from Gladys's garden in Tonbridge, authorised, but the white and yellow ones were nicked, respectively, from parent plants in the shrubbery in front of the Royal Mail sorting office, and Her Majesty's Courts and Tribunals Service.  Come to think of it, this last was also the source of one of the hebes.

The grass remains uncut, and the roses mostly unpruned.  Those that I have pruned have responded well, with lots of strong buds.  You won't be surprised when, in a few weeks' time, I start grizzling about greenfly.  Tasks for the coming days will be to get round the unpruned roses, chop back the penstemons, haul out the potentilla that is lousy with pencil grass and maybe make a start on a weed and bramble infested border down the left hand side.  I hope the knees become a shade more co-operative before too long.  Still, the one I got knifed last September is finally settling down and letting me move around without pain most of the time.  Famous Last Words... 

 

Praise be, February's over

The grass is growing, the crocuses and snowdrops are flowering, and the daffs bursting.  I've chopped back the red-barked cornus to ensure winter colour next time round, and ordered a heated propagator to get the annuals started.  It'll be a few weeks before the seed potatoes are delivered, but we've ordered a few more proper growing bags, and a couple of kilos of charlottes.

Decided today, following fish and chips for lunch, to make some caldo verde.  Leeks from the garden and garlic from Fortnums were just softening nicely when I discovered that we were out of spuds.  Martyn being out, and yr. obed. servt. having had a glass of wine, a walk into the village was indicated, and the bolshy knee behaved itself remarkably well.  On the way back, I chatted with a dog-walking woman whose accent I spotted as Swiss German.  Turns out she's from Zürich, where I spent two rewarding, if highly demanding years back in the 1990s.  Small world, oder?