The blackbirds and robins are still making themselves heard, as is a nearby chiffchaff. But that’s only when they can be heard over other ambient sounds. Two houses to our east, they are digging the footings for a nuclear shelter, if the time it’s taking is anything to go by. Two houses to the west, the garden is being dug up and re-paved. The two jobs require periodic visits from builders’ merchants’ lorries and grab trucks, so we live in a quasi-permanent headachy drone and a miasma of diesel fumes. Not to mention the oiky builders yelling at each other over the sound of the machinery and/or the blaring of inane ‘music’ from their radio.
Yesterday was fine, so when the machinery started up we headed out in search of lavender plants. There is a little strip of soil between our drive and Annie’s next door, originally populated by - what else? - leylandii. We agreed to have them sawn down by our old friend Jonathan for the price of a new chainsaw blade. He wanted to haul out the roots with the winch on his Land-rover: I dissuaded him in the interests of keeping functioning drains, and the roots have pretty much decomposed. We planted all sorts of stuff on our side: pyracantha, berberis, hypericum, hebe, fuchsia, penstemon and whatever else happened to be knocking around. It eventually occurred to me that pyracantha and berberis were not a good idea where they could lacerate passers-by, so they came out. The hebes, as hebes will, went terribly leggy, so they are now out as well. On her side, Annie got Ben to plant lavenders, which have done very well, hence our shopping list, and Martyn planted the lavenders this morning.
We’d hoped to get the lavender plants from a farm near Sevenoaks: I used to admire their lavender fields from the train back in my commuting days. Their choice of plants was rather disappointing - and pricey - so we went on to a large garden shop nearby. Ghastly place: a huge surface area and essentially a big shopping mall with garden stuff as well. They clearly have plenty of footfall to judge by the car park, and presumably in consequence a pretty good range of plants. Having gone out for three lavenders, we came home with two roses and a few alpines as well. Them’s the hazards. Once Martyn had done the kneeling stuff with the lavenders, I set about planting the roses in the raised bed at the back, without benefit of dynamite, though that would have made the job rather easier.
Tomato growing wouldn’t make us rich. We look like having a decent crop of Sweet Olive, but the warm dry weather and insufficient watering have led to blossom end rot in the San Marzanos. I’ve upped the watering regime, and hope for the best, but think that variety needs bigger containers. We’re cropping spinach, rocket and dill from the raised bed, and the runner beans seem to be doing OK.
We sat and listened with incredulity to the Parliament debate on a recent report from the Privileges committee. The quality of debate was about as dismal as we’re used to, though the exhilaration of Hon Members at finally being allowed to label Johnson the liar he is was almost palpable. The word egregious has been bandied about liberally, both by the privileges committee and by the disgraced Johnson in his reaction to the report. I’ll tell you what’s egregious: it’s the absence of the government front bench during the debate, and the refusal of the latest and for the time being Rt Hon First Lord of the Treasury either to take part in the debate in the House or to take a position in regard to the report’s conclusions. Certain figures are saying we should get over it and carry on. Unfortunately, it will take a generation to ‘get over’ the damage done by the self-seeking Johnson. Damage to the economy, to confidence in the country’s institutions and to the reputation of the country abroad, to name but a few. I hate to repeat myself, but I’m more than ever relieved to be old and childless. This is not the country in which I hoped to spend my twilight years.
And, on that happy note, the oiks have packed up and gone home, the evening is warm and still, dinner is ready for the off signal, and I think we might open a bottle of Prosecco.
