After a peaceful weekend…

 …the oiky builders are back with their mechanical stuff (what ever happened to picks, shovels and wheelbarrows?) and thumping radio, not to mention four vehicles cluttering up the street.  I mentioned last time that there was work at each of the houses two to the east and two to the west of ours.  Well, work has now started two houses to the south as well.  I used to say that, in retirement, it’s just one long weekend.  We’re looking forward to weekends now!

Not enough to put us off our lunch, though.  Home made bread, home grown tomatoes.  Of the tomatoes, mixed news.  The Sweet Olive plants are cropping well, as you see.  We’re trying remedial measures on the San Marzanos, but are not too optimistic.

Still, the flowering stuff is doing well:

The Justice of the Peace is at its best just now, and we have a first flower on the water lily.  I notice a photobombing wild strawberry runner in the latter picture.  They’re particularly vigorous this year: Martyn had a handful of their fruit in a smoothie a day or two back.  They at least suppress some of the other weeds.

Sounds of summer

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.

A good place to be

The garden is a pleasant place to be at this time of year.  It’s always a pleasure when subjects one cultivates, like the roses and the aquilegias grown from saved seed, put on a show.  But every bit as satisfying are the uninvited visitors, such as the eschscholzia that sowed itself next to the sage in the raised bed, and the foxgloves all over the place. 

As well as enjoying the garden ourselves, we’ve been able to show it off to friends: even if it hasn’t been the weather for al fresco meals, the view from the dining room is pretty, and it has been sunny enough in the afternoons to allow a stroll round despite the breeze.  Kate and John braved the strike-inflated traffic last Saturday, and we had a flying visit yesterday from Claire and Richard.

The food side isn’t doing badly either.  The Sweet Olive tomatoes are fruiting well, and the San Marzano fruit are growing before our eyes.  Just hope they all ripen.  Rocket, spinach, dill, leeks and runner beans seem to be doing all right, and a lot of fruit have set on the Bramley apple tree.

Meanwhile in the kitchen we are learning to play with a new toy: a two-drawer air fryer.  So far, we’re quite impressed.  Although it will take a little time to master the split timing controls, we have successfully done a chicken with roast veggies, and in half the time it takes in the ordinary oven.  We have been using a smaller air fryer for a couple of years with good results on a more limited scale.  We like our gadgets, but are starting to have trouble finding room for them all!

 

Geoff Issott, 1937-2023

Sad news today: after a brief stay in hospital, Geoff died last Thursday.   We last saw him in September of last year when we were staying in Bellinzona, and although he was by then a bit confused, he and Pam had walked the mile or so to the restaurant where we met.  That was a few days after his 85th birthday, so although he’d had some physical health issues, he seemed as fit as a fiddle.  His health had begun to slide by then, and although visiting carers had allowed him to stay at home as long as possible, he spent his last few days in Berne’s Insel hospital.

Geoff and I first met in May 1974, when I went to Lausanne to work for a few weeks as a translator at a Universal Postal Union Congress.  Geoff was already on the UPU staff as a translator, and went on to finish that part of his career as head of the English translation service.  We’d met in the meantime at the 1979 Rio de Janeiro Congress, and I visited the gang again at the 1984 Hamburg Congress, though as a tourist that time, not as a translator. I made many friends through the UPU Congresses, notably Claire Smith, whom I mentioned here last month, Barbara Atkinson, whom regular readers will remember, and Anne-Louise Picard, one of the Canadian translators at the Rio bash.

Geoff, Pam and I went on to meet frequently in each other’s various homes, and they invited me to join them on a memorable tour of  Southern India: it had been planned as a cricket tour, but when they couldn’t organise the fixtures, they decided to make a holiday of it and invite some friends.  

Formidable linguist, excellent company and a loyal friend.  I shall miss him.

Spring, eh?

 

As I write on Saturday, the weather is fine, and the first tomatoes are outside where we hope they will survive and bear fruit.  The Sweet Olives have gone very leggy, so will be vulnerable to strong winds.  The San Marzanos are more compact, and are placed where we can tie them back to the wall if need be.  We planted out the runner beans during the week, and wait to see if they improve on last year’s miserable performance. 

Tuesday brought heavy showers, some with hail, which was slow to thaw.  There was enough rain to submerge the fountain head in the overflowing pond.  The marginal bog irises look pleased..

Aeroplane noises as we lunched: a Tiger Moth and a Chipmunk flying round and round in very close formation.  The Tiger Moth (actually, it might have been a Stampe) even flew a couple of very compact loops: we were surprised the pilot dared in such an ancient airframe.  Martyn passed a nearby wedding venue earlier, and it was showing all the signs of a posh do, so we image the aerobatics were part of the bash.  Some have money to burn: meanwhile the food banks struggle to meet the demand.

More from the garden

We got another of those little pots of miniature roses last Christmas, and as usual separated, pruned and potted up the individual plants.  Most of them came on well in the conservatory, and after a week or so hardening off outside in their pots they’re now planted by the front door.  Some of the older ones had died or failed to thrive, so have been replaced: the rest got a good prune, some top dressing and a word or two of encouragement.

In the new bed at the back, the top dressing has pretty much disappeared, so a lot of the newly planted subjects have rather exposed roots.  I’ve treated each to a shovel or two of muck, and hope they respond.  It’s that nice time of year when most days bring something else into flower.  Today it’s the daphne odora and the ornamental cherry.

For years we didn’t realise we had a flowering cherry, since its flowering season is very brief, and must have coincided with our spring trips to France.  Margaret and John gave us two daphnes some years ago as tiny plants, and they each proceeded to grow to a good metre in diameter.  They are not specially long-lived, and indeed one of them packed up last year.  But the survivor is threatening to block the path to the little greenhouse, and is starting to produce its richly scented flowers.

I’ll try again to propagate from it: previous attempts didn’t succeed, so I’ll consult the RHS before I try again.  Other candidates for propagation are the potentillas, which are getting a bit unruly, and the cistus, which have become, variously, very leggy or dead.

The tomatoes are growing fast: some of the Sweet Olive plants already have flower trusses, so I’ve taken out the side shoots with a view to propagation.  We have rather more San Marzano plants, so I’ve contented myself with taking out and discarding the side shoots.  In the propagator, the runner beans are starting to germinate, and we have a few tagetes seedlings from some oldish seed I found in the garage.  No sign of life from the rudbeckias so far: I may be forced, believe it or not, to put my hand in my pocket and get some plug plants.

The Mother of Parliaments, eh?

PMQs, ever a bear garden, now sees the latest Rt Hon First Lord of the Treasury for the time being resorting to red-top style name calling.  His right wing is forcing him to move yet again towards breaking international law on human rights (the Universal Declaration on which was a British invention, long before the UK’s membership of the EU and, of course, entirely separate from it, then as now).  The only other European countries derogating from it are those havens of liberal democracy, Belarus and the Russian Federation.  Not, as the Rt Hon Mr ‘Cleverly’ puts it, a club of which we should be aspiring to membership. 

This utterance may perhaps damage Mr ‘Cleverly’s’ chances of filling the new deputy PM vacancy, so truculently created by the previous incumbent’s resignation to avoid dismissal.  This follows some five months of enquiry by a silk, whose fee will have cost the taxpayer a score or two of doctors’ salaries.  All entirely wasted, since Raab might in other times have been expected to resign or be sacked long ago.  But some might say he lacks the decency to do the former, and his ex-boss the balls to do the latter - not that I could personally express a view.

Integrity, Professionalism and Accountability, eh?  Well, I suppose we can hope.