Open season is closed (for a bit)

Finally, or at least for a month, we have the garden to ourselves and license to ignore it or appreciate it from a sedentary position, as the mood takes us. The annual garden open day took place last Sunday, on the coldest and windiest (but thankfully not rainiest) day for ages. The cohort of stalwart friends who appear before hand to help with weeding and such truck were waved off on Monday and Mum was also finally allowed to go home and water her own plants. The helpers’ barbecue hangover was, I think, less vicious than usual and after dropping Mum off I spent a tranquil hour wafting round the garden in the sun (which obviously came out the following day) contemplating all the many things I might do other than gardening and weeding. A long list was formulated and I also casually tacked on a plan for new alpine garden recycling the old chimney. (Keith has taken the idea under advisement, but I do think it might be a runner.)

The immediate priority though was to restore myself to some form of respectability. I had a looming commitment to belated retirement drinks at work on Tuesday and a worryingly imminent wedding at the weekend and was, to be frank, looking rather feral. An emergency hair appointment was procured for Tuesday afternoon and I spent the train trip up to town attempting to restore my hands from grimy sandpaper to a state that could be shaken without undue friction. A hard day’s shopping then followed to procure a handbag which did not look like it had been left at a station with a resident infant, some make up, blister plasters and a hairbrush (the last one having gone missing (and unlamented) months ago.) Work drinks boosted the morale (I was declared “disgustingly healthy” looking and, as a plumpish sort of a certain age, I’ll take that…) and I came home on the last train thinking I might just get away with mixing with real people.

Poor Mum was kidnapped yet again yesterday (for dogsitting duty) and had to spend last night as the front row at a fashion show featuring the one weddingish dress which looked likely to go with the newest wedding hat (only one previous wedding!) and a range of possible shoes. A decision was made to popular acclaim. I then packed all three pairs just in case. By this morning the fumes of nail painting (Ishbel advised that two coats was the barest minimum I could get away with and as I made a howk of it there was much stripping back and retouching) had only just dispersed…

I felt only slightly forlorn having a last wander round the garden this morning, it was looking lovely, but civilisation can’t be avoided indefinitely. Lyra gave us her usual, deeply betrayed and disappointed, look as we sneaked off to the car (packed by stealth when she wasn’t looking). I am quite sure that by now she is tucked up with Mum on the sofa snarfing treats but I fear I am going to succumb and call shortly to check……

In the meantime – her are a few garden shots until normal service is resumed.