I am in an unashamedly self-indulgent mood. The weather is still just hot enough for me to justify a degree of sloth on the patio, trusting to drought to slow the weeds. (If I venture forth it is for light weeding, dead heading and pot watering. Everything is overblown and slightly crispy). Our stream of summer visitors has slowed to a trickle and my pilates class is off till the end of next month. (We have been sent homework but I am studiously turning the Nelsonian eye that particular email). My to be read pile has reduced by at least a foot (the highlight being Miss Buncle’s Book, which left me smiling as I raced off to track down the sequel). The Sandpit was a close second and sufficiently gripping that I stood halfway up the stairs like a heron, finishing it on my way to bed. I have Land on the go on audiobook and it is, I think, one of Maggie O’ Farrel’s best. I am having to ration myself to make it last till the end of my knitting (I have the last four balls from my mix your own yarn days on their way to becoming a gilet (or possibly a cardi – it rather depends, as ever I’m free wheeling). . .
There is a faint stirring of restless projects in the sewing room, impatient for rainy days so they can come out and romp. To appease them, I have finished off an experimental book jacket that has been languishing since before Christmas and Mum has been furnished with a new embroidered book mark (alas, it has been declared too good to risk on “printers ink” and therefore has not displaced her trusty folded envelope). Still, I lie awake in the night speculating about necklines and buttons and linings. Yesterday, I found myself reading the instructions on a sachet of dye and nodding…. They will have me yet.
The holiday spirit seems to have infected Keith as well, who has lined up a series of jollies to visit this and that garden and a frolic up the west coast. The first of the garden visits was to Carolside near Earlston. It has the most spectacular collection of old roses. The smell was divine but the deadheading must be Sisyphean, and lovely informal mixed borders. We were both quite entranced and spent the next day wandering round the garden wondering where some additional arches and arbours might be squeezed in. In a brief moment of self-awareness, I tentatively suggested that perhaps we should finish some of the other outstanding projects first. With a confident air, Keith noted that the time for rose projects was November, leaving plenty of time for the olive grove, the highland garden replant, the completion of the Great Wall of China and whatever I might have on my own list. You have to love a little chutzpah. I wonder what our next foray into other peoples’ gardens will lead to…
Of course, the most important pending garden project is Mum’s. Yesterday the diggers went in and the back is close to being a tabula rasa. For once, we have taken some photographs so that the transformation can be recorded. The whole affair is becoming a matter of some local interest. For the last few weeks Mum has been gathering in her saved plants from the old Selkirk garden, and her pick of my spares and divisions, washing their faces and storing them in the basement area at the front of her house. There, they have been watered, fed and thoroughly mollycoddled to bring them into fighting trim for relocation to their final home in the “new” back garden. This front garden has garnered not a few fans on the High Street it seems. Mum has had to mollify outrage at the prospect of it being whisked away to the back by promising to install some shrubs and a gin terrace.
Our walks with Lyra are lengthening. We tackled the old golf course and came back through the woods today. They are growing oats in the field that runs along the edge of the wood and they are the most amazing colour in the sun. There are lots of bees and hoverflies on the thistles, but we’re still not seeing too many butterflies. Afterwards, to celebrate the increased step count, we all had ice creams. Mum went fancy with salted caramel and cappuccino, I was fruity with strawberry and raspberry and Lyra stuck to classic vanilla. I can see this becoming a regular vice if the weather holds….
Please let me know when the gin bar opens