Running away

First to Greenwich Park where we took in a photographic exhibition

at The National Maritime Museum -

The Great British Seaside.

I have never known the lime blossom to be more

blissful and poignant.

There was a whole avenue of it to drink in.

That along with privet blossom is the scent of childhood summers.

And then today when the kerfuffle and cacophony reached its apogee

with the arrival of more scaffolding and men with nail guns,

we went to Igtham Mote.

But even that was too noisy for comfort so we set off

(at midday) on one of the estate trails.

Unfortunately we timed our arrival back home with the work still in full swing,

and the music on the roof had increased in volume with our absence.

Someone had brought along their own playlist.
Bobby Darin was an improvement on talk radio but

my first choice for the scaffolders would have been

I think it was the first pop song I ever heard.

Reality check

We've been enjoying some beautiful gardens.

This one at Scotney Castle

with its stunning display of acers, azaleas

and rhododendrons

and of course Sissinghurst too with

the white wisteria just opening.

I took note of a pairing of smoke bush

and alliums, underplanted with a pale pink persicaria 

and thought I could do something similar at home.

But the fox cubs had other ideas.

These are the ones I salvaged.

 I thought of Freda and her deer-munched tulips

and all the other people working against the clock, the climate and the critters

to get their gardens ready for public display this summer.

Hold the front page

This Bank Holiday weekend delivered spring and early summer

all rolled into one glorious extravaganza.

The beach,

deserted and sandy for once, raked of its usual shingle layer.

Wisteria.

Rhododendrons.

Azaleas.

Other people's gardens,

open to the public under the National Garden Scheme.

Walks, with dodgy overgrown footpaths

and equally dodgy directions from an ancient guide book

but a bonus discovery

of an abandoned orchard, like a scene from The Secret Garden

with a mysterious gazebo in the middle of nowhere.

 Foliage colour to rival that of autumn

but with added zing and zest,

and finally, a rare treat, the handkerchief tree 

Davidia involucrata in flower

to wave us on our way home.

Springtime resolutions

Now is the time when the soot black twigs of London

and the polished brown ones of the country,

burst out, page-like, into rows of neat green buttons,

which later on become little plumes

or tufts of crinkled leaves;...

Now in fact, is the real New Year,

when all good resolutions ought to be made...

now,when the blood is rising like sap;

when irrational joy, the only safe kind,

threatens to burst your respectable waistcoat buttons;

when your feet, however prosaic your boots may look to others,

are wing-shod and scarcely touch the pavement...

The resolutions which you make in this mood are certain to be good ones,

and stand a very good chance of remaining unbroken.

They will be bold and strong, positive and constructive and adventurous.

From now on, you say, I am going to be as brave as a lion,

as firm as a rock, as kind as a dove, as active as an ant, as truthful as glass;

I will write a poem, paint a picture, compose a symphony, found a business, 

plant a tree, build a summerhouse, and repaper the dining room...

(These springtime resolutions) will provide some sort of answer

to the eternal question:

"What can one do about the spring?"

For something must be done, and soon,

or one will undoubtedly burst.*

See also here for Alicia's take on spring fever.

*Try Anything Twice - Jan Struther