Since we last met

I have mostly been

picking these - the box moth caterpillar

off the box hedges in our garden.

They have devastated them.

Stripped them to bare branches 

and then started gnawing on the branches

before abseiling off on silken threads to the next bush.

But we have made an impression

and after removing in excess of 5000

with tweezers,

new green leaves are sprouting.

No doubt these will feed the next generation of

caterpillars presently being laid by the caterpillars

that we didn't catch before they pupated.

But it wasn't all garden warfare.

We spent a week in the Malvern Hills,

staying at Perrycroft, a beautifully restored Voysey house 

with cottages for the workers holidaymakers.

We had free access to the main gardens

which were so perfect,

but we could not help shuddering at the thought of the havoc

that the box moth would  wreak on all the immaculate topiary

and we looked for telltale signs of browned leaves.

The hills were steep and numerous.

I think we yomped up all but one.

Going down was hard on the knees

but the views were worth it.

And then to my great surprise we learnt that the Hay Festival was on,

only an hour's drive away

and that there were still tickets to be had,

so we went to hear Kate Humble

and Monty Don and Derry Moore

talking about their latest books

Thinking on my Feet and Japanese Gardens respectively.

Summer is racing away,

but today has been like winter.

Dark by 3.30 and the heating is back on.

Welcome for gardeners and farmers

but very lowering to the spirit.

I made hot chocolate

and talked to my son in New York

about a trip to sunnier climes.

From darkness to light

 

 Watching a distant storm skimming the horizon

while standing on dry land

with just the slightest feeling 

that the wind could bring the trouble nearer
and there we are without an umbrella or galoshes.

Then breathing a sigh of relief as it passes

and the sun returns.

If only all our worries could be blown away so easily.

Grr, gah, waaa

Well there's no denying it's lush.

But it's getting hard to stay motivated.

 The tomato seedlings have stalled

and the sweet peas are lying weakly on the soil

next to their robust wigwam.

It's too sad to show you.

Slates are sliding off the roof

in a manner horribly reminiscent of guillotine blades

so that's the next big job - one that we have dodged -

since we first moved here twenty odd years ago, 
apart from some remedial work.

I predict that the sun will come out just as soon

as we are wrapped around with light excluding scaffolding.

Perhaps we will be glad of the shade.

Meanwhile I am knitting faux Fair Isle,

 binge watching Parks and Recreation

and there's a batch of cheese scones in the oven.

Sunday mornings go for a ride

They got the tower out of its wraps just in time for my birthday.

It was worth the climb up to the top

to examine the new oak shingles,

although French not English oak, according to the rather

dispeptic guide at the bottom.

Apparently the newly restored flagpole 

is planted over the clock mechanism

which is why it is forever 7 o'clock at Sissinghurst.

The raised troughs are exquisitely replanted.

My vote for best arrangement in a shell at the Spring Show went to this.

Although deluges have resumed we had a reminder

of what spring could deliver in the woods

on a perfect day at the weekend.

I found a tin of tomato seeds. 

Is it too late?

It's hard to work up any enthusiasm for potting compost and seed trays.

Yours sincerely, wasting away.