It's one of the great British traditions, like long cricket matches, cups of tea and the Queen speech... if it's a Bank Holiday you must do gardening. Or DIY. DIY is acceptable too. (There's also the venerable traditions of spending hours stuck in traffic on the motorway... but I don't really like that one)
I don't 'do' gardening.
I like 'being' in the garden... reading a book, having a snooze, a spot of knitting, perhaps even cutting flowers for the house, but gardening gardening? the on your knees, hands in the dirt variety? No thank you.
Today, though, I did.
Pat on the back/where's my G&T?
I drove to the garden centre... marched straight past the petunias and the marigolds (I apologise to all petunias lovers... I'm still your friend, I promise) and purchased a whole bunch of plants with cute names like 'Felicia blue' and 'Cape daisy'... and geraniums, because they are nice.
I had the job of filling one large container in the front of the house and of course I bought flowers that totally matched what I was wearing... isn't always the case? And weird. In fact my slightly red/orange toe nails in the above photos are really annoying me.
I enjoyed it - shocking, I know - but I can promise you, you won't find me weeding anytime soon... it wasn't a life changing episode. More like a glitch.
...and probably I planted too many things in too small a space but hey... I'm counting on the law of attrition to do its work/Darwin's survival of the fittest... whatever.
In other words, we'll see what happens!
Hopefully something will survive.
Urgh. That's the bit I really don't like.
(The geraniums - 'light pink'... there were others called 'bacon pink' which must be the worst name for a flower variety in the history of flower names and I couldn't bring myself to buy them, pretty as they were - are in the house. One on the table and one on the kitchen window by the sink.)
And now, seriously, where's my drink?
PS My short gardening career was cut short when Mr M's father (my father in law basically) told me off for not 'making straight lines' when mowing the lawn (incidentally I cannot pronounce that sentence... mowing the lawn... it's impossible)... he asked me if I was hoovering. Whatever. That was it for me.
PPS I quite like racking crunchy leaves on a dry, crisp Fall day.