This time last year we were still in France and had got as far as house hunting online for our move back to England. For various reasons, some related to Mr. Tialys’s work commitments which have only became apparent since, it appears we made the move at the right time.
So, Easter in England for the first time in sixteen years was a lovely warm and sunny surprise and I was sufficiently moved to leave my sewing room and go outside to help the gardener (aka Mr. Tialys) with some outside renovations.
You might remember me telling you that the previous owners, in a bid to outwit the ground elder, had buried untold quantities of black plastic – some ‘proper’ stuff, some pond liner and some old plastic compost sacks!! – all pinned down with hundreds of plastic pegs. For the most part, this was all covered with gravel and sometimes pieces of wood. In some places although, to be fair, mostly those places not planted up decoratively, there are old house bricks, spare ceramic tiles and paving slabs.
This, for instance, is part of the bank above the fish pond.
Mr. T. is on a mission to remove most of the plastic and gravel and says he’d rather deal with the weeds than see the earth being choked with the plastic, some of which is breaking up into the soil. Here he is revealing the soil on the bank. Ground elder roots – and there are plenty – are being drowned or burnt.
Just the start of the eventually huge pile of plastic and the wooden planks, etc. that were laid haphazardly on top, for some reason best known to the previous occupants.
Even this old sawhorse had been pressed into service, folded flat and laid on top of the bank – now rescued and ready to be used for its original purpose.
Perhaps they didn’t like going to the tip/dump.
Stan and Flo were helping by staring plaintively until one of us would relent and throw the frisbee for them.
(for Sandra – spot the old rusty plough we brought back from France with us)
As I was in the garden I was able to
nag advise on where to place the gargoyles which had been languishing and looking grumpy up by the garage since we arrived
Now this one already looks as if he’s been atop that wall for years.
This one has swapped the side of a swimming pool in S.W. France for a fish pond in S.W. England and, personally, I think he looks happier in a gargoylish sort of way, unlike Mr. T. who nearly did himself a damage by carrying it there from where the removal men had dumped him up the other end of the garden.
This area to the side of the driveway gates was also covered in plastic and gravel and is now cleared and ready to be planted up maybe with rose bushes.
The greenhouse is very much not my domain – I am only invited in at H.M. the Gardener’s pleasure to ooh and aah at the various things in pots that he’s sewn from seed.
I like nasturtiums. They remind me of a time long, long ago (or the Stone Age as one of my daughters calls it) at primary school when they used to give (sell?) us a little a packet of candytuft or nasturtium seeds to take home and plant in a pot and take it back to school at a set date where, if you had been successful, you would get a pretty coloured certificate. I never got one. We lived in a first floor flat in London and neither of my parents were gardeners of any description.
Just a little memory I thought I’d share with you there for no good reason.
Outside again – there’s a pretty flowering currant.
We’re not sure what fruit tree this is – any ideas?
So, today has clouded over a little. Maybe I’ll get my bathroom shelves put up but I’m not counting on it.
I might get the drill out, wave it about inexpertly and ask where the rawlplugs are – something that has worked a treat in the past 😉