It rained yesterday. Bucketloads. Which was a good thing. Not in the “It’ll do the garden good” kind of way, because the garden is plenty wet enough thanks. No – it gave us the excuse to stay indoors and watch the battle of Good v Evil which was how the World Athletics Championships had been billed. Having had the brilliance and farce / tragedy of the women’s Heptathlon as Ennis-Hill ruled supreme and Johnson-Thompson fouled out (tragically? stupidly?) we had the Bolt v Gatlin race for the soul of athletics. The whole eternal battle thing was a little over the top, but it was pleasing to see the Good Guy beat the one wearing the metaphorical black stetson. Usain rode off with gold on his golden Palomino.
After that breathless excitement it was time turn to our own Midday in the garden of Good and Evil. There is plenty of decent stuff in the garden – such as my nice new fruit cage that I have manufactured out of the twisted remains of the gazebo that took a battering in the June gale, and the flowers that we planted are still blooming: Cosmos are brilliant, Rudbeckia tall and proud, Gladiolae still glad to be gay and Veronica small but perfectly formed.
There are plenty of veg, if one looks hard enough: courgettes ranging from petite to XXXXL, green beans, runner beans and dwarf french (although the climbing french for some reason have simply whithered on the cane). Plenty of potatoes, summer psb, and spicy, peppery salad leaves.
But there is still a constant battle of Good and Evil here too. The cabbage whites have managed to lay their eggs and we now wage war with the caterpillars which have stripped some plants clean. The leeks which we planted before we went away, were razed to the ground within 24 hours so we raised the barricades for them and they seem to have recovered. The lawn (well, grassy area) has more patches than a quilters’ convention with splodges of bare earth dotted all over showing a constant reminder of mole activity. And the roses have once again been given the sign of the black spot with death and decay to follow. Not even the greenhouse is immune where the ants nests are abundant despite the ants always seeming to take to the air (I thought they all flew on one day and that was it?). I am not sure how much damage they actually cause, but surely they cannot be helping?
But despite the dead air of the greenhouse there is still some promising news with the first two tomates finally making it to the table – about three months after the gardening giants of Galhampton had started cropping their wonder plants. Ours will taste all the better for the wait – or at least that is how I try to argue it with Mrs B.