Live and let die...

Now that I am more Home Alone than Mrs Christmas on December the 24th, I am trying to make sure that my afternoons are busy.  My week of watching Tipping Point and wallowing in my own self pity is over, and three weeks down the line, I can at last see the positives of not having any of our children living at home anymore.  

Last week, a good friend asked me if I'd 'put my garden to bed yet'.  I shook my head, considering this the safer option bearing in mind I didn't have a clue what she was talking about.  Well apparently, around this time of the year, you are meant to do a lot of jobs involving secateurs and a bag of manure.  I have neither, but decided that armed with a pair of kitchen scissors and a bag of compost I found in the garage I might have a go at what she was suggesting.

Now gardener, I am not.  I have this theory that if something is still alive after six months, then it's a keeper.  To be honest it took some time to learn that some things die in the autumn and then COME BACK TO LIFE in the summer.  Astonishing.  So my little garden has borders all the way round the lawn, filled to the gunnells with all manner of stuff.  Absolutely no planning has gone into my planting (despite various bits of advice from my plant guru, Mrs S) so my garden looks absolutely beautiful for one week in June.  After that, it's green and brown all the way.

So yesterday afternoon, I took myself off to the garden and started cutting stuff back and removing obvious weeds (nettles and grass are all I recognise, everything else is safe).  With that done, my attention turned to my pots of bulbs.  These were planted around six years ago after I got sucked in at a country show ('Five hundred assorted bulbs for the price of two hundred').  Have you ever tried to plant five hundred bulbs in thirty yards of border?  On the advice from Mrs S, I planted lots of them in plastic flower pots, neatly writing January/February/March on the outside, depending on which month I should put them around the garden.

Now as you know, bulbs are rather small, so I happily planted at least ten in each pot (I was desperate by this point, and never wanted to see another bulb again - even chopping onions was now becoming difficult). When they finally emerged, it was survival of the fittest, and my displays were mainly foliage as there wasn't enough food to go round for flowers as well.  

So yesterday I emptied out every pot, divided the bulbs and repotted them limiting myself to just three to a pot.  These are now lined up on the wall and I will dot them round the garden when they start to do something.

That was yesterday.  Today I am meeting some lovely friends for lunch and a catch up.  I much prefer this kind of afternoon.  

Chatting doesn't break your nails or give you a Dowager's Hump for the rest of the day...


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