I'll do, I'll do and I'll do.

I have been a little quiet on the blogging front of late. January and February have been a time for contemplation and cooking, but that ends today. The sun is out and I am going to get into the garden and do something.

There I was thinking I'd just buy me some trellis, a lick of black paint, pop it up and hey presto. But no. It seems that the job I have pledged to take on is a whole lot bigger. The 17m stretch of fence that runs behind borders 1 and 3, which is apparently 'mine', will have to come down. In its entirety.

2 leaning Laburnums, border 3

And it doesn't stop there... The three Laburnums face the chop, roots and all, as they are leaning quite heavily on said fence into my neighbour's garden. And the two Eucalyptus tress, which have drained border 1 of all nutrients will have to go. And the fig tree too. If I can transplant it without damaging its roots, it shall be given to my father.

another leaning Laburnum...

It does seem the weather for it. On the other side work has started on the pile that has forced the fence to bulge over border 1 into my land. 'Love thy neighbour' does exist in this day and age. Here's the proof: only on Wednesday did I ask Joyce if she could sort it out. And today she has. A lovely gentleman and lady are at-top of it, hacking away.

the bulge over border 1

And they are smiley people too. I am making cod croquetas for lunch so will offer some as a sign of gratitude. I am also taking the family dog Guji over to visit Joyce with an Alfred Carriere Rose as way of thanks. Joyce is in her 90s. She's very fond of the dog.

I popped round to have a look at the pile. It was created over the years by Brian, Joyce's previous gardener. I did once ask him about it and he told me it was a bomb shelter from the war, but so far it has offered only bricks, broken glass, the rotten pieces of a tree once felled, crisp packets and an 8ft television aerial.

Funny - the elderly Greek couple who live directly opposite have also come out to have a gander. None of this effects their land, but I think that being orthodox and all, hearing the words 'Oh Christ' uttered every other minute they couldn't keep away.

Back to Brian. Brian once caught me throwing snails from my garden into Joyce's. It was just when my husband and I had moved in. He leaned over the top of the fence, standing on his pile, laughing 'there's no point in doing that'. I was mortified. I also wasn't sure where the voice was coming from and had the shock of my life because standing on the pile, he seemed to levitate above me. Then he told me about a little experiment he had devised: he collected all the snails in Joyce's garden one day after the rain, painted their shells with nail varnish and then conveyed them to Ally Pally. Within weeks they had mostly returned.

Sadly Brian passed away from cancer last year, so in his honour I am going to repeat this feat. I think the snails will look good with a lick of Chanel Particuliere No.505. And when I do, you can read about it here.

February

Happy Valentines one and all & a Frank O'Hara poem to mark this cold but gloriously sunny Monday morning:


FEBRUARY

The scene is the same,
and though I try to imagine
plinking starry guitars,

and while I spend my
time listening to a foreign
contralto sing the truth,

the earth is everywhere,
brown and aching. At first
it seemed that this life

would be different: born
again in someone else's
arms, after seasons of childhood

and error and defense,
I thought freshly and tried
to change the color of my

habit. New metrics would be
mine in this excess of
love! but I was a braggart

to hope so. My old hurts
keep attacking me at odd
moments, after too many

songs, on public conveyances,
in the blue light of bars. Ah!
I cried, do not blame me,

save your temper for the
others! and at the same instant
in the same breath cried,

break me! I dare you, for
which of us am I? you will
break yourself! And this

became only too true, the
worst of all possible vistas,
my lone dark land.