July 2015 – Page 3 – derrickjknight

A Cracking Match

This morning’s task was to dig a pit I had chickened out of last night. This was for the lace-cap hydrangea alongside the orange shed. Beneath about two inches of poor soil lay an impacted heap of rubble. With pick-axe, fork, and spade, I managed to get through what we hope is enough of it for the plant to find its way. Jackie filled the hole with good multi-purpose compost, and gave it a good watering.

It takes the two of us a couple of hours to irrigate the trillion hanging baskets, window boxes, tubs, chimney pots, and various other plantings that the Head Gardener has stuffed with flowers. This, today had to form the bread in a sandwich, the filling of which was an absolutely cracking Wimbledon ladies final. Despite dropping the opening game in which she served three double faults, Serena Williams recovered her champion’s composure to win in straight sets, over Garbine Muguruza, who was no push-over. Both women thrilled the crowd, and even I was choked up, with tears in my eyes, at the gleeful dance of the unbeatable American, and the reception given, at the presentation ceremony by the crowd, and by Serena herself, to the runner-up. I cannot call Garbine the loser.

She will be back. But this was the serene Miss Williams’s day, which she was generous enough to share.

It was difficult to get my photos in focus, pointing at the TV, from the sofa, in a somewhat emotional condition.

The lost label rose we bought some days ago, has now produced a flower. We think it may be a David Austin Aloha. When it opens out a bit more, we will have a better idea.

The varieties of nasturtium in the front garden have been multiplied,

as have the day lilies in the main one.

I thought we may have had a visit from an apparently almost extinct butterfly. This, however, is not the Large Tortoiseshell, but the

Comma, attracted by verbena bonarensis.

I am grateful to Norma and Laurie Palmer for correcting me.

The red Bottle Brush bushes are now in flower.

The one above has this view from the pergola path.

Yellow/green nicotiana has now joined its white neighbour on the patio.

We are aiming for a very scented rose garden, but, just at the moment, our new plants cannot compete with our neighbours’ buddleia draped over our fence.

Reminiscent of our pink camellias, which turn pleasing shades of ochre, the sepals of the clematis Carnaby have now matured into the texture of parchment.

This evening we dined on cheese-centred haddock fish cakes; sauteed potatoes, onions, mushrooms, and peppers; and crisp cauliflower and carrots. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I drank more of the cabernet sauvignon.

The Great Diver

As is now customary, I began the day with a meander round the garden.

This is how Jackie has refurbished the knackered decking;

and here is her sign for Elizabeth’s bed.

She has positioned stepping stones between Aaron’s paving, and added phlox to the rose garden.

In the former compost bed the dahlia Bishop of Llandaff and a yellow hollyhock now rise among foxgloves and poppies, now adopting their sculptural quality as they begin to seed.

Red hollyhocks bloom elsewhere in the garden. The seeds of this one were a gift from Margery.

Bees were busy on the Phantom Path hebe. You may need to search for this one.

Since it was men’s semi-final day at Wimbledon, I spent the afternoon on the sofa watching tennis balls travel back and forth across the TV screen. Two splendid matches were in progress. In each, one player who performed extremely well was beaten in straight sets by another who played even better. Djokovic was probably expected to beat Gasquet, but the Frenchman put up a great fight, probably playing his best tennis.

Tension was the norm in the match between Murray and the phenomenal Federer. More or less from the start, Andy Murray had his work cut out, but fought back time and again to make us think that perhaps he had a chance. Roger Federer had other ideas.

We learned that Novak Djokovic, a great slider on the tennis court, has engaged Boris Becker as his coach. Between the two matches, we were treated to highlights of the seventeen year old Becker’s first Wimbledon competition, in which he dived and slid all over the place, to become the first unseeded winner of the tournament. I can believe it was thirty years ago I watched that amazing final.

I am not sure who took this amazing photograph, but it appears on Turnstile and Fashion website, advertising the player’s shoes.

After the second match, I helped Jackie plant yesterday’s purchases. This morning she bought a white lace-cap hydrangea for the shady corner by the orange shed. When I hit more concrete and rubble whilst digging the whole, I put the job off for another day, and Jackie stood the plant in a bucket of water.

This evening we dined on succulent roast pork with crisp crackling, boiled potatoes, and cabbage, carrots, and runner beans, followed by profiteroles. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I opened a bottle of Louis de Camponac cabernet sauvignon 2014.

Up Close And Personal

On a largely overcast and humid morning I took an amble down to Roger’s footpath and back.

Parsley and fennel are now flowering in the bed opposite the kitchen window.

White nicotiana spreads its scent across the patio.

The Absolutely Fabulous rose now bears numerous fresh flowers.

Violas suspended from the entrance arch to the back drive soak up the sun’s fleeting rays.

I found that a snowy owl has been sneaked in.

Small, ground-hugging, convolvulus now straggles the verges of Downton Lane.

For the purposes of rearranging the furniture I was permitted to enter the shed this morning. If truth be told, I was probably more hindrance than help, although the Head Gardener was too kind to say so. I was taken back, however, to my very early childhood when, asking my mother if I could help with the housework, I would receive the response: ‘Yes. Sit on a chair and keep out of my way’.

We now have a reasonably tame thrush. Whether this is the result of imprinting during its fearless infancy, or because, when she discovers a nest of snails or slugs she lays them out on the path for the grateful bird, is not clear.

However, once our little friend has had its fill, it will often stand, looking hopeful, awaiting a further feed.

On TV, I watched the first, thrilling, women’s Wimbledon semi-final, in which Garbine Muguruza defeated Agnieszka Radwanska 2-1. Afterwards, Jackie drove us to Pocock’s Rose Centre in Romsey, where we bought six more scented roses. These were the white climber, Madame Alfred Carrière, shrubs purple Roseraie de l’Haye, and white Jacqueline du Pré. Two in bloom were:

pale yellow Creme de la Creme

and delicately muted pink Chris Beardshaw.

Along Romsey Road at Copythorne stands the only building to have been granted the honour of membership of the P.G. Wodehouse Society. This is the Empress of Blandings public house named after the great comic author’s porcine character.

It seemed only right and proper to photograph the pub sign and the mural quotation for Ashokbhatia, an erudite and amusing blogger who is a great Wodehouse fan. His writing on the master’s oeuvre alone are insightful and enlightening. And he has more to say besides.

We chose a different route home, and dawdled through the forest around Bolderwood. There the late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, dappling some scenes and throwing the spotlight on others.

New Forest ponies are not known for speed. In fact they often hardly move at all, preferring to stand and sleep or graze. When half a dozen of them rushed towards me at a trot, I was a little perturbed, and retreated to the car. So near came these creatures that I didn’t have room to open the door. This was a bit close and personal for my liking. Eventually they got the message that I wasn’t going to feed them, and cantered off along the road to find someone else to molest.

Hordle Chinese Takeaway provided our evening meal, with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden Belgian beer, and I drank English Master Brewers IPA

Colemanballs

Seeking to provide The Head Gardener with a pleasant surprise when she returned from an early morning trip to Ferndene Farm shop, allegedly to buy more compost, I decided to take down more of the tree which, in our gusting winds, is wrecking the red rose on the pergola outside the stable door. Jackie has been mentioning the need for this for a while now. Evidence of how windy it was today is provided by these two photographs of the same basket of petunias, taken from the same spot in rapid succession.

When we arrived in Downton last April the main trunk of the offending tree had been so torn and twisted that I had been obliged to cut off the dangling remainder. After a further year of frequent whirling winds we have noticed that this particular corner always bears the brunt, with stricken branches bending and crashing against the wisteria pergola. That is why further pruning was necessary. Still in my dressing gown, I proudly displayed my work. The Head Gardener observed that I had ‘made a start’. Unless dealing with BT, I’m not normally one for invective. I must admit to having muttered one at that. The question is often asked, ‘is there any pleasing a woman?’ It is actually very easy to please Jackie, but The Head Gardener, bless her, tends towards the exacting. She is never demanding, but, if you volunteer, you have to reckon with her desire for perfection. Two more branches had to come off.

Trudging back and forth to the pile awaiting combustion, I was able to view the rest of the garden, where

pretty pink fuchsia, Paula Jane, atop the urn, is flanked by calibrachoas and petunias;

Apple Blossom diascas, magenta geraniums, and clematis Margaret Hunt embellish the entrance to the back drive;

and, turning from that point, looking towards the rose garden, a yellow theme is provided by pansies, succulents; and the flowers of lanky cineraria, otherwise known as Dusty Miller.

Hoverflies, like this one casting its shadow on an unidentified clematis, give the photographer a fighting chance to catch them in flight;

Not so bees, which make you really work for it.

The generous Dave Fergusson, yesterday, gave Jackie a cut glass whisky barrel for just £5. It hasn’t taken her long to position it.

Wimbledon’s weather smiled on me today. Accompanying Jackie on a three hour trip to Nuffield Hospital and back, including her physiotherapy, could have meant that I didn’t see much of Andy Murray’s three set victory over Vasek Pospisil. However. Rain had disrupted the first set; I watched the rest of that and the second in the reception area; and rain caused further stoppage just as we left for home. I, therefore, was able to see the end of the match, and, far more importantly, witness a wonderful example of Colemanballs.

Derived from the surname of BBC sports presenter David Coleman, Colemanballs is a term coined by the satirical magazine, Private Eye, to describe verbal gaffes by sports commentators. Today’s was an ace, admirably returned by the tennis player.

‘Is there any more pressure because of Royal spectators? David Beckham was here today,’ without the slightest pause, asked Garry Richardson, who must have forgotten the names of the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. ‘He isn’t a royal, is he?’ replied Murray, with a twinkle in his eye and a wide smile. Richardson responded with: ‘I’ll let you decide.’ ‘It’s great that they came along to support,’ observed Murray with immaculate diplomacy.

The next Centre Court match was between Novak Djokovic and Marin Cilic. The former won in straight sets.

For some reason best known to herself and Bruce Goodman, Jackie wishes it to go on record that some of the flowers she bought this morning, including the lavenders that she planted in the rose garden, were blue.

It will be no surprise to anyone that Jackie has also somewhat embellished the outside of her shed.

This evening we dined on flavoursome mushroom and onion omelette, and bubble and squeak topped with fried bacon. This was followed by profiteroles. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I finished the Teroldego Rotaliano.

Furnishing The Shed

Becky put this on my Facebook page early this morning:

Clever, isn’t she?

We began with a trip to the municipal dump, now upgraded to Efford Recycling Centre. Included in the rubbish we took there was a green plastic table we had bought from there in the first place. The Head Gardener, now she has a shed, has no further use for it. I got quite excited when I thought this might be the first time we would leave the tip without making a purchase. This was not to be, for Jackie spotted a hanging window box and just had to buy it.

Off we then drove to Highcliffe, and our old favourite, Fergusson’s, in search of a suitable chest of drawers to double as a work surface and storage for packets of seeds, tools, ties, plant labels, and almost anything else you can think of. Elsa and Boyce produced the very thing, that would probably have got the Bargain Hunt experts very excited. This addictive televised antiques programme involves two pairs of punters shopping in normal retail outlets in the hope of making a profit at auction. We have learned that G-plan, the iconic furniture of the ’50s and ’60s, is in at the moment. The Ercol piece that we found would definitely have been in the money. But we weren’t going to auction, and Dad, Dave Fergusson, accompanied by Elsa, delivered it for us and helped me place it in the shed.

This friendly family firm is to be recommended.

Jackie had already begun to make herself at home.

Dave had first delivered furniture to us last May, when the garden was still a jungle. He and Elsa went on an amazed and delighted tour. He asked for a notification when we open to the public. Here is a selection from what he saw today:

From the bed by the wisteria, this small pink rose has a good view of the new acquisition.

This is the view along the outside of the kitchen window. The rose above lies in the bed at the end.

Obscured by the planting in the centre background, the dragon stands on a concrete plinth. This is his view through to the urn and beyond.

Near the start of the brick path, geraniums and Japanese maple form a pleasing swirl;

and a different variety of geranium hangs at one end of the Phantom Path.

A concrete building block lifts a pot of pink petunias taking us across another section of the Brick Path.

We also walked along the Pergola Path. Like any of the others, this view changes daily.

In the new rose garden, Kent is now in bloom.

At the far south end of the garden, passion flowers cling to the support arches we erected last year, and clematis Margaret Hunt ascends those Jackie fixed in her new boxes at the start of the back drive.

This evening we dined at Lal Quilla, where we enjoyed the usual ambiance, service, food, and Kingfisher. I chose Purple Tiger and Jackie chose Navrattan Korma. We shared lemon rice and a naan, and both drank Kingfisher.

The Shed In Situ

This morning, whilst Jackie went shopping, I wandered around the garden waiting for delivery of the garden shed. Now that the pink roses on the front trellis have died back, their places have been taken by clematis Mrs N Thompson, honeysuckle, calibrachoa in a hanging basket, and two varieties of trailing nasturtium.

A marbled white butterfly, swayed on a wind-blown verbena bonarensis

The Ballerina now dances freely at the cleared entrance to the rose garden.

Ground cover, like that provided by this unnamed succulent, is important,

but it is hanging baskets that lift a garden.

Here is a view from the brick path.

This trailing antirrhinum sits nicely above the patch of grass,

and these petunias lead us to The Head Gardener’s Walk,

as others, enlivening the dead Snake Bark Maple, overlook the Heligan Path and beyond.

Sometimes, as with this symphony in orange and red, serendipity intervenes. The orange sunburst beneath the cut plastic container is a clever little device with a thread that fits two litre supermarket water bottles, thus keeping a supply flowing for two days.

As can be seen from this later shot of The Head Gardener’s Walk petunias, Jackie’s shed was delivered and erected this afternoon.

Two splendid Wimbledon tennis matches were televised this afternoon. I watched them both. Serena Williams took just over an hour beat her sister Venus in straight sets. This was closer than the score looks. Andy Murray then had to battle it out for three hours and more, with Ivo Karlovic, to win a four set match. Murray is by no means a small man, but, slugging it out with the six foot eleven Croatian must be the tennis equivalent of a boxing contest with the giant Italian, Primo Carnera, of the 1930s.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s superb sausage casserole (recipe); creamy mashed potato; and crisp carrots, cabbage, and cauliflower. In celebration of her new shed, Jackie drank one of the small bottles of P. Desroches & Cie Brut Champagne Alison had given us. I drank Teroldego Rotaliano superiore riserva,2011.

Yarnton’s Cardoon

After an application of Vanish, two cold washes in the machine, and a dedicated press, Jackie has achieved a renovation of the linen jacket, which was beyond the dry cleaners. And it still fits.

I began the day with a walk through Roger’s footpath, where I again met Pete, who, on this far more overcast day, I did not recognise without his sunglasses and hat.

Hoverflies and bluebottles needed their head- and tail-lights among the gloomy brambles of the hedgerows.

Can you smell the leaking slurry. I certainly could.

Encouraged by the success of the arancus, Jackie planted an astilbe in similar conditions.

While Aaron completed stage five of the rose garden paving,

Jackie and I completed the clearance of her work area in readiness for the garden shed.

The structure in the background is the central heating fuel tank, necessary because we don’t have mains gas. Until we have had a visit to the communal dump, it is probably not politic to display the various places where we have decanted the items the new structure will replace.

Common thistles grow along the footpath visited earlier,

and we now know that our giant is not a cardoon, but a cotton thistle.

This is a shame, because we had the former in Newark. Never mind, I can still talk about Yarnton’s cardoon.

Yarnton Mills was an elderly family friend of Jessica’s late parents. His wife kept sheep. She farmed her flock somewhere in Europe, where, in order to improve the quality of their milk, she fed them on cardoon. The location may have been in Spain or Portugal where ewe’s milk is used in the production of cheese. I always wondered how the animals, not being donkeys, managed to eat these thistle-like plants. I therefore amused myself with a little internet research. FIBRA explains that the crop is reduced to silage for feed. The benefits are described by Fernández-Salguero, J., Tejada, L. & Gómez, R. (2002), who tell us: ‘The use of plant proteinases from flowers of cardoon Cynara cardunculus as milk coagulants is of particular interest because they are natural enzymes whose strong proteolytic action eventually leads to the extensive breakdown of caseins, thereby giving rise to cheeses with a soft buttery texture, a genuine aroma and a slightly piquant and creamy flavour. These cheeses are highly valued for their taste and quality and can be targeted at the lacto-vegetarian and organic markets. This type of plant coagulant can also be certified Kosher and Halal.’

Yarnton presented Jessica with a seed which we planted in the kitchen garden, and enjoyed for the story and for the towering plant’s sculptural qualities

This evening Jackie and I dined on gammon steaks topped with fried eggs; fresh crisp chips; and an interesting melange of recycled pasta and meatballs, green and baked beans, and the odd limp chip. Very tasty it all was, too. This was followed by mixed fruit crumble and custard. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I finished the bordeaux.

A Nation Uncomfortable With Being Ahead

Today, just as humid, was slightly cooler and breezier, which was just as well, because we made a start on clearing the Head Gardener’s work area to make room for the shed to be delivered in two days time.

First, Jackie needed to plant the rest of her prolific purchases, so I took a walk along to the paddock in Hordle Lane and back.

The deep ditches were now bone dry.

The horses in the paddock, protected by their fly masks, had, early in the morning, no need to shelter under the oak. Watch the one on the left,

now again summoning the customary energy to investigate my presence,

then to be first in the queue for the water trough.

Clematis Mrs N Thompson (not to confused with my daughter, Mrs E Thompson), now mingles with pink roses on the front garden trellis.

Jackie has added this strident perennial coreopsis to the rose garden.

A far more subdued aruncus bows respectfully

alongside the weeping birch,

from where I was able to snap a crow on the far side of Christchurch Road.

These views, one from Fiveways, and two of patio corners, display less recent planting.

This afternoon, on TV, I watched another Brit narrowly miss going through to the fourth round at Wimbledon. This time James Ward lost a five set match to Vasek Pospisil. You have to understand we are a nation not comfortable with being ahead in sport – unless it is cricket against the Australians.

This evening we dined at Lal Quilla. My choice of meal was chicken Jaljala with a plain naan; Jackie’s was prawn Sally with the perfect accompaniment of a delicate lemon rice. We shared an onion bhaji, and both drank Kingfisher. Everything was as good as usual.

Fried Egg On Toast

Today was a real scorcher. I set off for the rose garden rather early, intending simply to dig a few holes for the plants plonked yesterday. No such luck. The head gardener had already been out there for an hour. On the south side of the entrance arch had straggled two rather unattractive shrubs. Jackie had decided they had to go, and consequently cut them right back. All that was left were one thick trunk and masses of quite mature suckers. After carting her clippings to the burning pile, I set to with fork, axe, and saw, to remove them. This took quite some time, not helped by the pottery shards, CDs, plant labels, and bits of plastic and polystyrene, typical of our predecessors’ composting, that were tangled among the roots. We then boasted a clear trellis on which to plant the next climbing rose.

That was enough for the morning. After a short break Jackie continued watering, and I ambled down to the corner of Roger’s field and back.

Neither of us had known bidens other than the normal yellow,

so we are quite pleased with this unusual variety obtained from Ferndene Farm Shop.

A wayward woodlouse, suspended from a cobweb on a back drive stump, cast a static shadow.

Strong sunlight dappled the tarmac on Downton Lane.

A congealed fried egg on nettle toast in the hedgerow revealed itself to be an over-adventurous snail.

This afternoon we planted yesterday’s floral purchases.

It is hard to credit that the two salvias, and what we hope is a pot-bound dwarf conifer, are occupying the place by the southern fence where a hidden bath stood a year ago.

This climbing hydrangea can tolerate the shade it will receive in the corner by the orange shed. Like our other additions it will grow bigger. The logs in the foreground are part of our insect hotel, which has been temporarily moved by Aaron, pending his last section of paving.

I watched two Wimbledon tennis matches on television. In the first, Novak Djokovic beat Bernard Tomic in straight sets. The second took much longer than anticipated, so we consumed our pasta and meatballs in a tomato based sauce, and salad, from trays on our knees, as we watched a thrilling match in which Serena Williams beat Heather Watson by taking the third set 7 – 5. A red Cotes de Bordeaux 2012 helped to mitigate my excitement. Miraculously, my shirt was unscathed.

‘Is it 25 grams?’

Jackie drove me to and from New Milton to meet Alison who came for a short visit. On the way to the station we made a couple of stops intended to be brief.

The first went according to plan, except that the cleaners had been unable to remove barbecue sauce from my white linen jacket. I asked what would happen if I tried Vanish on it. I was told it would be ruined. When we got home, Jackie wasn’t having that, and applied a good dose of Vanish. The success or failure will become evident when the jacket has dried out. Who cares? It was not much use without this last chance, and, you never know, it may have an enhancing marbled effect as water rings make their way across the fabric.

The visit to Tesco for just six bottles of sparking water took a little longer. Jackie waited in the car, whilst I grabbed the bottles. I couldn’t believe my luck when I saw a checkout with nothing on the conveyor belt. I made a dash for it. I had noticed an elderly woman sorting out paperwork which turned out to be discount vouchers. In my haste, I had not observed that she was standing in front of a fully laden trolley. Too late, I realised that she was in fact the queue. A splendid, stout, walking stick lay across her intended purchases. Slowly, wincing at every stretch, she began to unload. Eventually, I took pity on her and filled the belt. I then walked past her to the empty trolley, and placed her purchases therein, as they were checked off and placed in bags. When this was over, I thought I was done. Not so. Her discounts needed to be taken off her bill. The, very pleasant, woman on the checkout, balked at one of them. ‘Is it 25 grams?’, She asked. I had no idea what this meant, neither had my friend, the shopper. However, when the assistant caught my eye, clearly wondering how to deal with this, I said ‘Yes’. She smiled, fiddled with the computer keys, thus suggesting that ‘it’ hadn’t really been 25 grams, and accepted the voucher.

All was well. We were still in good time for Alison.

This afternoon, whilst I dead-headed more roses, Jackie drove to Everton Nurseries to return a faulty arch. It will come as no surprise to regular readers that she returned with further plants for the rose garden. We then plonked them, still in their pots, into position. They included the fragrant roses

the aptly named ‘Absolutely Fabulous’;

the climbing ‘Schoolgirl;

‘Kent’, a carpet rose for ground cover;

and Winchester Cathedral.

In deference to my birthplace, also included was the dahlia ‘Bishop of Leicester’.

A white climbing hydrangea has been placed in the shady corner beside the orange shed.

This evening we dined on Mr Pink’s delectable fish and chips, gherkins, and pickled onions. Jackie drank Hoegaarden, and I finished the cabernet sauvignon.