Between watching recordings of the Rugby World Cup quarter final matches featuring Wales and France then Japan and South Africa, I wandered round the garden.
When we arrived here five years ago a variegated myrtle bush that had grown to a tree was in the process of reverting, This meant that the two-toned cultivated leaves had become dark green. Jackie and I have twice removed all those of the pristine hue, but we have been fighting a losing battle.
This morning Aaron stripped the lower trunk to reveal its colourful bark. Thus we admitted defeat.
Nasturtiums, continuing to scale the trellis in front of the garage door, are hoping they will get away without a frost this winter.
Some of the more established pelargoniums
remain outside in their pots, whereas
others, with begonias
and fuchsias have already been taken into protective custody in the greenhouse.
Dahlias are still in season,
and the Rose Garden features carpet roses,
and Lady Emma Hamilton.
Self-seeded bidens, like these floral cuckoos among heliotrope and petunias remain ubiquitous.
This recently planted panicum Warrior grass has taken well to the Weeping Birch Bed.
The solanum swaddling the dead tree will probably be blooming long after the birch has shed its leaves.
This evening we dined on Jackie’s flavoursome cottage pie; tasty carrots and Brussels sprouts; and tender green beans, with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank more of the Malbec.