Water Fountains

I have never before experienced a sauna, but when I stepped out into our steamy garden to carry out my first dead heading of roses for the last three weeks at 11 a.m. I was greeted with a good idea of what to expect if I ever do. I had returned indoors by midday, and did not emerge again until late afternoon when I wandered around with a camera.

Jackie had achieved her gardening tasks before I came out for the first time.

She had further reduced the pile of pots on the patio awaiting planting out.

Hanging baskets and the iron urn, which she has spent 2 days clearing of a writhing ants’ nest all benefited.

While I was working in the Rose Garden a sharp droning noise alerted me to the fact that its solar powered water fountain was bone dry and screaming out for water.

The Head Gardener fixed that before serving lunch.

Waterboy tips his water into the container on the Pond Bed, where the Wonderful Grandparents rose blooms again.

Red sweet peas appear in the third picture in the Rose Garden gallery,

whereas white ones grace the arch at the corner of the Oval Path and

the Weeping Birch Bed.

Blue agapanthus stretches over the Gazebo Path from the Palm Bed,

seen here from the lawn,

while solanum hangs over the Brick Path.

This evening we watched the Olympic men’s doubles tennis matches between Rafael Nadal partnering Carlos Alcaraz and Tallon Griekspoor with Wesley Koolhof; then Andy Murray and Dan Evans against Sander Gille with Joran Vliegen; the first while dining from tables in front of the TV on roast pork, apple sauce, boiled new potatoes, Yorkshire Pudding, fried onions and mushrooms, cabbage, carrots, cauliflower, and broccoli stems; the second after our meal was over. I drank more of the Tempranillo.

New Arch And Continuing Clearance

Martin began the day by assembling and installing the replacement wooden arch;

then moved on to complete his clearance of the Dragon Bed and many other areas of the garden.

I also photographed the Weeping Birch Bed which will soon need further clearance.

Jackie, meanwhile, weeded the Brick Path section outside the Stable Door.

Ian returned home for work before dinner this evening which consisted of The Culinary Queen’s wholesome cottage pie topped with fried potatoes; firm broccoli; crisp carrots; and tender cabbage, with which she drank Pique-Nique Grenach 2022 left by our son-in-law and I drank Vacqueyras 2021 – a welcome present from Shelly and Ron.

“What’s Going On?”

In bright sunshine at 10 a.m. this morning it was hard to believe that the meteorologists had threatened us with 48 hours of gale force winds from 11 a.m. onwards. Nevertheless forecasts are now much more accurate than they were in our youth, so we battened down the hatches. Thousands of items of garden furniture and millions of hanging baskets – or so it seemed – needed to be brought down to ground level.

First, the patio furniture was lowered. the two teapots in the bottom left corner are for Nugget’s consideration as a prospective new home.

The hanging baskets required careful handling to prevent causing damage before the gales were given the chance to wreak havoc. Chequerboard fuchsia hanging from the arch over the dead end path is shown in the two pictures before those in which Jackie delicately replaces potted petunias. Having stretched a long arm from its pot it had required tying up. I needed to undo this.

All this activity naturally aroused Nugget’s curiosity. At first he hopped about from the rocks to the gravel,

then took up a position on the back of the white chair in the Weeping Birch Bed. The usual magnification from the galleries will show him clearly tweeting “what’s going on?”.

The Head Gardener found room for what she called “the lucky few” in the greenhouse.

This afternoon we took a coastal trip to see what was going on there.

At Milford on Sea a young girl sheltered along the sea wall in an effort to avoid the violence of the waves and the spray. Kite surfers could be seen in the distance near Hurst lighthouse.

Further along, at Barton on Sea, hardy groups clambered on the rocks.

The Isle of wight seemed shrouded in spray.

At Mudeford black headed gulls bobbed buoyant as corks on the surging waves. Although two skilled sailboarders sped along the surface,

another less proficient pair spent much of their time attempting to lodge and right their sail. No sooner had they seemed upright than they were back beneath the surface. I had to admire their persistence.

This evening we dined on crispy duck, spring onions, cucumber, and plum sauce in pancakes; followed by spare ribs in barbecue sauce; with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Saint-Chinian.