Well, I’ve been forced to take some time off from working t’ward becoming insanely rich ::snort :: to attend to the garden. Due primarily to the fact that a) my neighbour in the upper right flat can’t see through her window from the ivy and b) my landlord wants to inspect the premises and the garden is a jungle over which The Cat presides as both owner and King.
It has called to me; my maternal family, the Twells, are from rural Lincolnshire, and all have green fingers and that laudable British tendency to find contentment in small pleasures. However, my paternal family are Irish, and mad as a bucket of pink snails, so I get impatience, arrogance and obsessive-complusive leanings there – ‘ware garden!
I opened the back door – we often do this to let in some air – but a deep breath was required before opening the wrought ironwork gate immediately behind it, exposing the full horror of one-and-a-half-year’s neglect.
All I can say is that one has to admire plants as a kingdom. The garden was the feature that made me sign on the dotted line back in ‘06 – smack dab in the city centre, yet entirely screened from neighbours and office windows by high walls and ivy hedges – a tiny, secret jewel amongst many similar wee Edinburgh corners. Back then, it glared with modern polish – gravelled in terracotta chips, a weeping cherry as a centrepiece and chic aluminium furniture to finish. Oh, and an overhead halogen floodlight for pinning unwanted intruders to the spot – all it needed was a gun emplacement.
Now, it was literally a sea of green; weeds were even growing on the paving, using last Autumn’s unswept leaves as anchor. The ivy hedges (mainly consisting of hedera, I later discovered) were busily curving over and turning the whole space into a green cave. No wonder The Cat, having seen thirteen Summers and getting a bit creaky, had no difficultly scaling the fifteen foot wall to go investigating – the ivy was three layers deep against the walls, and the older stems at the back a full two inches thick!
Rejecting Other Half’s suggestion of hiring a flamethrower as environmentally unsound, I did the only thing possible in the circumstances – I closed the door, opened a can of Guinness, and cig in hand, put ‘plants for shade’ into Google UK …
Cru x
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