The hose is a problem. Ugly. But so useful. I used to use it only to fill my watering can, but it's so much more satisfying to direct a spray of water at things. Yet, I have Issues with it. So green, so plastic. So in the way.
The summer savoury seedlings have been confined to the garlic planter. Hopefully they will bush up around the green garlic, which is doing very well. Good drainage is key.
I bought strawberries. It is Deb's fault. We had dinner with them on Friday and she had strawberries in a trough. They are grown by Jim Glover, so are in wonderful condition, and are Strawberry "Fern", an allegedly ever-bearing cultivar. [2012 update - little did I know. Ever and ever and ever.]
This was my potting set up on Sunday evening. Kir (Steenberg Sauvignon blanc and a dash of Cassis), spicy olives and new plants. I also pulled up all the lamb's quarter seedlings that came from goodness-knows-where and planted them in one wide, shallow bowl. We'll see. They taste good...
One of the thyme plants has burst into flower. I have three potsful, as the thought of running out of thyme (...) makes me nervous.
I don't know how this bumblebee managed to stay airborne: I've never seen such loaded pollen sacs. He was collecting from the Iceberg rose.
New Dawn has started to open from the farthest end of the longest cane.
And down in my shade corner, the jungle expands. The hosta is taking over the world.
It was an extremely windy weekend, so the fig stayed on the braai (bbq) for the duration. Its leaves are big now and make a perfect sail. I did not want it flying from the roof. The horror.
I was contacted by a British writer and photographer who wanted to photograph the terrace for a book, in June. I wrote back rather self-deprecatingly and said that the terrace is SMALL, and favours close ups and from-the-top views. She wrote back and said kindly that, much as she likes the blog, if I had reservations, perhaps they'd better skip, in that case, as their schedule is very full.
I am a twit. The last time I said something as silly was when I was 18 and interviewing for a wine sales position at a local vineyard. What do you know about wine? - asked the manager of the farm. Nothing, I smiled (honestly, I thought).
Idiot! At that age I could at least tell the difference between pinotage, shiraz and cabernet, blind, as well as the whites. Did I think to mention this? No. I thought everyone could do that and that it didn't count. I acted like a cheerful worm.
I still wonder how my life might have turned out if I'd got that job. Wine making has always been very attractive to me, and things may have turned out differently. They have turned out well - but if I was given an extra life, it would be one of wine.
As for my terrace, perhaps it is a story I will have to tell, without expecting others to do it for me. The story in Visi was a lovely beginning. Now I must expand on it.
And now, if someone asks what I know about a given subject?
Everything. Ask me anything.
And then deal with the consequences.