Instant gratification
I thought I'd write a bit about gardening, which I've continued to do since I started around the time I started this journal, on and off. Living on a boat curtails the possibilities somewhat, but with a few containers, a bit of space on the roof and forward of the cratch, and a large supply of water necessarily to hand, there is still much that can be done with very little effort or competence.
Last year I had a window-box full of pale yellow primroses and tete-a-tete, and then, later in the year, several containers of lobelia, zaluzianskya, marigolds and heliotrope that my expert gardener friend Andrew had grown on for me. The brilliant Susan gave me a window-box of herbs as a boat-warming present-this rivalled in marvellousness even the boat-warming presents of coal that several others gave us-and although, because I am stupid, I forgot to bring it in before the weather got cold and the tender things died, the woody things like thyme are coming back already, and I have high hopes that enough lemongrass will have survived under the soil for that to come back too; I'll just have to replace the basil.
My laziness in not tidying up anything that had died back has paid me handsomely this year; the primroses and tete-a-tete have come back nicely, without the need for any more work than removing the dead leaves from last season. One splosh of flowers doesn't really do such a big boat justice, though, so I've just been to the market where the above-lauded Andrew helped me to pick out the most vigorous-looking primulas, candelabra primulas and pansies for a gaudy show-tart's knickers, as Squeezeweasel would put it-and bought me some cowslips for good measure. These should be enough to fill most, or even all, of my derelict containers, and all for about the cost of your average round: instant gardening! The cowslips are particularly pleasing, as not a week ago I was several hours' train ride away from home, lamenting the fact that the lovely ones I'd spotted at a Cotswolds grocer's would certainly be disadvantaged by the journey back to Cambridge.
Plenty to keep the containers going for a while, all in all, and for the summer Andrew is growing on some red geraniums for me, which I reckon will set off Roe's old-school British Waterways blue and yellow nicely; some people apparently think red geraniums common, but never mind about that. I had also been considering some containers full of salad leaves, some of which are quite decorative; but then, perhaps I ought to be wary of anything that might attract the were-rabbit in our direction.
Last year I had a window-box full of pale yellow primroses and tete-a-tete, and then, later in the year, several containers of lobelia, zaluzianskya, marigolds and heliotrope that my expert gardener friend Andrew had grown on for me. The brilliant Susan gave me a window-box of herbs as a boat-warming present-this rivalled in marvellousness even the boat-warming presents of coal that several others gave us-and although, because I am stupid, I forgot to bring it in before the weather got cold and the tender things died, the woody things like thyme are coming back already, and I have high hopes that enough lemongrass will have survived under the soil for that to come back too; I'll just have to replace the basil.
My laziness in not tidying up anything that had died back has paid me handsomely this year; the primroses and tete-a-tete have come back nicely, without the need for any more work than removing the dead leaves from last season. One splosh of flowers doesn't really do such a big boat justice, though, so I've just been to the market where the above-lauded Andrew helped me to pick out the most vigorous-looking primulas, candelabra primulas and pansies for a gaudy show-tart's knickers, as Squeezeweasel would put it-and bought me some cowslips for good measure. These should be enough to fill most, or even all, of my derelict containers, and all for about the cost of your average round: instant gardening! The cowslips are particularly pleasing, as not a week ago I was several hours' train ride away from home, lamenting the fact that the lovely ones I'd spotted at a Cotswolds grocer's would certainly be disadvantaged by the journey back to Cambridge.
Plenty to keep the containers going for a while, all in all, and for the summer Andrew is growing on some red geraniums for me, which I reckon will set off Roe's old-school British Waterways blue and yellow nicely; some people apparently think red geraniums common, but never mind about that. I had also been considering some containers full of salad leaves, some of which are quite decorative; but then, perhaps I ought to be wary of anything that might attract the were-rabbit in our direction.
