I should really be out there in the over-crowded space I call a garden, because as usual there is much to be done. What I am having to do instead is wait in for a parcel to be delivered (third attempt). It is all very well having a MrB who can always buy everything more cheaply on the internet, but these useful & very reasonably priced items do have to be delivered: not always easy & even if you are at home, it is inevitably when you are in the shower, or, as last time, when you are de-frosting the freezer with your hair-dryer.
One of our favourite places to visit is Kew Gardens; an oasis of calm with lots of things to wander round & see. Actually, I suppose I should revise the calm description because, particularly at weekends, plane after plane after plane flies low over the gardens on a fairly frequent basis, & that is far from quiet.
We had not been for a while so were due another visit but were prompted by the flowering of one of the titan arums which we had not seen in the flesh, or should that have been smelt in the rotting flesh! We went on Sunday; it wasn’t, flowering that is! It was there in all its towering glory but tightly closed up. We were there early, it was cloudy so were we just unlucky or had we missed the party?
Never mind, there is always lots to see & we spotted this little chap just sitting in the middle of one of the walkways, not batting an eye lid as we wandered past.
I love the Princess of Wales conservatory: the shape of the building makes it one of my favourites.
Another favourite area is the Duke’s Garden, a little way off the most popular areas, which has lovely swathes of seasonal planting.
But I do wish something could be done with this pond. I’m afraid it does annoy me, just sat sitting there in the middle of the grass with no redeeming features.
To get to & from Kew Gardens we drive through Richmond Park: we are so lucky with all these green spaces. On a lovely Sunday morning the roads are brimming over with Lycra clad cyclists, buttocks wiggling as they hurtle round at speed. The driver of our vehicle, the aforementioned Mr B, began fuming on the way there as the 2-wheelers were 2 & 3 abreast & it did make tricky driving. On our return however a higher level of fuming was reached: so, he drives at exactly 20mph, the park speed limit, & then as each athletic figure zoomed past yelled loudly out of the window, “20 miles an hour you know!” I was the figure shrivelled up in the passenger seat!
Oh well, the garden may be suffering from a bit of neglect & I may have suffered a bit of embarrassment but produce is flowing from the allotment thick & fast courtesy of that same Mr B. What a good egg really!