Thursday, 11 July 2013

An English Summer

This weekend, Andy Murray won the Mens Singles Tennis Open at Wimbledon. The first Brit to do so in many a long year. Cue national Pimms quaffing and celebration. 

I'm glad he won, Andy clearly works very hard to be as good as he is and it'll do a lot of good for British Tennis clubs. But really, I didn't care. The weather this weekend was glorious: blue skies and sunshine, flowers blooming and birds singing. 

I loved the Mediterranean I really did, but there is something utterly magical about the way an ordinary week can become so magical when imbued with a little extra UV. We get so used to the damp and the dreary in dear old Blighty, the unpredictable way the skies slide from yawning and empty to tempestuous with a side of bone-chilling, that the sudden monotony of sunshine seems miraculous.

The house my parents bought this year, and where I'm currently living, has a garden. A proper one, with grass and a path and is so much more than a yard with pots and hanging baskets. My mum has blossomed into a proper gardener with constantly soily hands and a desire to check on her seedlings at least once an hour. I'm not terribly green fingered but I have enjoyed watching the transformation up close as the plants have metamorphosed into delights for the senses.

These pots are full of plants that have moved on from being cosseted on the kitchen windowsill, they're strong enough to brave the great outdoors but not quite ready to leave their pots yet. They remind me more of science experiments all laid out on the benches than gardens.

There's plenty that are in the ground and making the garden look willfully untidy. As well as the odd wild creature...

The rarely seen Wild Dachshund exploring her kingdom. 

I love how the ones in the background look like they're throwing their arms wide open, celebrating the sunshine.

Here you can see a common or garden Feline Fattiest.

If anyone has recommendations for a better place to eat breakfast, I humbly submit that you are wrong.

Yellow, Orange, Pink. These are colours you can see a lot in our garden.

I love roses, especially the small exquisite pot sized roses, I'm less fussed about bushes. That may be down to having had my arms ripped to shreds by thorny roses in parks, the tiny ones my mum grows couldn't hurt a thing.  

P.S. I gave my piggies a trim to help keep them cool in the hot weather:

I don't think I'm cut out to be a hair dresser.

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