The balls have bitten the dust.
Five down and just four to go, which out of the goodness of my heart I will graciously allow to stay. How many box balls does a girl want I ask you? The humongous shrub roses have also been given away, leaving just the climbing roses over the garden room, two spilling into the Wrenery and one making a valiant effort to hide the obelisk.
I ought to say I am not a formal garden designer type gardener. The previous owner, a garden designer I feel hovering just at my left shoulder as I bear arms by way of a sodding spade. With valour in every sod turned, I dig my way out of her perfection patch. Her breath on the back of my neck quite gives me the heebeegeebees as I make my milk-maid way through the wildflower meadow vision I have of a postage stamp garden!
I am not above a little light pilfering as I wander lonely as a cloud through Ludlow. With the sleight of hand a shop lifter would be proud, I gather seed heads while I may as I, to all intents and purposes stop to admire a plant in a garden that has made my sap rise! I have no shame, Mother Nature smiles as I collect her bounty and redistribute it as I see fit.
This social distancing certainly suits me as happy as Larry, I potter, dream and scheme in my little piece of the rolling Shropshire Hills.
Slowly the garden is being ‘Letticed!’