The rotator arrived, late, on the Friday and looked like a real beast of a machine. Digging out a new flower bed for roses and iris was always going to be a nightmare and the rotavator was supposed to make that job just a little bit easier.
On Saturday I headed out for some tennis and he decided to give it a go. By the time I got back he was looking sick and dispirited. The bed remained virtually uncut.
It turns out that the kind of rotator that can be hired is a piss poor type of machine when it comes to cutting new ground, especially hard ground. It essentially just skins along the top scratching the turf up but not able to dig or cut into the ground itself. Just holding the beast was difficult. Forcing it down into rock hard turf was impossible.
The beats was retired and we proceeded to dig the bed the old fashioned way with fork and spade. It was hard and horrid work but more or less complete by the end of the weekend. The initial scripting of turf means the bed is full of grass remains so even though it’s now covered up and hopefully rotting down, it will clearly keep appearing in the bed for years to come.
We’ll plant up in September/October and see how things grow.
All is chaos and I kind of like it that way at the moment. The garden is at a tipping point whereby any moment now it’s going to flip from beautiful to drunk and disorderly planting.
And in the midst of all the planting misdemeanours are some very welcome and very calm foliage plants like the ferns and fatsia.
Truth be told I’m a bit unconvinced by the latter and am trying to sell myself on the idea. having painted the tubs up and planted them with the variegated brutes it would seem a bit defeatist to admit they’re a bit, well, a bit “meh”
I shall persevere with the shady block at the back, despite the geranium overrun.
And hope for a wetter year next year to help build some colour to go with the annuals (begonias) in pots.
The new roses are lovely, but follow the sun so face towards the house and away from the lawn and swing seat behind. It’s a small point, but they’ll have to grow for a couple more years before we really get to see them above the lavender.
They’ve been underplanted with geranium rozanne which is also going to take a few years to get going.
Plus a few plants shoved in rather carelessly that have not worked especially well, some gladioli and a leftover salvia.
The silver leaf is a survivor from one of my disappointing baskets. If the plant shows some sticking power, I find it difficult to throw it away but of course it means a garden full of unruly thugs.
Thanks to some watering the baskets are definitely doing better the year, not beautiful but still alive at least. Best of all the tiny bed on top of the railway sleepers has also picked up.
Along with some overly planted pots. Thank goodness begonias are so forgiving.
This is the month that the penstemons come into their own, even the aptly named sour grapes.
And down on the side, the old roses are also doing well for having been cut and taken inside for flowers on a regular basis.
Some of the plants seem to have been flowering forever and are still full of joy.
The bees are happy and so am I with flowers everywhere and not too many weeds.
Up in the gravel, the story is all about flowering sedums of one sort or another.
Plus the indestructible fleabane. Because of the dry, I look set to lose a few plants, hopefully not too many.
But just as I think I’ve lost them, it rains and one pops up as a survivor.
One day maybe I’ll know what I’m supposed to do with all of this, but not quite yet.
It’s amazing what happens when you meet the right person. All of a sudden lifestyle and family choices that seemed totally daft become a possibility.
So like lots of women, but certainly not according to the plans of my younger self, I had children, and having had the children when the work became less fun and the kids became more (basically toddler+ for me but everyone has their own ideas) I stopped working and stayed home to look after the kids. Well, look after the kids, play lots of tennis, have a good time and manage an investment portfolio.
It wasn’t quite the stereotype I had in mind as a kid, but close enough for strangers making deliveries to feel entitled to query my title and expect me to wait in on them.
In the UK we have a system whereby you pay tax known as national insurance which entitles you to amongst other things, a state pension.
The UK state pension is amongst the most miserly in Europe, at just £6,200 per annum, but it’s index-linked and to buy a comparable annuity would cost me something more than £250,000. An asset worth quarter of a million pounds is worth having.
Whilst working, I was obviously contributing. Whilst looking after the kids, I acquired credits towards my state pension up until the youngest became sixteen and then, not unreasonably, they assumed I could go back out to work and start paying again.
Around the same time, 2016, they also changed the number of years a person has to work from 30 to 35 in order to accrue the full state pension.
Long story. Short conclusion: I have a shortfall, a gap in my contribution schedule that can be made by making a voluntary contribution.
Each year that I failed to pay is priced slightly differently for no obvious reason but most seem to end up costing around £700. For that £700 I will be entitled to an extra £4 a week, index linked on my pension i.e. an extra £208 a year. To be worthwhile, I would need to survive 4 years post pension age, which in the UK , has also been moving ever further away.
All of this was determined after many phone calls to HMRC and to the pensions help line department. In order to determine my shortfall I had to ask for and receive an NIC statement. Before allowing me to pay any shortfall, HMRC insisted that I ask for and receive a state pension statement which predicts what my pension would be with a full contribution record, and with what I’ve already paid in. Interestingly they’re predicting the state pension will be worth around £8,500 when I retire, assuming they don’t push back the date even further.
At some stage in the telephone tree there’s a really annoying attempt to move you onto voice recognition software for security, without offering you a choice, just an assumption. If you want to refuse the option, your only choice is to stay silent when asked to repeat the stock phrase.
For a woman of my generation, I can claim state pension from the age of 67. Average life expectancy in the UK for women is around 83 years old though there are huge local variations. As a white, middle class woman with no obvious health problems and no really bad habits (smoking, drinking regularly to excess etc) I could quite plausibly last to 90, but let’s assume the average age.
I will have a shortfall in my contributions for 12 years, which will cost me around £8,400 to make up, and gain me an extra £2,496 each and every year I survive past 67. If I make it to 70 then I’m making a profit. If I reach the average life expectancy, I’ve gained £14,976 at a cost of £8,400.
But of course most women aren’t in anything like as good a financial position. Most will have neither the cash set aside in their own name to pay this, nor the skills to go back into employment to a job that pays them a good salary. They may not have a clue as to how their state pension is calculated, how much they will be entitled to and whether it’s a good investment. They may be relying on their partner to provide for them in their old age, unaware of the rise in late life divorce, the impact of bereavement etc.
The UK state pension is arguably a pitiful amount, yet as a couple, it starts you off with a combined income of £ 12,400. Assuming that you’ve paid off your mortgage, it means you are unlikely to starve. You should be able to heat the house. Add into the mix a defined benefit pension from your employer, and maybe a defined contribution pensioner two from your partner to top up, and it should (fingers crossed) provide a good standard of living.
There are apparently three stages of retirement: Saga, named for the retiree travel company, when you basically live the dream of active retirement, travelling and having all of those adventures that you’ve promised yourself; AGA where you start to feel your age, still in good health but living life closer to home and less adventurous;and, gaga, when dementia sets in for at least one third of us, and your savings are used up paying for care in an often inadequate care home.
Today is the first mouse free day in quite a long while. With three cats you might think that I’d be expecting this level of gift giving but my previous two cats brought me no more than one or two mice in their entire 19 year lifespans.
We’re averaging one a day, usually alive. On the odd occasion a live mouse cannot be found somewhere, or hunted out from under the piano, behind the back of the wicker basket or dug in under the fireplace, there are usually body bits to be found outside the back door. A head usually.
And I probably prefer the dead mice to the ones that climb up the curtains and have to be picked off by hand.
The cats are happy with either obviously. Usually you can tell which cat brought in the mouse by the level of interest they show in the live creature. None of them are at all interested in the dead ones.
But when they’re alive, it seems cruel and unusual to leave them where the cats can re-catch them yet impossible for such a wuzz as me to kill the things myself, even knowing them for vermin with no bladder control, a disease vector waiting to activate.
So we dutifully walk them across the road to a rough patch of park five or six houses down and hope they live long and happy lives somewhere else. Or more likely, that the oriental cat across the road has them for lunch and doesn’t feel the need to tell us about it.
The house is built neither for the cold nor the heat, and neither am I. Like most people that I know from a celtic bloodstock, I have a very limited temperature range for optimal performance, somewhere between 20-25C.
Much lower the 20C and I start to complain about the cold. Higher than 25C and I start to whimper.
We have had a week of unreasonably high temperatures by British standards. The dry spell has continued but we’re now faced with early morning temperatures of 25C rising to 30C by mid-day. Around midday we wander around closing the blinds to the west of the house in a vain attempt to keep out the sun.
I’ve taken to splashing down the patio just outside the back door in the forlorn hope that evaporation might make a difference.
The kids start arguing about who has the use of the portable air-con unit at around mid-afternoon and it never, ever sees to make it into my bedroom. At the same time, he insists on retaining duvet rights even when we’re clearly just lying on top of the damn thing sweltering.
One very irritating bird sings it’s heart out every evening and every morning. It would be beautiful and charming, if it didn’t start at 4am. Somewhere around 4:15, he starts muttering about closing the windows and I start threatening physical harm if he does any such thing.
The eldest is heading off to visit her girlfriend in Wales, a place currently looking at a balmy 20C maximum. A civilised sort of temperature.
Meanwhile the baskets are watered and the pots survive. Heat does not make for happy families but the garden is not dead yet though we’re living in hope of rain.
Both of my girls are home, one in the middle of some exams the other safely home from university and expecting the results of her first year exams.
It’s lovely to have them both here, once you get over the mess, the ever-present chaos that teenage girls inevitably create.
By way of casual update my oldest has announced she now has a girlfriend, not gay explicitly but bi-.
That seems to be basically describing herself as human rather than anything else. Her father seems curiously relieved not to be expected to deal with partners with dicks but other than that everything seems pretty much the same as ever.
My BF1 looked a bit strange when I announced the status update. It suddenly dawned on me that she was wondering what we’d done to result in two gay kids, as if we could do anything one way or the other.
People are what they are. The only thing that you can do is polish the corners and give them good manners. And love them, obviously. It’s difficult to trust and love yourself, to feel worthy of love and respect, if you’ve not been brought up believing yourself to be loved and respected.
One of the best things about being part of their generation, as opposed to mine, and with a certain acceptance that they’re part of a very privileged sub-set of their own generation in terms of wealth etc., is the ability to not label themselves. What a privilege it is to just feel attracted to a person rather than a set of genitals.
It took me years to realise that the person was more important than the body they were wrapped within so I tend to see it as a step forward that my girls have got there so much earlier.
My gravel garden up on top of the roof has gaps, and those gaps are being filled by some of the more thug plants at the expense of the original planting.
The sedums that really only pop up in Autumn are the main victims, being aggressively colonised by the geranium, but the houseleeks are also being pushed back by thrift, and worse still, unwanted dandelions and speedwell.
Given a very warm but very dry Winter, many of the plants are being tested such that it really isn’t clear which ones will pull through.
Never one to avoid a plant buying opportunity, I’ve started looking at the alpine website, as well as moving plants about a bit to try to maximise their chances but first I probably need an assessment of where we started from:
Sedum sexangulare (1&4) being overgrown by the more vigorous thugs
Satureja spicata (2), one of the more vigorous thugs
Omphalodes cappadocica ‘Cherry Ingram’ (3) suffering through the dry Winter but holding it’s own
Rhodanthemum hosmariense (5) now a lovely successful plant but it’s follow up plants for the nearby section have been drowned out by the fleabane – maybe if I move them into the seem bed next to the senior plants they’ll be better suited.
Draba rigida var imbricata compacta (6) now replaced with seedlings from the geranium
Erysimum ‘Parkwoods Gold’ (7) holding it’s own despite the dry
Aster ericoides prostrates (8) a lovely thug that dies back in theWinter
Pulsatilla vulgaris (9) only one left and being invaded by all and sundry – One survivor which is beautiful and worth re-ordering
Sempervivum ‘Greyfriars (10) not successful in the face of more vigorous invasions
Campanula x pulloides ‘G.F. Wilson’ (11) now replaced with saxifraga “garnet” which is doing well but has a tendency to die back in gaps
Sempervivum ‘Jungle Fires’ (12) now replaced with saxifraga erbium which is still not happy and being crowded by thrift
Armeria maritima (13) seeding itself everywhere
Arenaria purpurascens (14) holding it’s own but subject to mass invasions into it’s bed.
Erysimum ‘Emms Variety’ (15) now replaced with sedum reflex but being colonised more successfully by thrift
Sempervivum ‘Greyfriars (16) now replaced with sedum sexangulare and still not happy!
Dianthus ‘Whatfield Cancan'(17) holding it’s own
Alyssum spinosum “rubrum” (18) definitely holding it’s own providing I clear the thugs occasionally
Oxalis enneaphylla ‘Rosea’ (19) struggling in the face of the thugs
Sempervivum ‘Jungle Fires’* (22) disappearing under the thugs
Osteospermum ‘Irish’ (23) suddenly disappearing probably because of the dry
Gentiana samosa (24) Nothing seems to grow in this spot – bizarre!
Sedum cauticola (25 &28) being invaded by the geranium and overprinted with a lovely penstemon
Dianthus ‘Gold Dust’ (26) holding it’s own
Leucojum autumnal (27) pops up ever Summer but has been overprinted with Aethionema ‘Warley Rose’ which flowers through the Summer.
There are three plants that will hopefully knit together to form a mass in that part of the garden.
Phlox subulata ‘McDaniels Cushion’ – One of the more ruthless plants which has formed a lovely cushion of a plant holding it’s own against the equally ruthless geranium.
So what do I need to do to prop up the plants I love and replace the no-hopers. Let’s start by asking how many beds are effectively empty, and how many are being invaded by their neighbours?
Empty beds being invaded-
1: I’m going to let this bed be colonised by it’s neighbour the more vigorous satureja possibly with a bit of competition from the fleabane. Nothing to do here.
4: I’m going to plant this up with seedlings from the geranium and see how they take.
6: I’m going to move the struggling rhodanthemum plants here and see how the take for the next year or two.
9: I’m going to order some more pulsatilla to fill up the bed and try to weed this bed more vigorously though it looks like the red vulgaris is unavailable and only purplish-blue can be bought from my original supplier.
10.I’m going to move some of the black grass here and try some stay seedlings that turn up around the bed (aubrieat most likely)
12 I’m going to plant this up with more helianthemum and see how it goes.
16: Undecided. Shall I plant this up with totally new plants or let the thrift have it’s way? How much thrift is too much?
19: I’m going to order some more oxalis and try to build up the bed to defend against invaders.
22, 21: Undecided.
24: Nothing seems to want to grow here. Maybe I could try another osteospermum or the same osteospermum for a bigger show?
25,28 I’ve added in a plant or two (penstemon) to see how they grow and the geranium is obviously colonising one of these beds. Maybe I should just wait and see though the penstemon is beautiful so I could add a couple more to fill it out.
Looking through the catalogue there’s a hardy diascia that looks like it would be a lovely plant to add but I’m going to show some restraint. There are plenty of different plants up there and some are clearly happier than others. If I’m going to buy some new plants, let it be ones that I know can cope with the conditions and bulk up existing success stories.
Being sensible isn’t quite as much fun as I’d like but maybe I’m growing old enough to try it anyway.
After what seems like the driest year since we’ve moved here, came a storm with rain and wind to compare with any save a hurricane. Even the creeping jenny has struggled with the dryness.
The iris came and went so quickly that I didn’t have time to grab a photo – doesn’t bode well for the forthcoming iris bed, but I’ve had more look with the two clematis plants
The garden has always had an element of chaos but now that’s tipped over into a bit of a mess.
We have a number of blow-ins, plants like the neighbour’s geranium that has seeded into the pavement cracks.
And a yellow iris that has appeared this year from nowhere.
There are the usual waifs and strays: the poppies, the foxgloves, the ever-spreading violets etc
And if anything, I’m happy to see them arrive and thrive. Next year I might actually buy and plant some foxgloves, pink for the sunshine and white for the shade.
But if last month was all about the tulips, this month is about the geraniums, light and dark throughout the garden and also rather earlier than usual, about the roses.
The old pink and yellow roses seem to be thriving.
And the new rose babies are flowering and looking healthy.
Apparently it takes three years before they come into their own and I’m really quite excited by the row of roses.
And all underpinned by some long flowering, long lasting rock roses and the odd splash from a catanache.
The bees are still bumbling along the wallflowers
And will the spread of the fleabane ever come to an end.
It’s second only to the shady garden’s geraniums which have run riot (not in an especially good way).
It is true that white flowers show best through the shady doom and gloom.
Whilst the geraniums are beautiful flowers, there seems little room for anything else at the moment.
The wild garlic has gone over, and the ferns are starting to unfurl.
And every so often the yellow meconopsis pokes through the green.
Down in the rather messy fritelaria bed, the huge alliums have also gone over.
and we were left with huge seed heads, until the winds blew through and smushed them to smithereens
So far the watering regime has held good and neither the hanging baskets nor the tiny dry bed on top of the sleeper wall has died a death. Yet.
But in the chaos there are countless plants lost and overgrown from the red salvia through to the bellflower
In general the new rose bed is thriving though a little underwhelming as a baby bed.
The silver leaf shoved into the ground a few years ago rather than throw it out after 6 months in a hanging basket is much bigger and more vigorous than any rescue plant has a right to be. One day I’ll be okay with throwing plants out but I’m not there yet.
Up on top of the garage, the gravel bed is growing a bit too well.
The little alliums, the molys are really perking up the whole thing with a splash of yellow.
And the sedums are beginning to do their thing
Along with the sanguine geranium, some alpine penstemon and of course the pinks.
Mostly the plants planted into the gravel mimic their larger counterparts in the large beds, including a very sweet rock rose.
And the erysimum (wallflower) next to the aubrietia,
But the thrift in the gravel has gone over, where as down in the shadier beds it still has time to run.
And everywhere you look, fleabane growing away and possibly stringing out other beauties.
Though of course the bees don’t care.
And neither do the cats.
Despite warning about the use of white(-ish) bedding the pelargoniums are working well, along with begonias in the shade.
Down in the courtyard the alchemical is looking lovely and the ferns starting to look lush.
But no matter how I try to appreciate the greens, it is the show stopper pins and reds that blow me away.
And with the larger penstemons just about to appear, the year is likely to get better and better.
I’m committed. It’s too late to change my mind. The flower bed will have to be extended, dug out some time in August ready for planting.
I’ve ordered the iris for a new bed, germanica yosemite star.
It’s said to be strongly remontant, which I take to mean will give me a second flush of flowers in late summer providing I remember to cut back the first flush of flowers in May/June.
The new bed will be roughly 5m by 1.5 m and the iris need 45cm to spread. Apparently they hate being crowded so I’ll plant a row at the front (10 bare root plants) plus a second sparse row offset (4-5 plants) to give plenty of space to grow and spread. If they like the space, they should spread happily. If not it will be a waste of time and effort.
Ho hum – gardening.
The mathematical amongst you will have worked out that with two rows and a spread of 45cm, I will still have space in the bed backing onto the fritelaria and alliums.
I considered peony plants but they seem to take an awful lot of space for a very beautiful but very transient flower. I’ve decided on more roses, a white David Austin called Susan Williams.
According to the catalogue it flowers repeatedly, is strong and disease resistant with an excellent scent. Given the background of green and brown wooden sleepers, the white should stand out better than a pink or darker colour. It’s a bit tasteful but you can’t have everything. Maybe I’m mellowing out of the vulgar in my old age. I’ve ordered 6 bare root plants that will have to be dug in late in the year.
The roses will need mulching whilst the iris will have to be kept clear – they like the sun on their bare bones.
Next stop the on-line hire shop for a suitable digger. The sun is shining and all is well with the world.