Consider yourselves blessed. I have just spent over an hour wading, sorting, filing and sizing pictures from my photo folder.
So instead of a long, yawn-inducing slide night; you get a zippy summary of the grasses in the summery garden.
I am so thrilled the fence along the dry garden edge is blending in so well.
All it takes is a bit of time and a reluctance to go anywhere near the area with a strimmer.
I think that is pompously called using a light hand.
Mow the flat bits and let the slopes fight it out.
Take the orchard bank. Boy did it thrive in the spring wet. I don’t dare do much wading in and weeding for fear of never returning.
Being swallowed by a grass and burped out.
It will be all downhill for the lawn if this drought keeps up. But the miscanthus soldier on.
Damn fine plants.
And in a Neal Mackintosh inspired moment, I creaked down on my knees and took some evening photographs of some iris – shot through the light.
Now do excuse me, I have horses to placate. This is the evening apple moment and if I don’t head up there will be disappointment all round.