A bramble in the hand

… is a timely reminder to bring the right gloves.

That’s the annoyance of garden maintenance. You set off with the intentions of just cutting back the ornamental grasses. You set off with secateurs, lightweight gloves for gripping, a kneeling pad for the knees.

And forget there are lurking nasties in the undergrowth.

I’ve been at this lark for days and days and I still never learn.

Whoever said with ‘experiences comes wisdom’ has forgotten what it feels like to yank a bramble root out with the wrong gloves. And to do it year after year after year.

Or sitting on a chestnut burr because your weeding mat has slipped down the slope.


I haven’t given the grasses a super tight haircut this year. I want them to have a bit of heft so I can dig them up and divide them all, and have enough to hold while I drag them down the nearby banks.

Nearby banks? I thought you were just going to landscape the duck pond terrace which is a blank canvas ready for planting up.

Enter Mad Plan B.

This is the terrace below the pool.

The last terrace that is in its ‘natural’ state. ┬áNatural = weeds. ┬áNot just annual grasses, but thistles, nettles, brambles, tremendous stuff. I don’t even think I have photos of the terrace because it is always just cut back hard and ignored.

But now that its neighbour on the orchard bank is looking handsome I think it feels like the ugly duckling.

So all being well… I think I’ll give it a go.

I have to finish cutting back all the grasses first. Don’t get ahead of yourself, woman. Herein lies madness.