And I was dying for a cup. But being 200 metres away (and a long trudge uphill) from a kettle, I worked on. And here was the poem quoted in the programme :
With you I see, in ages yet unborn,
Thy votaries the British Isles adorn,
Till rosy Bacchus shall his wreaths resign,
And love and tea triumph o’er the vine.”
But call me a glutton for punishment: I went back down. That’s the problem with long ten rows of vines. You want to get them all done.
By 2pm I was hauled out of the thicket and bidden to lunch.
And I couldn’t go back as I could barely move. But I’ve made huge inroads.It almost looks like a vineyard again. Well, if you squint.
And I realised when I downloaded the pictures from my camera that I had actually done lots of strimming in the east garden first off. I’d completely forgotten. It’s another playful part of the garden to strim as the slope is so steep.
The sun was just starting to poke over the mountain so the picture looks a bit glared. All it needs is a good rake (hah! As if I’m going to remember to do that) and some rain to green it up.
I suspect I’ll succeed with neither wish.
And the other thing that started the day was Ulysse on the naughty step. Well in this instance the naughty tree. He had escaped and poor Claude drove him back (the horse happily trotting behind the car dead thrilled by his outing – the horse that is, not Claude).
Jean Daniel is away so the rest of the mountain crowd (ie me) was called on to do something about it. Claude was so furious he just tied the horse to the tree on the main lawn and roared off.
I finally gave in to the shrieking and whinnying and stamping and took two apples up to see if I could calm him down.
And to finish the day I cut branches and prepared some excitingly large piles of sticks for chipping. What a shame they are just two terraces above the vineyard. And I forgot to take my plastic bag down to pick the sloes.
I will water first thing and then, sadly, haul piles of sticks uphill until I expire.