Serried ranks of weed-free loveliness

It is done. And it only took four and a half hours with just one small break for liquids. Boy am I glad that is over. My last shameful part of the garden is tamed at last. And doesn’t it look a picture?

I started on the soul destroying task of taming the weeds first of all. Brambles were creeping in on all sides. There is a wasteland between our house and Jean-Daniel’s. It belongs to a local farmer who owns this tiny fifty foot strip of land that goes all the way to the top of the mountain. Does it serve any purpose? No, too small to build on, he will never sell. And it is a harbinger of doom. Well, exaggerating I know, but it is one mighty jungle of brambles, vines and weeds. And it threatens to engulf the vegetable garden each and every year.

So I battle on with secateurs, thick gauntlet gloves and gritty determination. First up was to attack the brambles that were seeping in from the top side of the plot. These are satisfyingly large and succumb crisply to one cut. Then into little pieces they go and into the now tidy compost bins.

I had to take out some lovely compost soil in one of the bins first. Lovely stuff, perfect for putting on my much neglected cranberries.

Then in went mountains of future black gold, but for now it was just a snag hazard on my clothes and skin. I am criss-crossed prettily with welts.

The final slog was to stake all the asparagus plants which were threatening to list. And then it was time to put down yet more new crisp from the packet weed-proof fabric. I really ought to buy shares in this stuff, it’s a god send.

And as the six o’clock bell was chiming in the village across the valley (almost drowned out by the incessant bongo drums of the weekend long festival of indifferent rock in St Michel) I turned to the raspberry plants themselves and claimed my reward.

Beer time and a quiet lie down.