Thistle down

Humans one, thistles nil.   I’m just back after a strenuous just under two hour session chopping the heads off all the thistles on the lower terraces.   And who would have thought it would take that long, or that there would be so many? That will teach me not to be the most attentive strimmer in the autumn.

Wildflower gardening is such a sweet sounding name.   But you have to be selective; I am obliged to take out two of our naturally occurring wildflowers – verbascums and thistles.   The rest are more than welcome to colonise the slopes, walls and terraces, and I’ve given up on the vinca.   It’s invasive, but at least it doesn’t scratch and sting when you brush past.   And the verbascums throw up the most tremendous hacking cough-inducing allergic reaction when cut / breathed near/ thought about.

The horses (who eschew thistles, verbascums and vinca) enjoyed my presence on their part of the farm; I assume they thought I was going to feed them.   Ulysse thought it a great lark to knock over my wheelbarrow just when I had shovelled in an entire load of horse manure. Grr.   But the manure is great and I collected three full wheelbarrow loads for the compost heap.

I’m knackered and off to the bath.   But it was a great day as Andrew came over for lunch and a long garden visit.   A tonic indeed.

And he gave me a lovely gift of a huge bag of galtonia candicans bulbs.   I shall plant them tomorrow. Along with my bag of polianthes tuberosa bulbs from the summer bulb order. Bliss.