Monthly Archives: July 2018

July 2018 garden diary

Well, blow me down!

I’d wanted to remove the large, gnarled, old Elder tree at the right hand side of the far end of our newly-inherited Ramsey garden, but decided that it would be too big a task. Imagine my delight, then, when I discovered that the major storm that blew in at the end of this month pushed it right over! There’ll still be the onerous task of disposing of it, but in this case perhaps the rain clouds had a silver lining …

The thunderstorm brought the prolonged hot spell, which had lasted a good six weeks or more, to a wet, windy and noisy end, but not before it had inflicted casualties. I haven’t checked whether the colour of the farmer’s field indicates that his crop is doing well or whether the field is simply bone dry.

Other casualties of the storm, over in our Chatteris garden, included a rather nice conifer in a pot and the Camellia by our front door. And – what’s in a name? – the Everlasting Wallflower by the Honeysuckle is everlasting no more.

The Rosemary bush seems to have thrived in the hot weather, seemingly doubling in size recently.

The same applies to the Twisted Willow, which will soon require even more radical surgery than is usual at this time of year.

A number of roses have been doing particularly well, too, though we were careful to give them plenty of water.

Our Photinia has survived, unlike that of weather forecaster and Gardener’s Question Time chairman Peter Gibbs, who tweeted a picture of his deceased specimen. Although our lawns looked very dry for most of the baking heat, I did get as much water on them as I could, when time allowed in the early morning and evening. And they seem to be recovering quite quickly, following their recent drenching from the skies.

But the plants that seem to have relished the heatwave more than any others have been the Cacti in the porch, all of which are showing new growth, some spurting ahead at a most un-cactus-like pace!


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The water sucked
And Johnny was gone.
Glasses and all.
Johnny was tall
For his age:
One of the boys.
One of his ploys
Was to walk by the pool
With his hands on his head,
Balancing high,
Playing the fool,
Playing the clown
As the kids marched to school.
Along the stone wall,
He was,
Balancing high he was,
Look at me, boys.
Playing the fool,
Playing the clown
Along the stone wall.
And Johnny fell down.
What a fall
It was, too.
Glasses and all.



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Filed under My poems, Poetry