I always thought gardening was a genteel pastime, pursued by little old ladies in sun hats or buff young men without shirts ... mmm, gardeners .... sorry, lost my train of thought there!
So on a glorious afternoon like this, my mind turns to my own little patch of heaven and its upkeep. What better way to spend the last hours of daylight than pottering in the Enchanted Garden?
Unfortunately, my property has been a little neglected of late, what with the previous owners moving out and me moving in. And it seems the whole 3.5 acres has been choked in thorns.
A rose is a beautiful flower, but rose bushes are hideous, voracious, vicious beasts that consume, strangle and maim everything that comes near them. Including me.
I don't know much about gardening, but I do know you are supposed to cut back roses at the end of winter. So I've been attacking these nasty thorny creatures with the secateurs, then dragging the evidence down to a huge pile behind the shed, creating one mighty pile of scary thorny shit. I'm not even sure some of the prickly bushes are roses ... a rose by any other name is still a bastard ... but if it's prickly, I've been attacking.
And unfortunately, being attacked back. Even though I've been wearing gloves, the thorns have slashed through the leather, torn my jeans, my tracky dacks and my skin. I have red angry scratches all over me, irritating, painful and uncomfortable. In fact, as I sat down to write this, I actually pulled a prickle out of my arse... ah, the inspiration of nature!
Here is a picture of the fruits of my labour. Some of that pile is the conifer I cut down last week ... but the rest are rose stems. All I can say is, it's gonna be a hell of a bonfire!
So on a glorious afternoon like this, my mind turns to my own little patch of heaven and its upkeep. What better way to spend the last hours of daylight than pottering in the Enchanted Garden?
Unfortunately, my property has been a little neglected of late, what with the previous owners moving out and me moving in. And it seems the whole 3.5 acres has been choked in thorns.
A rose is a beautiful flower, but rose bushes are hideous, voracious, vicious beasts that consume, strangle and maim everything that comes near them. Including me.
I don't know much about gardening, but I do know you are supposed to cut back roses at the end of winter. So I've been attacking these nasty thorny creatures with the secateurs, then dragging the evidence down to a huge pile behind the shed, creating one mighty pile of scary thorny shit. I'm not even sure some of the prickly bushes are roses ... a rose by any other name is still a bastard ... but if it's prickly, I've been attacking.
And unfortunately, being attacked back. Even though I've been wearing gloves, the thorns have slashed through the leather, torn my jeans, my tracky dacks and my skin. I have red angry scratches all over me, irritating, painful and uncomfortable. In fact, as I sat down to write this, I actually pulled a prickle out of my arse... ah, the inspiration of nature!
Here is a picture of the fruits of my labour. Some of that pile is the conifer I cut down last week ... but the rest are rose stems. All I can say is, it's gonna be a hell of a bonfire!
No comments:
Post a Comment