Today's an important day in my calendar as it's the day I pootle off in my car to the garden centre and select a vast array of bedding plants. Every May bank holiday I afford myself the luxury of knowing that it's unlikely to be frosty now so it's full steam ahead on planet petunia. A morning stroll around the bizzy lizzies and a full gamut of plants selected. Loading the car is always a trauma as I get a hernia trying to get the compost in my boot and then stuffing about 3000 plants and muck onto car seats, head rests and back shelf.
Today I also treated myself to a zip-up plastic greenhouse for my tomato growing. I'm expecting big things from my tomato plants which are currently about 5 inches high and have about 5 feet of plastic greenhouse to grow into. A bit of Tomorite and some strong words should do the trick. So, seven hours in my garden looking resplendent in shorts and wellies with my trug and trowel and all plants are in and watered. My new lavender bush is planted in a huge pot container and I shall no doubt be cursing all summer when I have to get past it whilst a million bees are swarming ready for the chance to sting my posterior. And so after all that planting, digging, weeding, watering and lugging about, I allowed myself a sit down to reflect. With a stubby beer in my hand, I thought what a bloody marvellous place is England in the summer when the sun shines. My home is my castle maybe, but my garden is a little slice of paradise.