Bush whacking

I spent yesterday battling the rugged untamed wilderness. In other words, my back garden. It’s a tiny space but I allow it to grow wild and unfettered in the main. When I return from work and open the gate, it’s like walking into a secret woodland glade. Cool and green and shady. Bells tinkle from the trees, prayer flags flutter on the arbour and pusscats emerge, stretching and yawning, from under bushes. It’s scruffy but that’s the way I like it.

I have a few rules:
• If a plant seeds itself and grows, it is allowed the chance to prove itself before being destroyed. If it can show itself to be interesting of useful, it stays.
• If I chop a plant down and it regrows – it stays. I respect its will to survive.
• No new item, planted by me, shall be inedible.

Yesterday I built a little stone and gravel path. Hard work but oh, so satisfying. I enjoyed myself so much I chose to stay out there rather than watch an episode of Doctor Who! Hard to believe, I know (anyway, I can always watch the repeat).

Today though, a combination of aching shoulders and bad weather have encouraged me to leave the little bit of planting I had planned for today. I’ve been shirking inside, playing with my ‘puter instead.

*****

Speaking of aching reminds me of a thought I had the other day. I’ve always been fond of ‘old people things’. You know: BBC Radio 4, classical music, sensible footwear, that sort of thing. These fogey-like passions have always made me seem a little odd or quirky. I like being quirky. What about now? I’m getting older. Closer to 40 than I’d like. Am I still odd or just a grumpy old woman into grumpy old woman things?

Things I like:
Cats
Jazz
Terry Wogan
Classical music
Broadway musicals (but nothing written after 1979)
A nice cup of tea (try it with a sprig of rosemary in the pot. Yum)
To wake up to the voice of John Humphrys
A nice ramble on a Sunday afternoon
Biscuits