Everything in its Rightful Place

Another hot day. I met a friend for coffee in a deserted Aldeburgh, not a common sight at this time of year, and we went on to the Red House to discuss working there as volunteers. The spirit of Benjie and Peter is evident in the house and the beautiful library which is packed full of music books, and also houses Britten's grand on which he composed his music. The gardens are lovely too, though probably not a patch on what they were like under a team of gardeners. Here they played tennis on the grass courts, and croquet on the lawn, with the great musical and society names of the day. How I'd love to have been one of them, but in reality would probably have been an under kitchen maid. The piece de resistance is the incredible art collection with which the house, library, studio and archive building are stuffed. It's these paintings I'd like to linger over, and would happily show people round as a volunteer in order to have access to them.

The Red House, Aldeburgh

The Library

Pears and Britten

Back in the heat to the garden, and more attacking of weeds down the bottom. Once I've cleared them I'm spreading a thick mulch everywhere, probably in the form of bark. Weeding like this is a mug's game, and I've got better things to do. I'm going to order several of those huge bags that are delivered by crane on the back of a lorry. Spreading that lot will give my back something else to think about. Val busied herself in the front, planting gladioli byzantium corms and lupins in the gaps. Sadly I think my strawberry tree - arbutus unedo - seems to have died. I hate it when something like this happens, it seems so tragic. But sitting outside the summer house with a cup of tea later, nearly intoxicated by the smell of the wallflowers, I could hear the bellringers across the fields at Framlingham Church having an early evening practise, and it was hard to be upset by anything.