Some LIKE It Hot

Living here in rural Suffolk, my favourite time is the summer evening when the dew is falling, the light is failing and the scents of the countryside are powerful and evocative. It always reminds me of camping as a child when the end of the day, and the beginning, were full of thrilling smells and sensations. It still feels like being on holiday, the sort where I turn longingly to my love and say, god, I'd give anything to live here. And now I do. Back from holiday in the south of France where the sea and the sky meet in an ever-changing variety of dark blue and turquoise, the exact shades impossible to describe, I'm relishing the more earthy greens and golds. The barley field behind me is still turning towards the colour of butter, while the trees and shrubs remain fresh looking, unbaked as yet by the hot sun.

My glamorous companion

I've brought the back garden under control again after my absence, clipping edges, planting pots of geraniums and weeding everywhere. It's looking nice, not lovely yet but agreeable. Coming home late last night I went down to the summerhouse to retrieve my book, and in the moonlight the garden seemed to be huge, gloriously spacious. The front is a different matter. Broad and open in the winter, it's completely overgrown, a riot of colour as they say. Some of most striking plants are self-seeded, especially the poppies which have gone completely mad everywhere. In this space I don't know where to begin. Soaking the densest spots has helped to loosen the soil before removing weeds as tall as myself. Japanese anenomies which I usually love have colonised one huge area, and the echinops with their blue thistly heads have taken over another. In the autumn I'll shift great batches of them to the back, but it's too late now. The intense heat is slowing me down and preventing me from working. There is no shade in this garden in the middle of the day, in the middle of the year.

Last night working at Snape I asked a few people who'd gone to see the Andreas Scholl workshop students give a recital of their polished music how it went. Everyone raved about the Swiss girl, Veronique Rapin, whose throaty mezzo voice and aria from Handel's Tamberlaine soared above the rest. Apparently she's been based in New York but is planning to move to the UK. Take note, Covent Garden. You'll be sorry if you don't.