A Near Miss

I nearly made a total ass of myself yesterday, and messed up an event too. Ushering in the smaller hall at Snape, where a group of young stars in the making - musicians and composers - were giving an end of course concert, I noticed an empty can of coke on a music stand and thought about removing it. If I'd read the programme, item 6: Coke Bins and Other Things, I'd have realised the can and its fellow on the other side of the stage were part of the percussion for this experimental piece. I went hot and cold when they played it. Lesson learned.

Earlier I had a run in with two essential pieces of equipment, and have had to give up on one of them. My camera has died and has to be replaced. I've probably had it for over 10 years, but even so. And my hedge-cutter sputtered and wouldn't work properly for ages but eventually got a grip, I hope for good. I need both to work, so must now replace the camera. I've decided to go for a reconditioned one which came out tops in the Which report. It's for sale on Amazon, and I liked the blurb that went with it: IMPORTANT NOTICE TO PURCHASER: WE MAKE THE BEST POSSIBLE TO PROVIDE RELIABLE PRODUCTS. BUT IT IS DELICATE AND ELECTRONIC PRODUCTS AND CAN RARELY HAPPEN THAT SOMEONE GIVE THE PROBLEM. BEFORE YOU GIVE HURRY ANSWERS PLEASE CONTACT US AND WE WILL DO EVERYTHING TO SOLVE. WE APOLOGIZE IF OUR WRITTEN ENGLISH IS NOT PERFECT, BUT WE ARE A YOUNG COMPANY COMING IN ENGLAND WITH INTENT OF DOING WELL.Good for you, I thought. I promise not to post a negative report on Amazon if the thing is a bit dicky, not before giving you a chance to put it right. Respect.

In the garden I continue the seemingly endless job of making Sissinghurst out of a donkey paddock, or a silk purse from a sow's ear if you like. There's still so much to do! By now my hands are aching, especially the joint around the thumb which I suppose must mean arthritis. But still I plough on. Yesterday Sarah came over and told me she'd been in every day to check on things while I was away, and thinks it's already perfect, especially the view which she does not share but envies. I've got three old friends coming for lunch on Sunday, and they haven't seen the garden this year. They will be the litmus test, their reactions the most telling. They are a well-mannered bunch, so I shall be watching the whites of their eyes for the truth. The last time one of them came she said: "Oh Denise, I'm so daunted by what you have to do", and then I wondered if I should be too. But I haven't been, not so far, though my energy if not my enthusiasm is definitely lacking a bit. 

It's not long now until the barley field will be harvested, one of the saddest days of the farming calendar, at least for me. I love the rich colours stretching down the hill, though the swaying in the breeze has stopped as the seeds have ripened and thickened and there's little space for the stalks to move. I know the stubble is pretty too, and beyond this is a field of wheat, gradually lightening and brightening as it too heads towards fulfilment. The sky is clear again and it looks like being another hot one. I wonder when I'll be able to look at a day like this and think: lounger! book! shade! drink!