Such a lovely morning for a change, and so I walked along the beach at Dunwich where the waves were ginormous as they crashed onto the shingly shore. Funny, because there was almost no wind and the sea itself was calm. The gradient is very steep down there, though, and the incoming tide must have been reacting to the fierce incline. Whatever the scientific explanation, it was exhilarating to dodge the water, and to witness its power. We stomped along for a mile or so a few feet up from the froth, and then settled on the pebbles to enjoy the drama. It was a marked improvement for me after two weeks of feeling unwell. I woke after a nap on Sunday before I left Cambridge and suddenly realised I felt great. And I still do.
The garden is now completely out of control, but luckily Val is available to give me a hand, and I have a man coming in two weeks to cut the beds out according to my plan. I've pretty well finalised it now, and I think the new shape will provide the template for a really good design. If you had told me 18 months ago that I'd still be at this stage of preparation I might have thought twice about buying a house with a donkey paddock for a garden. No I wouldn't. But I'm still a long way off where I want to be. A long way, and an awful lot of work.
After a few rainy intervals during the afternoon the evening ended as the day began - calm, warm, bright and lovely. I wandered around the jungly garden with my secateurs, clipping the dead heads of dahlias, geraniums, lupins and delphiniums, and trying not to look at the lush verdancy all around me. After a while I gave in and set to with my fork and trowel to clear some of the weeds on my little brick path. It was satisfying, but I quickly became engulfed in tiny midges that got into my hair and feasted on my scalp. It's been so long that I'd forgotten the need to wear a hat when the sun is going down. Fathead. That's who I am now. Big Fathead.
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