Turning shapes

Nick duly arrived yesterday morning and set to with my sharpened tools. Work was slow to begin with as I had promised Patrick the turf which he wanted to cover some of his beds with, and so much earth came up with each slab that we had to hack it off first. Eventually we decided enough was enough, and Patrick came to collect his goodly pile. Once he'd gone the work went much quicker. Nick started stacking the turves along the edge of the summerhouse base where they will be covered witha weed suppressing material and happily rot away until next spring. He got as far as the pond when he downed tools for the day. He had spent almost six hours digging in the hot sunshine having eaten nothing all day but a slice of cake I gave him with his tea. Coffee and fags kept him going. Mad! So far the results are looking good, and he'll be back next week to continue the transformation on the other side of the garden.

Nick stacking turves

The big new bed

Overview

This morning dawned clear and sunny, so it was with mild regret that I left the garden behind and got the London train. But what a day I'd picked! England playing Wales at Twickenham, and a lot of football supporters wearing green Aviva shirts. The train was heaving but I found a seat and even discovered an old earplug in my handbag which I broke in half and popped in for instant relief from the din. Coming home was much worse, crammed into the small train from Ipswich where the town's football team had apparently played Bristol City and drawn. I've never seen so many cans of larger or heard so much foul language. Horrible it was, horrible. But the day was such a success. There was a surprise link up with younger daughter at the National Theatre where we had lunch, and then a visit to the Tate Modern to see the Agnes Martin exhibition. We were quite simply blown away. It was luminous, inspiring, moving, extraordinary, sensitive, thoughtful, imaginative, and superbly accomplished. No, none of that will do. Words fail me. I'm so glad I made the effort. All those carefully drawn grids on beautiful paper, delicately painted with earthy colours, or later soft pastel shades that reflected the New Mexico landscape. We both loved it.

Back home the sun was setting but I couldn't resist getting into old clothes and briefly continuing Nick's curvy line around the pond and towards the fence. I managed a couple of feet before I gave in to the gloaming and came indoors. But why did I go into Marks and Spencers at Liverpool Station to buy a bottle of water when I could have bought a microwave dinner? Am I quite all there?