Getting the Scent

The main problem with finding the perfect people to look after your precious dog when you're involved in things to which he can't accompany you is that said people might wear perfume that lingers all day on said dog. It's 10 hours since we met Penelope and Roger, and Hugo still reeks of one of them, a classy smell but not his. It's something I'll have to get used to since the arrangements we are going to make will involve them having him for the best part of a day each week. Still, it was love at first sight and I have no doubt that, after the essential preliminaries - they come here for coffee, Hugo has a few very short play dates that gradually expand until, on Friday fortnight, they have him for real - he'll be familiar with them and won't mind being left with them, or be afraid that I won't return. I will Hugo, I promise you. I will always come back.

Other news - I now own no fewer than three obelisks for the garden, and I paid around £300 less for each of them than the market price, a snip at £15 for them all. The company that makes these expensive, upmarket items is owned by a neighbour, and they had been placed outside his house with a cardboard sign offering them at a ludicrous price to clear the decks for the latest stock. I pounced, and within the hour they had been delivered and positioned in the garden, one in each bed. I'm thrilled with them. They are meant to create a focal point where roses, clematis or whatever can be grown to provide height in a bed. But whether or not I cover them in flowers they are beautiful in their own right. Today, as with so many recent days, I've struggled in the heat and not achieved much. I began the slow process of moving plants from the wrong place to the right place, or so it seems to be at the moment. I also began planting the lovely roses I bought in a sale. The ground is hard from lack of rain, and digging suitable holes has been difficult. I have a lot of rearranging to do, which is irritating, but looking at pictures of the beds this time last year I'm actually flabbergasted by the difference. They were so bare then, the shrubs so small and undeveloped, and now they are burgeoning beautuifully. Give me a year or so and it will look even better.

In the meantime Hugo and I are curled up on the kitchen sofa together listening to Bach's B minor Mass from the Proms. I'm trying to ignore the scent wafting off him. I might have to resort to rolling him in fox poo tomorrow, or dead rabbit. At least it would be an animal smell.