That Time of Year

It always oozes gunk into the oven. I never know when it's cooked because, since 2006, I haven't had a stove I can trust. I take it out, I poke it anxiously, then lovingly wrap it in folds of greaseproof paper and tinfoil, only opening it over the next weeks to pour brandy through forked spikes. Then the burnt-on gunk has to be scraped from the oven, which close proximity forces me to examine the whole Rayburn and see that the enamel needs cleaning, every bit of it wanting some spit and polish. But the payoff for all this labour is the 'lickies', as we used to call them (still call them) which I share with Hugo this year - spoons, bowls, knives, mixers, bowls, more bowls. I put the scruffy, much scribbled-on recipe away for another year. What is it? It's the Christmas cake. It's that time of the year again.

Before, too high

Shaggy drive

Shaun IN the hedge, standing on sawn-off stumps WITH A CHAIN SAW!

Lee clearing the detritus halfway through

Glorious autumn colours

The same bed a year ago

The same bed 2 years ago, the garden newly created

Neatly shorn by Shaun

No more wild brambles to fight through

The men came yesterday to cut down the hedge, brothers Shaun and Lee. There's nothing as pleasing as the sight of a man up a ladder with a chainsaw making mincemeat of a horrible job. They came late and didn't finish so had to return today, but what a difference they've made. Often in the summer, at around 9pm at the end of a lovely day, the field behind me is still in sunshine while the garden is in shadow. I know it's nit-picking since I have a garden with no shade at all for the vast majority of the day, but that last half hour grieves me. Now with my shortened hedge I'll have sun until minutes before it sets. It changes the look of the garden though, makes it look a bit suburban. But I'll get used to it. And best of all I can trim it myself now to keep it in shape, though I'd love to own the extra long hedge cutters they used that just sweep up and down with smooth swipes to leave a lovely surface.

We walked at Sizewell after the men had gone, expecting gales and maybe rain but instead finding the coast to be cold but calm, and not so chilly when the sun came out and spread its rays all around us. The sea was like a millpool. The dogs were delighted to see each other and charged around madly, Hugo by far the fleetest. By the time we got back to the car there were loads of them including a small black and grey dappled German pointer who once I would have given my lower set of teeth for, but out of loyalty to Hugo I tried not to make a grab for him. After a cup of tea at Sammy's I stopped off at the Walled Garden centre and bought my last two shrubs of the year, a lacecap hydrangea and a very pretty emerald-leafed fuschia. They will be just right for the focal points I have saved.