Well, the daffodils are poking their heads up but there's no sign yet of the four-hundred-and-ten tulip bulbs my son and I planted a few months ago.
They were on offer and I got a bit carried away.
To be fair, mid-December was a bit late to be planting tulips but, by the time they'd arrived, I was out of the country for two weeks, so, other than asking the dogsitters if they fancied a bit of gardening (they didn't), there wasn't much choice.
I'm hoping the little blighters are happily in the warm earth, thinking about greeting the outside world when things are a bit warmer.
And, who knows, maybe by planting them so late, they'll put on a brilliant show in late May when I'll actually be around to appreciate them.
The problem is, I get carried away when I see adverts for plants and bulbs. That eternal prospect of a magical garden is just too tempting.
I've got carried away with dahlia tubers too. Don't tell Mr Grigg but a whole load of them are about to arrive in the next week or so.
Still, if I stick to old favourites like roses, herbaceous perennials, along with the tulips and dahlias, and forego annuals, I should be all right.
It's when I start ordering begonias that I have to worry.
Can't stand them.
Not sure why, because some of them are very pretty. I think I was psychologically damaged when my older brother once broke the heads off my mother's red begonias. The petals bled all over the floor.
There's something fleshy and human about begonias which I just don't like.
No comments:
Post a Comment