My frustration at being unable to produce a half-decent essay has resulted in various attempts to do the garden instead. I spent a good couple of hours digging over one planting bed, throwing out stones and old coins and trying to work in what I think is compost from the bottom of the garden. The result of all that effort? The neighbourhood cat -- a large, tortoiseshell bruiser -- promptly used it as a litter tray. I now understand why our neighbours were so resentful of Plato and Aristotle. However, I have persevered and planted out some herbs and sowed some radish seeds. The packet instructions for the latter were incomprehensible to the novice gardener, what with their instructions to rake the soil to a fine tilth and sow seeds thinly in broad drills. I just dug some shallow trenches, chucked the seeds in, covered them up with a bit of soil. Bingo! Just a week later, I have seedlings! I am a vegetable gardener, a foot soldier in the fight against food miles and climate change! (As long as I can still eat my Waitrose-imported French butter with sea salt crystals with my radishes.)
And despite my best efforts to kill it off, the clematis on the tree at the bottom of the garden -- and just about every other plant that I hacked away at -- continues to flourish. It's really rather pretty. I do need a book of plants though; I have no clue what any of the trees or plants in the garden actually are. If anyone can identify these weird blue buds, let me know.
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