Call it a Garden

After hours of toil the side slide of rocks and ashes (I am sure it was a dump for years) is neatly emptied, lined and filled with decent topsoil and a large number of very patient plants. I have not quite finished as Cissy called in after Hawaii and I was ready to stop, but I think it is actually better to take another day to finish off, instead of stubbornly crashing on all red and sweaty and incapable of fine motor function. I look so like my father in these circumstances, the glint of madness, and glasses slipping down my nose.

I have a new truc to be in love with: Atlas Fit Gloves from Malaysia. They are closefitting stretch stockingette with a thick rubber palm, and they fit so beautifully I forget I'm wearing them. I have had expensive gardening gloves which slipped or twisted or got hard when wet, but these are little beauties, and I have retained all the nails which grew while I was incapacitated this last week, and they are clean. Normally I look as though I have been digging ditches when I garden, I always thought it was rather a badge of honour at the Chelsea Show to be grubby.