What a sad little photo. Here was I planning to sit with cuppa, the scent of sweet peas filling the air. Instead no show. Of sun, or flowers. Despite one or two days of sun, it seems there is to be no Indian Summer. Global Warming? No, says Weather specialist at the Sci Cafe at the Filmhouse bar last Monday, the Hub reports back. Just normal patterns. Some good years. Some bad.
And a pesky squirrel has been digging up my cyclamen. Searching for bulbs no doubt. Well, there aren't any there but it doesn't stop him/her. Gave up planting crocuses (croci?)there after devastation every autumn. We finally clocked the culprit. Son J even has it on video. So I am presuming it's a squirrel again. Unless the local ASBOs get a weird kick out of rooting around inside front garden pots. 
But very pleased with a romantic little vista through leaves at the bottom of my garden, through an archway of clematis montana and the silver birch in foreground. 'Through leaves' was a family saying - started by my mother's painter friend, Valerie Mackenzie. Mum and V would use the phrase to describe anything romantic and atmospheric. Glimmering of white at the bottom of the garden, especially at dusk when the hydrangea shine like ghosts. Vita Sackville-West's Sissinghurst Castle inspired. OK so it's only a spot by the garden shed. We can have our dreams.
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