My garden is a labour of sort of love but obviously back ache and there is one major problem. You can probably guess who.
Clue: large, white, furry and whinges.
So here is my before photo.
And yesterday I went to the garden centre and spent all my money on lovely bedding plants. Something comes over me at a garden centre – I just want to spend, spend, spend. I resorted to Googling my own garden to see how many Belfast sinks (the answer is 6) that I had to buy for and fill.
So, I weeded the weed-things away, got a wheel-barrow full of horse manure/compost and then planted everything out.
This year it is pansies, trailing lobelia, with alysum. The night scented stocks (gorgeous in the evenings) are in separate little pots.
The rest of the garden looks like this.
And I had my little helper. Ted was in the house refusing to ever come outside. He had run away on the dog walk. He has his anxiety at the moment. I am ignoring it.
This is one of the many times, I wish I could phone my mother to ask her for gardening advice. She knew everything and her garden, as you may know, was always incredble.
I would’ve asked her if you water after you plant bedding plants. I erred on the side of caution and watered. Mum would’ve told me what to do right. I do miss her very much.
So, after planting everything out, I had to cover it all up with chicken wire because of Monster.
To him, this is a cat litter tray. To me, it is not. I am hopeful I can take the wire off once all the plants are a bit more established. Bloody cat. There is nothing worse than meeting plants scattered all over the ground because he back-dug after doing his business.
