Every plant has a story or meaning in my garden.
Even gardening chores often remind me of places, friends, occasions and fond memories. I bet you are the same.
There's a smashing little plant called Erigeron karvinskinaus or Mexican fleabane. It loves dry conditions and popping up all over the place. Whenever I see my own plants, small yet thriving and standing up to winter without any bother, it takes me back to many super family holidays when the children were small, admiring the same plant flowering its socks off in Padstow. The smell of a warm pasty does the same.
I'm looking into hats. Not actually looking into them – that would be too strange and weirdly whiffy- nor am I a trainee millinerphile. It's just nowadays (and I know why!) my bonce gets cold when out in the garden. I need to get a hat and it has to be the right one.
I have experimented with a couple of different types of hat. I did, for one weekend only last summer, try a baseball cap. I have to admit it did the job of shielding me from the sun, and therefore should also keep me warm, but it did look ridiculous. At what age should someone vow never to wear such caps again? Seventeen, I reckon. I have also rather admired a hat worn by a friend of mine who's a landscaper. It's a leather cowboy type of hat that come rain or shine and with quite a flair, my mate wears. On chatting to him on rainy days, I've seen the drops of water dripping from t