An article in one of the Sunday papers last weekend quoted the Head Gardener of the Chelsea Physic Garden (we are not worthy) saying that this was his worst gardening year, ever. I hate to admit that this admission gave me good heart, not because I was relishing his misery, but because I could empathise with him. This time last year I was pleased with how the garden was looking and optimistic about the rest of the season, at the moment I am not. All I seem to do is make excuses – the weather, the wildlife, the wildlife, the weather, on and on and on. So to hear that someone else is also suffering makes me feel a whole lot better. Perhaps we should start a Moaning Gardeners Society and we can have regular meetings and gripe away to our hearts content, get it all off our chests with a cup of tea and some hobnobs.
Today I spoke to a friend who is getting married next month, all festivities to be held in her lovely garden in the heart of the Somerset countryside. She too is despairing and already planning last minute trips to garden centres to fill in any gaps on the eve of her wedding. Sadly she related how she has had to chop back the black spot riddled rose whose task it was to romantically perfume the air and adorn the area where they would tie the knot. It may have helped when I told her we have no black spot in the garden. This is because the roses have no leaves as the deer have eaten them all. Did I win?