I have inherited from my mother the following: advanced blushing skills, stout ankles, a propensity to sing-along at any opportunity and a compulsion to talk to total strangers. Yes I am that crazy woman who insists on chatting in the doctor’s waiting room/walking along the road/in the checkout queue; public transport my speciality. Please don’t judge us too harshly; it is part irrepressible urge, part curiosity or as has been suggested, plain nosiness. This inbred talent came in very useful yesterday when faced with a coach load of Hardy Planter’s venturing out from the far corners of Somerset. Once safely gathered in (I knew that cattle prod would come in useful) we had several hours of exploration, plant talk and tall tales, all blessed by the sun (a much welcomed late show to the proceedings). Hero as usual did a sterling job, even without my genes.
After the turbo charged preening of the last couple of days, today we had what I call a “do what you like day within the parameters of International and Cliffe law”. Hero weeded the burgeoning strawberries, I pandered to the neglected souls in the greenhouse. All was calm and we had toasted sandwiches for lunch, bliss.
The much-anticipated meconopsis turned out not to be M. napaulensis but M. paniculata. Does it matter? Probably not.