Well, the daffodils are poking their heads up but there’s no sign yet of the four-hundred-and-ten tulip bulbs my son and I planted a few months ago.
They were on offer and I got a bit carried away.
To be fair, mid-December was a bit late to be planting tulips but, by the time they’d arrived, I was out of the country for two weeks, so, other than asking the dogsitters if they fancied a bit of gardening (they didn’t), there wasn’t much choice.
I’m hoping the little blighters are happily in the warm earth, thinking about greeting the outside world when things are a bit warmer.
And, who knows, maybe by planting them so late, they’ll put on a brilliant show in late May when I’ll actually be around to appreciate them.
The problem is, I get carried away when I see adverts for plants and bulbs. That eternal prospect of a magical garden is just too tempting.
I’ve got carried away with dahlia tubers too. Don’t tell Mr Grigg but a whole load of them are about to arrive in the next week or so.
Still, if I stick to old favourites like roses, herbaceous perennials, along with the tulips and dahlias, and forego annuals, I should be all right.
It’s when I start ordering begonias that I have to worry.
Can’t stand them. They give me the creeps.
I’m not sure why, because some of them are very pretty. I think I was psychologically damaged when my older brother once broke the heads off my mother’s red begonias. The petals bled all over the floor.
There’s something fleshy and human about begonias I just don’t like.
Maddie Grigg 