Après le déluge

Almost immediately after the cherry tomatoes are planted, the skies open and the temperature plummets. This goes on for a fortnight. Eventually, the rain, rain goes the fuck away. Happily, despite the weather, the tomato plants are flowering, so all is not lost.

The same, sadly, cannot be said for the basil. Apparently it was too early to plant outdoors.



The Genovese basil withers and dies (drowns?), but, on the plus side, the African Blue basil is hardier and seems to be responding well to the sun finally coming out.

Satisfy myself, in between rain showers, by planting another window box.



Now there are flowers to be seen through both the kitchen and diningroom windows.

Outside, Irmani’s fuchsia has sprouted its first bloom.



A week later, look at it.



Okay, okay. This isn’t Irmani’s fuchsia. I broke down last time I was in the garden shop and bought another one. I couldn’t resist. It’s all instant gratification for me. Apparently, my motto is spend, spend, spend – even though at the moment I have nothing, nothing, nothing coming in. (Yes, Mr Mikawber, I am ignoring your recipe for happiness.)

And now that the sun has returned, out in the garden…



The second row of peas I put in is starting to sprout. The squash, courgette and beets have survived the deluge and, one hopes, will soon be responding to some sunshine. There is no sign of anything which might possibly turn into an apple to be seen anywhere on the mini-tree, but that’s okay. I can be patient – especially now that I know Jane’s tree hasn’t produced an apple in eight (or was it nine?) years. After all, it took at least 12 years for the lilac to finally produce any bloom.

The ceanothus, on the other hand, is blooming beautifully.



And, as I hoped when I planted it in 2010, the bees are loving it.



And the first of the flowers are beginning to make their way indoors.



I don’t know how I could have lived this long without knowing that rose bushes will cease to produce flowers if you don’t snip the first ones off before the petals start falling, the bush will cease producing flowers. Stumbled across this very important piece of information in a novel (can’t remember which one) last year. Explains not only why my roses have been disappointing, but how important it is to read.

Oh, and by the way, what appears to be a bud vase is in fact a glass I stole from a champagne bar in Edinburgh at the end of a raucous night out with Lucy and Wanda. Oh, happy days. (Actually, I say end of the night, but that was just me. I’ll draw a veil over what Lucy and Wanda - both mums now - got up to after I got a cab back to our hotel, shall I? Doesn’t stop me having a giggle at the memory, though.)

Crime wave

Finally make it to Arbutus (building supply shop) to buy some dark green marine paint for the bench. Oh, guess what? They don’t have any dark green marine paint. They have yellow. Hmm, no, not really. They have orange. ’Nuff said. They have black. While I am very fond of black, as my wardrobe will attest, I’m somehow thinking painting something that sits in the sun and which I plan to sit on black is not a good idea. Bollocks. Ask at desk if they have any dark green marine paint hidden away. No, of course they don’t. It will take a week to get some in, leaving me with the choice of waiting to paint the bench or making a trip to Nanaimo to buy a can of paint. As much as I want to get the bench painted before Pat leaves for two weeks on Sunday (I’ve promised him a cold one, sitting on the painted bench before we go), he agrees that a trip to Nanaimo is too much. Bugger. I really want to get that bench painted.

Instead of a cold one on the newly painted bench, we go for a cold one and a game of pool to the pub. (There is decent ale to be had here – just a shame that it is served so bloody cold.) Pat astonishes me by presenting me with my very own pool cue. Turns out he had two pool cues he’d completely forgotten about which he’d stumbled across looking for something else in the loft. My very own pool cue. Wow. The first shot I take with it, I manage to pot the eight ball in my break. Rather a quick win for Pat. I miss the second shot I take with it and pot the cue ball instead, Hmm. This does not bode well. Fortunately things improve so I stop wondering whether my pool cue is cursed and accept the long acknowledged fact that I’m a crappy player.

Our game is interrupted with the news that some fat bastard from Alberta has managed to crash his bloody SUV into the front of Pat’s beloved Mustang convertible in the parking lot. The passenger side front end has been crushed right up to the tire, so the car cannot be driven. Not sure if the fat Albertan would have owned up to this (SUV, of course, relatively unscathed), if the pub manager hadn’t witnessed the accident. Pat is gutted. Not only is his baby all smashed up, but now he’s not going to be able to go on vacation in a Mustang convertible with his lady friend Helene. The RCMP are called away from investigating the local crime wave to fill out an accident report. (And where, I wonder, were the RCMP when my garden shed was being stripped of its contents?) The towtruck arrives and fortunately the driver is able to pull the front end far enough away from the tire to drive the car. (Oddly enough, as we’d pulled into the car park I had jokingly said to Pat, “Watch out for that SUV beside you. It’s from Alberta.”) So now Pat’s going to have to make an unscheduled and unwanted trip to Nanaimo to get the process of repairing the Mustang started and sort out a loaner for his trip. He’s holding out for another convertible. I’m not holding my breath. I’m also not asking him to pick me up a can of dark green marine paint while he’s there. Just a wee bit too cheeky, methinks.

Will the frigging birthdays never end? I cannot believe how many people I know have had birthdays in the past week. Becky, Salma, Jess, Theresa, Lucy and (I’ve just remembered) my cousin Lauren, whose birthday I forgot.

Well, in the absence of dark green marine paint and thus any Gabriola garden related photos to include, I shall mark Rory’s birthday by adding one of him working on his own garden rehabilitation project.