Just in time for peak planting season, I have lost my favourite, indeed only, garden fork. Regular readers will be aware that this is a more or less weekly occurrence, but this time the loss appears to be more serious – and yes, I have gone through the compost heap. Twice. This doesn’t mean it won’t be found – but I couldn’t afford to find it by way of the traditional means of looking for something completely unrelated after you have long given it up for lost. So I went for the accelerated, if more pricey means of finding something, by buying a replacement (I have acquired several pairs of secateurs this way, not that this means much when it comes to laying a hand on one in a hurry).
The new fork was surprisingly cheap (well, I have no idea how much a fork should cost but £2.99 for fork with a wooden FSC-certified, if rather lurid, handle seemed like a good deal). So far it hasn’t achieved its primary purpose (making the old fork appear) nor its secondary one (actual forking), but it has at least managed a tertiary one (giving me something to blog about). And it does look as if it will be easier to find in future, at least until it fades into something a bit less orange.
I had forgotten about the lure of the garden centre, though. I tend to avoid them because even the ones which have turned themselves mainly into coffee shops with associated sensible clothing and garden statuary emporia, still have large displays of seed packets and I am an absolute sucker for seeds and always have been. I might have escaped had I just gone straight to the tools and then checked out, but I thought I’d better pick up some onion sets too, and then the seeds were right there and so colourful and each one individually very reasonably priced… So somehow I will now be finding room and time to plant white foxgloves and lavatera and night-scented stock and a free packet of mixed perennials that apparently contains everything from Acanthus to Viola…
In my head, of course, they are already blooming