I happened to hear yesterday evening's shipping forecast of Force 9 for Thames, and as the wind got up late on I suddenly remembered that the garden dining chairs were still sitting on the deck by the conservatory. It's for such moments that I bought the large Maglite torch (I love Maglites. I have a tiny one that lives in my handbag, and fantasies of owning one of the really big multi battery models traditionally carried by gamekeepers, being so heavy that they function as blunt instruments while not counting as offensive weapons). I padded down to the back garden and moved the chairs off the deck on to the lawn, so that they could not blow through the conservatory windows.
Morning brought a hiatus in the wind but it was raining, periods of light splutter alternating with vicious squalls, while the wind gradually got up again. I don't think we saw the full Force 9 here, but the land generally slows things down compared to conditions at sea so that you can reckon on knocking one off the forecast strength. A Nine is technically a Severe Gale. It does not become a Storm until it hits Force 10. Every so often some radio or newspaper piece refers to force nine storms, and I rage inwardly.
I didn't fancy the greenhouse in that much wind. It is getting a bit old and rattly, and doesn't feel entirely secure in real gale of wind, though so far the lost panes have all slid outwards so you would have been fine inside, just not if you were standing next to it. And I've been grumbling for weeks that my chest is still bunged up with phlegm so I thought it might be vaguely sensible to try and stay warm and dry, and had already earmarked the day for desk jobs. I spent it going through old gardening magazines before filing them away in date order in boxes in the garage, which holds a pretty comprehensive archive of popular consumer taste and aspirations by now, going back to the 1980s and augmented by some earlier RHS magazines inherited from my late father-in-law. Probably most of it will never be used, and will end up at the recyling centre as and when we shuffle off to somewhere smaller and easier to heat, with a more manageable garden, or else the mortal coil, whichever comes first. In the meantime there is space for them in the garage.
I pondered on various garden issues as I read through them, and came to some decisions. I should not waste my time trying to move a couple of Penstemon grandiflorus, that have never thrived in their current position (there used to be three, which tells you quite how little they have like it there). Penstemon do not move well, and I'd do better to start again with healthy young plants if I want to try again somewhere else (though I'm not sure where). A Cryptomeria japonica 'Elegans' which was a delight as a youngster but ceased to be beautiful at least a year ago has got to come out. The Systems Administrator would chop it down for me with the chainsaw, though after that the thought of dealing with the rootball makes my heart sink, but it needs to go. Helen Dillon recommends an alternative to the giant oat grass Stipa gigantea whose flowers last all through the winter, whereas those of the Stipa have gone tatty and bald by late autumn. Some of the existing Stipa seem to have died out in great patches, after several years of loyal service, so maybe I should try and track down Chionocloa conspicua in their place. I definitely need a sculptural focus for a spot by the conservatory. Maybe I could use an amethyst geode outdoors in summer, and bring it in for the winter, or else start saving up for a Whichford elephant pot. I have coveted both for years. It's funny, my normal standpoint that I don't want many things completely breaks down when it comes to the garden.
I'd have rather been outside, if the weather had been half decent, but a chunk of gardening is also done in your head, reading and thinking.
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