still scrubbing

Washing the conservatory windows and floor is taking an extremely long time.  I looked at some patio cleaner for the floor, but when I read on the bottle that it contained strong disinfectant, and that I should wear gloves while applying it, and exclude pets until dry, and not get it directly on the leaves of plants, I left it where it was.  Instead the floor is getting a scrub with a stiff brush, and hot water with a tiny squeeze of Ecover washing-up liquid.  The conservatory faces west, and I have a dark suspicion that when we sit in there, looking at the sunset, the smears on the windows are going to show up like anything.  I think the answer will be to take a deep gulp of gin and tonic and steadfastedly ignore them.  I am sure nice people do not notice such things, as my father says.  He attributes the saying to George Bernard Shaw.  I can't find it in the Penguin Dictionary of Quotations, but it sounds as though it could be from The Chocolate Soldier.

The roots of the poor Strelitzia were revolting, like giant tangled intestines.  It was lucky that Radio 4 were doing one of the early Father Brown stories as the afternoon play, which cheered me up.  The adaptation was very true to the original, keeping a lot of the dialogue as written.  I read all the Father Brown books rather a large number of times as a teenager, and The Man Who was Thursday, and retain a great fondness for Chesterton.

In the front garden the thrift and sea kale in the turning circle are blooming splendidly.  I planted one piece of Crambe maritima, and over the years it has either run by the root or seeded itself to form a good colony.  The new plants have all been close to the original one, with no outliers, so if it has spread by seeding then the seed dispersal mechanism isn't up to much.  The emerging leaves are wonderfully crinkly and purple tinged, and the flowers are clouds of tiny white stars.  They are carried only about 45cm above the ground, so in a conventional border it is one for the front.  I think people sometimes confuse it with Crambe cordifolia, and expect it to be taller.  It grew in Derek Jarman's garden at Dungeness, and he wrote that after violent storms, when the shingle had shifted, the exposted roots of the sea kale were at least twenty feet long.  It is an excellent plant for a dry site on light soil.  The thrift forms tussocks of dark green linear leaves, and is now carrying its pompom flowers in pink and white.  The old tussocks are apt to go brown and die in time, but it keeps going by seeding.

Also putting up a reasonable show is the sea campion, Silene maritima.  I raised it from seed, and it was slow to get going, to the point where I wondered if it disliked acid soil, but this year it is looking far happier and flowering well.  The flowers are single, with a typical campion style full calyx, and the leaves are mat-forming and silvery.  I have just seen on the Plantlife website that it should never be picked, for fear of tempting death.  I planted a few seed raised sea peas at the same time, but annoyingly the only one that is doing well is right at the edge of the turning circle, where it is liable to get run over by passing delivery vans.  If it manages to flower at all then maybe it will seed itself about, as the everlasting pea in the back garden is only too happy to do.  Its Latin name is Lathyrus japonicus ssp. maritimus, and it is not native to Britain, though it is found on shingle beaches here, especially on the east and south coasts.  I have seen it growing on the beach at Aldeburgh, and according to Wikipedia the seeds can remain viable while floating in the sea for up to five years.

Some of the dahlias that were left in the ground over the winter are shooting, much to my astonishment.  I had assumed that the winter had killed them all.  Now I know that at least some are alive, I am watering their bed, and will rig up some string to deter the chickens from dust bathing in it, and put out a very few slug pellets.  I use almost no pellets in the garden, in deference to the wildlife, but the new leaves of dahlias are peculiarly susceptible.  It will be interesting to see which varieties have come through.  In general the yellows and oranges seem more robust and vigorous than the dark reds.