wind and watering

My co-workers on Sundays both have a diligent attitude to watering.  It took the three of us until half past ten, and we made a pretty thorough job of it.  The boss rang before we'd finished, to remind me to check that the water tank was filling up from the well, as the pump has been playing up recently.  I had forgotten I was supposed to do this, but when I climbed the ladder to look into the tank, the water came to within a metre of the top, and the pump was whirring reassuringly away.  The boss called from the great marquee at Chelsea, where he is moderating.  There is a profile of him in the show catalogue.  It took much careful thought to explain what moderators do in terms that would not offend the judges, since they are the answer to the question, Who judges the judges, but to say so suggests that judges cannot be trusted to get things right by themselves.  Apparently the marquee is looking very colourful.  I thought that the exhibitors would pull things together somehow, despite the weather, but they must have had a nerve wracking time of it in the run up to the show.

My Roberto Burle Marx display didn't last the day, as somebody bought all but one of the lime green santolinas.  I recreated the effect with some pale yellow Roscoea and some extra purple leaved geraniums.  Soft yellow and dusky purple are a good combination, and I must try and use it at home somewhere.

The wind got up horribly, and by the end of the day the plant centre looked almost as if it had been ransacked.  We tended to leave plants lying down for the duration once they'd fallen, since if picked up they only blow over again, each time with the risk of damage to themselves or their neighbours.  Actually if some of the largest ones were to fall on a small or frail customer it could be quite traumatic.  The customers were very good about picking their way around the wreckage.  The drying effect of that much wind is as bad as days of sun (the farmers must be at the ends of their tethers), but it was impossible to run most of the overhead irrigation systems usefully, since strong wind whips the water away before it hits the pots.  The three of us started watering again at five, as did the second of the two owners, who won't go to London for Chelsea until tomorrow, not being involved in the judging.  We were never going to get around the entire plant centre by six, and at that point I was ready to call it a day, as was the owner.  My colleagues were very reluctant to stop spraying water on just one more thirsty plant.  It's true that if you love plants, you hate to leave any in less than optimum conditions, but I don't think this should extend to doing an hour or two of unpaid overtime at the end of a ten hour working day, and in fairness to the owner I don't think she expected us to.