We made it last night to the music society committee's annual supper, which I was quite convinced I was going to miss, as I never expected to escape from the quagmire in time. Our route to dinner took us past the show ground, and there was a trail of mud stretching back a couple of miles from the gates. It was slippery enough to make me return by the alternative route along the A120, which I generally avoid because it is such an accident blackspot (there was another one yesterday morning, seven people injured. The authorities now admit that the new road markings haven't made it any better). It was a good dinner. At eleven the Treasurer remarked that he had better take his wife home, and at half past eleven we all got up from the table. so we got back at midnight. At quarter past six I had to get up again to go to work.
It was one of those mornings when I thought regretfully that civilized people didn't have to go to work on Sundays, let alone be there by eight. Happily there wasn't really any watering to do, after yesterday's rainfall and total lack of sunshine. My task on the manager's list of weekend jobs was to sort out the themed display tables and make sure that the plants on them were all appropriate for the indicated conditions.
The first table was supposed to hold plants to attract bees. The display included four grasses and two conifers, and around half a dozen box plants, none of which are at all relevant to bees. I suppose box flowers might be, though I've never noticed any bees on mine, but since most box is kept clipped it doesn't generally get the chance to flower, so the question is academic. I took everything off the table and started again, with Perovskia, a fancy form of tender lavender, Sedum spectabile, a blue flowered hardy geranium, a purple flowered oregano, Knautia arvensis which is our native field scabious, a couple of asters and some Verbena bonariensis. The overall display came out purple and blue, but the unifying theme was not in fact colour, but plants that actually produce nectar (unlike the wind pollinated grasses and conifers) with open or shallow flowers that permit bees (which have relatively short tongues) to reach the nectar. I was gratified to see bees on it almost at once, and again later when somebody bought the Knautia arvensis and one of the Perovskia..
The table of plants with scented leaves included more conifers. I sniffed them, in case one of my colleagues knew something I didn't, but failed to detect anything except a faint odour of conifer. There was box too, which does have a scent, but since it is mainly reminiscent of cats' pee (Queen Anne had all the box at Hampton Court ripped out because she disliked the smell) I didn't think that counted. I dismantled that display as well and reassembled it with a scented climbing rose, a Trachelospermum jasminoides and a Dregea sinensis along the back, two different sorts of rosemary, Buddleia 'Lochinch' which smells of honey, some Dianthus, and a Clerodendron trichotomum. The scent of this last is a moot point, since if you stick your face into a young plant you mainly get the smell of the foliage, which is more like peanuts than anything else and not especially attractive, unless you are very fond of peanuts. If you pass by a mature specimen in bloom the sweet scent of the flowers hits you at several paces.
The display of plants for moist or boggy places also contained a large clipped box ball. Box likes sharp drainage, so that was thoroughly misleading. I took that away, and replaced it with a Viburnum opulus, which is suitable for moist or even boggy ground according the boss's label. I hope he's right about the boggy bit, since I've just bought a yellow berried one to go in our wet bed, to replace the shrubs that have drowned there. Plants for a south facing aspect included several that were happy in part shade, whereas I felt it should showcase things that positively demanded the heat and light, so I evicted the Heuchera and hardy geranium, and brought in a variegated myrtle in full flower, a rosette forming Eryngium and some Sedum. I was pleased to see the myrtle sell later on, and replaced it with another.
Two customers greeted me who recognised me from a talk I gave last year to their garden club about gardening for bees. They had bought a jar of honey, and fortunately they said it was very nice. We had a long discussion about clematis, during which I stuck to my honest opinion that the one they had fallen for although desperately pretty was a tricky and reluctant grower, while suggesting alternatives, and I was pleased when eventually of their own accord they decided to go for a more robust variety. We got the sale, and I was able to feel I was giving honest and unbiased advice rather than sell, sell, selling.
The owner warned us not to talk or enter into any correspondence with one customer whose mail order parcel had gone astray. It was signed for by somebody at the next door livery stable, following which the trail goes murky, with the neighbour saying they'd taken it round, and the mail order customer saying they hadn't. We'd refunded the full cost of the plants and delivery, but the customer was still pursuing us for the name of the courier company and talking about involving the police. The owner's view was that it sounded like a dispute between neighbours which she did not wish to be drawn into, and that for what it was worth she believed the livery stable owner, having spoken to both parties. It's a shame. So many of the people we encounter are pleasant to deal with and grateful for our help, but there are a few bonkers ones.
The pea hen brought her chick into the plant centre. It has grown a tiny pea fowl style topknot, and can now perch on the edge of flowerpots like its mother. The two made a charming picture, sitting on adjacent pots outside the shop.
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