The Sea of Immeasurable Gravy

Zen and the Art of Garden Maintenance

2012-01-27T15:50:00.010Z

..
It's January, I have a streaming cold, I have been both busy but done nothing for the last few weeks. So before the 'horticultural hunting' season kicks off, let me take you back to Japan to see some more gardens.

Japanese Garden at Chelsea 2011

Last year at the RHS Chelsea Flower Show a person (who shall remain nameless) said they had been driven insane by the Japanese team building a garden nearby. The continual shouts of "Hai!, Hai!, Hai!" during the Chelsea build weeks had shattered this poor person's nerves! 'Hai' is usually translated as "yes" in Japanese but it seemed to be used for myriad purposes depending on how loud and fast the word is ejaculated. It can range from "Hi" to "WTF!" I would say I loved Japanese gardens but I wasn't so keen on the one at Chelsea 2011 - the acers were the colour of overboiled root vegetables and the focal point sculpture resembled a pulled tooth. Also, in both this and the 2010 Japanese garden, the slightly yellowish water over the white gravel in the ponds makes it look like someone has wee'd in them. So I don't like ALL Japanese garden styles but I do find them all fascinating.

Our first taste of a Japanese stroll garden was the small but well formed garden near the Sensoji Temple in the Asakusa district of Tokyo. This was pretty much what I had expected a traditional Japanese garden to be like - cloud pruned trees and koi carp. Pleasant rather than exciting but a perfect little oasis amidst the bustle of temples, tourists and quirky shopping arcades around.

And talking about quirky I must show you this photo of a Japanese bag lady we saw nearby - she brought a smile to my face with her well-fed cat on her trolley and fag in her mouth - not a sight you see often in Japan! (clic on any pic to enlarge)

Leaving Tokyo and with my eyes glued to the landscape as the Shinkansen glided across the outlying urban coastal stretches, it seemed to me that most Japanese houses had squeezed a cloud pruned tree or two into their tiny gardens, larger ones might also have a beautiful persimmon or plum tree and some neat lines of vegetables and the wealthiest would most likely have some vibrant acers too.

One of the styles of garden we were really keen to see was a Japanese Rock garden. I like rocks I like gardens - sorted! Or so I thought...

The first rock garden we saw was part of one of the temples at the top of Mount Koya. This wasn't one noted in any guides and it wasn't clear it was open to the public but we had a quick nose at it anyway. I thought it was rather lovely, I found the lines pleasing and could see myself sitting there feeling a bit 'zen'

One we were less taken with was the famous Daisenin 'dry landscape' rock garden in Kyoto. We were more than annoyed to find that the monks had put the kybosh on people taking photos of these gardens which we didn't feel was very zen of them. Although we could totally sympathise with the monks not wanting to put up with thousand upon thousand of irritating visitors taking pictures of themselves non-stop instead of actually paying attention to the gardens, it did come over as a bit grasping that they were prepared to sell you pictures at horrendously inflated prices! As it was I did a) wonder if I should just blag my camera in by telling them I was the Countess of Cashmere from the world-famed Sea of Immeasurable Gravy or b) take a photograph on the sly whilst trying to avoid being filmed on the closed circuit tv the monks had installed. The picture below is courtesy of Wikipedia

These gardens wrapping around the temple building were tiny and reading from the guidebook every stone represented something or another and added to the story. Frankly, saying that a stone had been specially chosen because it looked like a turtle didn't really wash with us because most flat stones look a bit turtleish. A larger boulder reminded me of a half-submerged hippopotamus - which was close as the guide book said it was a bull. Despite my love of large stones and boulders I wasn't inspired by these gardens. I like my rock gardens crammed with alpines.

In the end I got a picture of the world-reknowned Kwasi-Modo zen gravel garden but to be honest it's not really my cup-of-tea either.

Kwasi-modo gravel garden

Another temple offered us a garden full of acers. This was more to our taste - the colours in these pictures are the reality!

This temple was unusually quiet as we entered but as we had wandered around the small garden a coachload or six of Japanese had turned up at the narrow temple door and the exit was clogged with people trying to de-shoe themselves before entering!! We fought our way through them to try and find our own shoes but in the melee the Bedsock was nearly knocked off his feet and trampled by less than usually polite Japanese men trying to find a space to place their footwear.

It would be true to say that by this time we were beginning to find the ubiquitous crowds more than a little wearing particularly when it came to taking photos. The only other Brits we spoke to in Japan looked at our cameras and said "There's going to be a lot of photoshopping when we get home!" We exchanged sympathetic glances.

Although some places like Mount Koya and the Noto Peninsular had been quiet, in others we had become adept at cutting the crowds out as in the picture of the lovely Sacred Bamboo Grove below

the real picture contains the stream of Japanese Sunday strollers..

Every single one of these people has a camera with which they constantly photograph themselves and their posed friends. Perhaps we take pictures of what we see - they take pictures of who they are. A definition of a Japanese "Billy-no-mates" was the young boy carrying a tripod so he could photograph himself. The interestingly dressed young man below and his friends had been uninhibitedly posing for ages whilst their gang snapped more and more photos of each other.

As with everything else Japanese we only slightly scraped the surface of the gardens and will have to return one day to see more.

The Art of Onsen

2012-01-06T15:09:00.004Z

..
The Socks justify the fortune they spent on their Japanese hols by thinking of the hundreds of thousands of pounds saved on not having children. (I'm thinking that over the years of holidays that is quite a lot of children we didn't have.) We spent some of this saving on staying in some gorgeous ryokans - Japanese traditional inns usually found in scenic locations and offering fabulous food, warm hospitality and the inevitable onsen hot spring baths.

Our first two night ryokan stay was high up in the mountains at Lake Chuzenji near the fabulous temples of Nikko. Hotel Shikisai was set just back from the lake shores a few miles from the nearest village. Non-descript from the outside the interior was warm and welcoming and our room the first experience we had of Japanese customs.

First the great Japanese soft shoe shuffle. Your room will probably have a little entrance chamber with a step up into the main tatami matted room. DO NOT STEP ONTO THE MATS WITH YOUR SHOES ON!!! I did more than once and I didn't get away with it! My lack of manners (in a country whose population excels in exquisite manners) produced a slight gasp of horror from hotel staff and more than once the hand of the Bedsock on my collar hauling me back. You take off your shoes and either go barefoot or wear the slippers or socks provided for walking on the tatami mats. On leaving your room you change into different slippers (like plastic mules) provided for indoor wear or sometimes geta which are incredibly uncomfortable clogs like flips flops made of wood and probably worn with weird woolly tabi socks which have a divide for the big toe. In the toilet, as well as the all singing and dancing heated seat, there will be a separate pair of slippers presumably to be worn whilst 'communing with nature'.

The room will be almost empty except for a low table and chairs which will take you five minutes to ease your numbed creaky knees up from (I found it best to roll around on the floor a while until the Bedsock took pity and hauled me up), a round box containing tea making materials and some peculiar tasting sweets, and a kettle which will take you several hours to figure out how to work. Then as you start to ransack the room to discover what other goodies have been left for you, you will find in the cupboard a tray containing a yukata (cotton kimono), obi sash and overjacket for each person. These can be worn all round the ryokan, to breakfast, dinner and generally slob around in. They sometimes come in a choice of colours and in various different sizes - at the Shikisai the owner took one look to size us up for them and then said "sumo" accompanied by much laughter (from him anyway cheeky beggar!). These were a joy after a hard day's sightseeing and at each ryokan we couldn't wait to relax into our Japanese 'leisure wear'. At the Shikisai, the beds were left out on a sleeping platform which suited us very well to doze on as we shook off the tail end of our jet lag, but generally the mattresses were stored in cupboards and bed-making fairies would turn up whilst we were out of the room.

Dressed in yukata we wandered along to the bathing rooms removing our slippers at the entrance chamber and lining them up with those of the other bathers. We were surprised to find that we often ended up with a different pair of slippers when collecting them as the Japanese didn't seem to claim ownership of any particular pair. (I was rather glad I had finally got rid of the verucca I'd picked up last year.) As at most ryokans the baths were separated by gender, so the Bedsock and I made our ways into the different changing rooms filled with an array of beauty products for post bath perfuming and primping. Sometimes the Bedsock spent so long playing with the different facial and body lotions that I started to fear he might have fallen asleep in the pool!

Following the printed poster instructions on the wall (which included the fact that you shouldn't wash your knickers in the baths something I hadn't actually thought about doing, although one of my holiday packing 'musts' is a pegless washing line so we can string up our sink-washed smalls in the hotel bedroom!)

Robes placed in a straw tray I entered the steamy warmth of the indoor bathing area. (I sneaked these pictures with my pocket camera when the onsen was empty on an early morning bathe so the quality isn't great - clic on any pictures to enlarge)

If you look to the right of the photo you will see 'washing stations' which were common to all the onsen we visited. These consist of a small wooden stool and bucket, a hand held shower to hose yourself down with before entering the baths, and an array of lovely shampoos, cleansers and moisturizers. I waded into the knee-deep bath and relaxed into its cloudy warmth, watching the Japanese ladies of all ages sitting naked on the low wooden stools washing their bodies and hair whilst chatting happily to each other. There are few greater pleasures than swimming naked in crystal clear seas but this might be one of them - the softly lit steamy warmth, the beautiful slight, sensual curves of the Japanese women so unashamedly naked and relaxed, and the cocooning comfort of the hot spring water - sublime.

On our second day we were up early enough to have the onsens to ourselves. A quick naked dash through the cold mountain air and into the roten-buro outdoor pool to lie in the luxurious warmth. Gazing down through the bare winter trees to the silvery lake, a cooling early morning drizzle against my face, I felt it had been worth journeying all the way to Japan for this experience alone.

Returning to our room we found a macaque monkey staring in through the verandah windows at us - I wondered if he had been sat in the onsen all night when no-one was looking!

And then the food! Japanese traditional food delicious kaiseki ryori using fresh local and

seasonal ingredients. Breakfasts were a revelation - the Shikisai makes a nod towards 'western' comfort (although all the guests were Japanese, we saw very few westerners throughout our stay in Japan) and we ate in the restaurant at 'high' tables.

Dish after dish arrived each one small but beautifully presented, the usual ume plum pickles, miso soup, Japanese tea, rice, slices of raw fish, various dried seaweeds, wasabi, little bouquets of vegetables, mountain mushrooms freshly picked from the woods, soya bean curd, rolled omelette and other dishes bearing no resemblance in taste or texture to anything I'd eaten before. And then little burners bought to the table cooking individual small pans containing ham and eggs. Everything so fresh and pure of taste that you could fill yourself and still be bounding with energy- none of that sleepy stodgy feeling a 'full English' breakfast invariably produces.

Dinner! Don't ask me what we ate - so many fabulous courses, so many never before encountered flavours, each a feast for the eyes

We were sad to leave the Shikisai but we drove on to our next destination a couple of hundred miles into the Japanese Alps stopping only at a motorway services for a rather strange curry doughnut which was very much going from the sublime to the ridiculous foodwise.

Our next ryokan was at Takeyama - mentioned in my earlier blog about street food. This ryokan was one of the old merchant houses of the town. As we entered dragging our enormous suitcases I made the usual mistake of stepping into the interior with shoes on - in my excitement I had somehow missed the big clue of various footwear all neatly lined up before the step. The Bedsock hauled me back just in time and we padded into the reception in our socks to be greeted by the owner, a tiny, steely-eyed, old lady who would have made a good Bond villainess. As we checked in, two equally tiny, kimono-clad, elderly ladies appeared and started to try and lug my enormous suitcase up onto a trolley. I'm not joking, the case was bigger than the ladies! Shocked at the sight of these poor, dainty little grannies trying to move the heavy case the Bedsock started to insist we would do it ourselves. This ended in something of a tug-of-war - no way were they going to let us carry our own luggage. Eventually, unable to bear the sight of these fragile looking women carrying the case on their backs up the stairs, we ran off and left them to it.

At this ryokan meals were served in our room - again a traditional feast of local delicacies, sansai (mountain vegetables), marvellously marbled and tasty beef on the special burners, wasakana local river fish, we were becoming experts at using the chopsticks to dissect bony fish and also identifying the subtly different taste of the local sake we washed the meals down with.

The onsen at this ryokan was smaller and busier with no roten-buro but it was still delightful. We spent some time sampling baths and various large pots to sit in fed by streams of hot water from bamboo pipes.

Then on to Lamp No Yado hidden away in a normally tranquil rocky cove at the end of the Noto Peninsula.

Lamp No Yado - the black roofs and architecture reflecting that of the local fishing villages

I saw a picture of this ryokan on the Inside Japan website and immediately knew we must go to Japan just to stay there. We arrived in howling gales and driving rain to find the sea crashing over the rocks in front of the inn and splashing back from the infinity pool that separated our rooms from the tidal maelstrom.

Our accommodation was over two floors with sleeping mats upstairs and the usual low table and minimalist decor downstairs. The only problem with this beautiful room was the pristine perfection of it - this was no place to leave one's knickers strewn* across the floor or a trail of paper tissues in my wake (as per usual). In fact I invariably manage to make a room look messy just by being in it! We stored all our luggage in hidden cupboards built into the walls but were eventually defeated by the low chairs and pulled various spare mattresses, duvets and pillows out of a cupboard to make a comfy but untidy nest on the floor by the glass doors where, for once on this holiday, we had chance to rest and relax, mesmerised by the wind and waves howling onto our terrace.

And wonder of wonders - our own private hot tub adjoined to the room opening right out onto the foaming seas! I spent ages sat in the tub watching the waves crash so close by the spray came in through the open window.
At night the tub lit up through the crystal clear waters of the local hot spring that Lamp no Yado is famous for.

This ryokan's female onsen took the form of an outdoor pool in a cave and indoor rock pool. The cave pool looked directly out to sea with the gales howling into it - a strange and exhilerating experience to be sat alone in the pool with a bitter wind whipping around the parts of my body not covered by the protective warmth of the water. The Bedsock fared less well as the outdoor pool of the men's onsen was completely open to the elements and the driving rain eventually forced him back into the interior rock pool.

And at last the Bedsock and I got to bathe together in the lovely private bath house hovering over the infinity pool (sadly too cold to use in the winter season) which the Bedsock and I reserved for an hour to ourselves.

We managed to tear ourselves away from the various baths just long enough to eat in a private dining room in the main building.

The lamp lit Corridor of Dreams outside our room

By this time we had eaten so much raw fish in Japan that we thought we couldn't be so greatly enthused again - but we had not reckoned on the meal at Lamp no Yado! A fantastic banquet of seafood including snow crab,

sashimi of various exotic fish,

raw shellfish of a variety of kinds plus the myriad beautiful little dishes of vegetables, pickles, assorted kelp and other delicacies that we couldn't give a name to.

We ate everything revelling in the new taste and texture sensations, everything except for some jelly type stuff with black flecks in it which looked and tasted more than a bit odd (but I couldn't tell you why) and some roe-type part of a fish which had the texture of a very lightly coddled egg and reminded me of a fishy version of brains which I don't like either. Perhaps it was the 'amputee ovary' listed on the Lamp-no-Yado's website menu which we feel might have lost something in translation.

We moved on to Kyoto staying in a lovely modern hotel but sadly no onsen. We were thankful that our last proper holiday night before the journey back to Tokyo and flight home was booked at another fabulous ryokan the Gora Tensui at Hakone. Hakone is a busy tourist area high in the volcanic mountains near Mount Fuji and there is much to do and see up there. But by this time the Socks had done enough and forewent sightseeing for the joys of onsen at the ryokan.

After an incredibly effusive welcome from the ryokan staff we were invited to sit at a bar for free drinks whilst bathing our feet in a stream of hot spring water running beneath it. Then taken to our room with its hot tub on the large balcony. As was usual in Japan their exceptional politeness demands that hotel staff spend a lot of time bowing to you and do not stop bowing until you have disappeared out of view. This can sometimes be disconcerting and quite tiring as you have to bow back - at the Gora Tensui the kimono clad receptionist saw us to the lift and bowed at us until the doors closed which could take some time. One time, out of curiousity, I pressed the button to re-open the lift doors to see if she was still there bowing and indeed she was!!! We had to go through the whole bowing ceremony again until thankfully the doors finally closed and we escaped.

The food at the Gora Tensui was remarkable. Every time we felt that Japanese cuisine could no longer surprise us it came up with another feast for the senses. No photos of this one but a copy of the menu which describes the various courses, each based on a different cooking method. (clic on it to enlarge)

The Gora Tensui offered several different onsen and we tried them all including a relaxing hour laid out on hot stone slabs. We spent our last morning in Japan bathing together in another roten-buro with views across to the Autumn clad mountain forests.

I had to make the most of it - we only have a shower at home, no bath!!!!

* People divide into two groups - those who toss their clothes onto the floor when disrobing and those who neatly hang, fold or place them in washing basket in an anally retentive manner. Sadly the Socks are divided on this issue.

The Magic of Moss - a visit to Saiho-ji garden in Kyoto

2011-12-22T15:04:00.002Z

Hello and Merry Christmas to old and new visitors to my bloggywog! I'm not bored with blogging about my Japanese hols yet and in any event there is nothing of any amusement to be had on the Gardening TV front at this time of year. Normal service may be resumed in the New Year.

But for now, boys and girls, I am going to tell you about some Kyoto gardens we visited. Don't worry there are not too many words and lots of pictures.

When I planned our holiday with the marvellous Inside Japan Tours I explained that I was very keen to see some of Japan's great gardens. They came back to me with the idea of visiting the famous Saiho-Ji Temple Moss Garden in Kyoto but there was a catch... because in the past zillions of people tramping around had destroyed the moss visitors now had to prove their worthiness by booking in advance, paying a huge entrance fee (over £30 per person) and spending two hours in the temple doing zen buddhist chanting and copying scripts/sutras before being allowed in the garden! Obviously we just had to go - apart from anything else the idea of a couple of hours chanting and calligraphy sounded quite charming and an antidote to the rushing around we were likely to be doing on the rest of our tour. So armed with pre-paid permits and brushes provided for us by Inside Japan Tours we arrived at Saiho-Ji, removed our shoes at the entrance porch (as ever) slipping into the provided sandals and made our way into the temple. This is where we made a wrong call - asked whether we wanted to sit inside the temple where all the Japanese were kneeling at low desks, or outside on the verandah with proper chairs, we opted for the latter to save ourselves from likely leg cramps.

The main temple with our chairs and tables on verandah to the left

Disappointingly those of us outside, which seemed to consist of the old, the infirm and a couple of foreigners, didn't get to use our brushes and ink to copy the sutras but were instead provided with felt pens and lines of scripts for us to copy or trace.

This didn't seem like it was going to be so much fun for two hours but things improved when the buddhist monks started their chanting which sounded exactly like Plastic Betrand's 'Ca Plane Pour moi'. I sang along the words to this for a while until it got faster and faster and the few lyrics I knew ran out. After that I started chanting counting down backwards from a hundred - a test I occasionally do to check I don't have Alzheimer's and that the Bedsock's pronouncement that I forget things because I don't concentrate is correct. That having been said I've had OldMaSock count down from a hundred several times, she always manages to do it and as we all know OldMaSock is more than a tad demented.

After about forty minutes of copying and chanting a monk approached and told a family with howling baby they could go. This was fine but then an elderly couple near us suddenly scarpered as well and you could feel everyone on the verandah was thinking "Well if they're off perhaps we should go too before the garden gets crowded!" So it was on this account that the Socks threw down their pens, handed in their sutra (which the monks keep and pray over) and quickly retrieved their shoes, making a hasty exit before the whole mob singing Ca Plan Pour Moi inside the temple emerged.

And so into the moss garden. What can you say? It was beautiful, enchanting and more than a bit mossy.

Detail Chelsea Moss Garden

I hadn't been sure what to expect, perhaps more sculpted forms of moss and stones as used in Ishihara Kazuyuki's Japanese Moss Garden at the Chelsea Flower Show in 2010.

What we found was that the entire ground of the garden was covered in pillowing moss of more than 120 different kinds.

It certainly produced an exquisite effect although apparently the moss is at its best in the spring.

The fabulous acers were at their most magnificent though, lighting up the scene with their vibrant colours.

The pond is shaped like the Japanese character for 'heart' or 'mind'

This was our main reason for travelling in November in the hope of seeing the famous autumn colours. We were still a little early as Japan, like Europe, has experienced a warmer autumn than usual, lacking a hard frost in Kyoto which gives the most spectacular turning leaf colours.

An artfully placed boat to complete this scene..

I loved the splash of such intense leaf colour above the velvet green of the moss. I have looked at pictures of the garden in other seasons and without the vibrant reds and yellows of the Japanese maples the garden seems to descend too far into a sea of immeasurable green.

This lovely tree graced the temple courtyard, it looked like it was sprinkled with silver magic - a Japanese Singing Ringing tree. Does anyone know what it is?

We felt privileged to have been allowed to visit this garden and it was worth the time and money spent particularly as the rules for entrance cut down the crowds and made it very quiet and peaceful.

Three weeks without chocolate - a Japanese food fest

2011-12-14T19:26:00.002Z

Posh shop selling replica food

Can you imagine a diet composed mainly of fish and rice with no chocolate, no dairy, no red wine and no bread? Neither could I but three weeks in Japan showed me that not only was it possible but I felt a load healthier, more energetic and thoroughly enjoyed it. We were lucky that quite a few of our meals were sumptuous traditional feasts at the ryokans we stayed at which I will blog about later but the quality and range of street and market food was quite fantastic too and with the opportunity of free tastings almost everywhere - OldmaSock would have been in her element! The only problem in cafés and restaurant was choosing from extensive menus in Japanese BUT there is a way around this - the ubiquitous plastic food replicas!

Most cafés and cheaper food establishments will have a display case outside where you can point out the meal you want!

Unfortunately some of them don't look so appetizing close up!

Whole rows of shops dedicated to selling snacks of different sorts of freshly made biscuits

and various forms of rice crackers - many of which sounded nicer than they tasted.

Our favourite outdoor market was in the lovely town of Takeyama in the Japanese Alps.

Market stalls ran along the side of the river selling local fresh vegetables, home-made pickles and spices. The lady below is mixing spices according to customers requirements these include hemp seeds, dried mandarin orange peel, black sesame seeds and Japanese sancho pepper..

You can never have too much fish-on-a-stick

You could sample all these jars of goodies - so we did and came away with some fabulous wasabi coated nuts, some cranberry coloured things of unknown origin which were yummy and some mixed nuts with what turned out to be dried fishy bits in with them which were yuck and tasted like some cat treats I once accidentally ate!

Didn't really understand what this was supposed to be - possibly marshmallow

but as usual we tried one anyway and whatever it was it was rather good...

the only grumpy Japanese person we met in three weeks was Mrs. Dumplings - after we'd been stood around salivating for a while she informed us they wouldn't be ready for half and hour! We eventually tried some of these in Kyoto and whilst I thought they were no great shakes the Bedsock felt they could become quite addictive..

this guy was cutting his roll so fast that a crowd gathered in the expectation he would slice off a finger..

Takeyama has streets of old merchant's houses some of which now house sake breweries. We didn't have time for the brewery tours but I sampled a fridge full of sakes all of which were quite different to each other and for the most part very good - except for the one that was mixed with yoghurt (a Japanese version of Bailey's?) which tasted like rancid milk vomit.

Wherever there was a queue of people we knew fab food would be at the end of it and one of the best was a piece of sushi with kobe beef on top that was to die for! No photo as we wolfed it down too quickly.

We move on to Kyoto where Nishiki food market

was enough to make the Bedsock cry with frustration that the packed pickles wouldn't make the journey home..

but he did buy himself an expensive knife to cheer himself up

and they inscribed his name on it (at least they said it was his name)!!!

More fish!!

You can't have too much octopus

particularly when it is on a stick!

Barrels of beautiful veg we watched them pack in some paste preserve

We came home having cast off our chocolate and cheese addictions and desiring only sake and plum wine. This hasn't lasted, although we do now have a craving for pickles and raw fish that is never going to be satisfied.

Wasabis-R-Us

2011-12-09T13:43:00.002Z

Matsoumoto Castle

The Socks have long been wasabi addicts so when we spotted "Wasabi Farm visit" in our guide book with the possibility of sampling wasabi beer, wasabi ice cream and noodles in hot wasabi sauce, we knew it was the place for us.

Daio Wasabi farm is just outside Matsumoto a rather attractive town in the Japanese Alps with a very interesting castle and an extremely good yakitori bar where everyone shouts "Hooray" when a new customer comes in. Actually, it sounded like "hooray" but it could have been anything - either way after a few sakes the Socks joined in the custom with gusto.

From the guidebook description the Sock's had imagined the Wasabi Farm to be a small, family concern with a homely restaurant serving a Japanese version of Mamma's home cooking. The reality, as so often happened in Japan, was somewhat different - an enormous car park and the Japanese equivalent of Wasabis-R-Us greeted us. Lord Sugar would have been proud of this farm, every possibility of 'adding value' to the product had been exploited with shops and cafes offering everything from wasabi coated nuts (yum!) to wasabi flavoured cake (not so yum!).

Wasabi roots all ready to grate - the best way to buy it

Away from the usual maddening crowd milling around the facilities the wasabi fields themselves were quiet and beautiful with their pure flowing water and distant backdrop of the snow-tipped Alps.

Young wasabi shoots growing in stream bed

We saw this and thought of triple GMG Award Winner Mark Diacono (pictured on the link with his Movember moustache) and wondered whether at last we might have found something he wasn't growing on his climate change farm. No such chance - Mark admits to attempting to grow a wasabi or two but with no great success. He's missing a trick - here's how it's done.

Mature wasabi plantation

The science bit... Wasabi is an indigenous herb of Japan and mainly cultivated in cool plateau regions where the spring water is under neutral conditions. The temperature of the water of Daio Wasabi Farm is kept 13℃ all year. Wasabi root is often grated and eaten as spice. It provides excellent mild flavor to Japanese cuisine. It's flowers, leaves, and stems are eaten in various styles such as tempura, boiled with soy sauce and sugar, cooked with rice, etc. Simples!

A river of wasabi

The Socks impulse bought a load of wasabi themed products including a wasabi burger and the really rather good wasabi ice-cream (rather bad photo of it) plus souvenirs of wasabi croutons, wasabi and seaweed seasoning, wasabi miso and various other stuff that seemed like a good idea at the time but now we actually have no idea what it is.

Exploiting your product is clearly the way forward and we thought of our friends Sean and Jooles at Heucheraholics. Inspired by the fabulous foodie names given to heucheras we envisaged a "Send a gift" service incorporating a heuchera with a couple of cupcakes in matching flavours, Plum Pudding, Creme Caramel, Sticky Toffee Pudding etc. Even heuchera 'Fire Chief' could be presented by a Fireman-O-Gram - the scope for added value is endless.

Sadly the one product we really wanted to buy wasabi-wise was some top quality paste or powder. This didn't seem to exist in Japan - perhaps they are purists and only use the real raw grated root.

So until Mark Diacono figures out how to make Otter Farm the Wasabi Centre of Devon we will have to make do with the second rate wasabi powder products we can buy here.

Kenruoken - the perfect type of a perfect pleasure

2011-12-05T12:59:00.007Z

We are a week into our holiday and have yet to visit a garden which is odd for a holiday conceived with just that activity in mind. Jetlag oversleep robbed us of an early morning visit to the famous fish market in Tokyo and our attempt to re-coup the day with a plan change wander around the Imperial Gardens was foiled when we arrived just as it was closing at a 4.00pm dusk. Imperial Gardens fail was a happy accident as we fell into a nearby sake bar and began our odyssey into the joys of rice wine then followed it with a fabulous tempura meal, sublimely fresh, delicate and delicious.

Since then every day has overflowed with new sights, new tastes, new experiences. For everywhere we visit we miss ten other places that we would dearly love to have seen. But that is Japan - too much of everything and so much choice one feels continually overwhelmed.

Today's garden is Kenruoken one of the top three in Japan. It is what's known as a 'stroll' garden and the name means "Garden of the Six Sublimities" encompassing the six attributes of a perfect Japanese landscape garden: spaciousness, seclusion, artifice, antiquity, watercourse and panoramas. As usual we have been up since the 'crackov' our bodies obligingly re-setting themselves to early morning rising in order to beat the ubiquitous and annoying, milling crowds. And boy how the Japanese mill! Herding behind some raucous guide and stopping only to take photographs of themselves they never seem to take time to just stand, stare and absorb. In any Japanese garden the most difficult quality to find will be seclusion. Luckily the masses invariably take the well worn central pathways rarely going off-piste so with a bit of clever manoeuvring we can usually lose them. Despite our early get-up we have waited until some misty rain has cleared and arrive only just before the grouping guided tours. The sun is breaking through the clouds to creat a steamy warmth over the gardens as we race up the hill to the Kasumigaike Pond with the Kotojitoro Lantern and take our 'money shot' before the crowds arrive. (Clic on any pic to enlarge)

When I first looked at my holiday photos I felt disappointment at my failure to capture the moment when such excitement rose up in me that I was lost in the breathtaking beauty of it. Perhaps it is not just my lack of camera skill and more the impossibility of recreating the balance where every tree, every sculpture, every curve of the mossy bank of the lake has been so precisely placed to create the perfect scene.

The Bedsock is also entranced but feels that the rope sculpture over the trees, whilst unusual, is an unnecessary enhancement. And then we realise - this is no sculpture but another example of the Japanese custom of perfect packaging, where everything from fabulous food to kimono clad women is beautifully wrapped and presented.

The trees are having their branches supported to prevent breakage under the load of heavy winter snow Kanazawa is prone too. We later see this labour intensive activity all around the town as even the humblest of street trees acquires its attractive winter over wear.

We wander on, escaping the hoarse cawing of the tour guides coming up behind us. The attribute the garden misses in its six sublimities is "Peace and Quiet". On our travels we have found that the one thing Japanese don't seem to enjoy is silence and in a garden, that one would feel should be given over to harmony and reflection, the noise seems harshly out of place.

We wander on and soon leave the hordes of people posing for photographs behind - in fact we now have some parts of the garden entirely to ourselves. My excitement levels haven't dropped and as usual in Japan my only worry is that by focussing on one scene I am missing the beauty of another. Everywhere I turn it is quite magical. And so pristine - in pursuit of perfection Japanese workers are actually sweeping the stream!

In Spring the sweeping will remove the fallen blossom from the cherry trees lining the banks..

And every fallen leaf must be removed!

Down to the plum grove and another place of such beauty I want to cry. I love the outline of the trees, I love the sprinkle of autumn colours over the myriad greenness of the scene. I love the soft, soothing flow of the stream..

the brilliance of the butterfly

even the spiders come perfectly packaged!

Of course, as we all understand, no visit to a garden is complete without partaking of refreshments and at Kenrokuen the traditional tea house comes complete with kimono clad ladies serving us green tea and some strange little sweetmeats whilst we kneel on the tatami mats. The usual elegant and ordered ceremony of bowing and placing of provisions takes place whilst the Bedsock and I ponder on whether we will ever regain the feeling in our cramped knees. Men may sit cross-legged or kneel whilst women may kneel or observe the mermaid position - all of which are exceedingly uncomfortable for our Western limbs although we are gradually becoming more used to it.

An instructive tea ceremony we attended at the En Tea House in Kyoto

Our visit is nearly over and all that remains to do is sit on the tea house verandah and contemplate the shady pool

and see the oldest fountain in Japan.

As we leave I already feel bereft, I want to see Kenruoken cloaked in the Winter snow, in the Spring with the plum and cherries flowering and a river of blue irises running alongside the stream, in the blowsy leaf-filled summer shaded from the heat. Most of all I just want to see Kenruoken again.

Oscar Wilde wrote "a cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure. It is exquisite yet leaves one unsatisfied. What more can one want?" This is how I feel about Kenruoken.

_________________________________

Our tour was planned by me and organised by the excellent Inside Japan Tours without whose ideas and knowledge it would never have happened

Lifting the lid on Japanese toilets

2011-12-01T10:45:00.002Z

Have I ever mentioned before how one simple thing would hugely improve my life? A toilet that actually flushes properly and doesn't leave you staring down the bowl for the next ten minutes ensuring nothing has popped back round the U-bend and waiting for the cistern to refill enough to reflush. A toilet that doesn't require several buckets full of water lobbed down it every few months to clear the expensive blockage of built up debris the feeble flush hasn't shifted. In short a proper toilet like we used to have in the old days before Eco-toilets were forced on us.

Economy model featuring temperature adjustment and two different spray functions

And so this brings me to the ultimate toilet... the Japanese toilet.. complete with a minimum of three different orifice sprays, (as in three different sprays not three different orifices - although you never know) heated bog seat and a flush enough to whisk away the most defiant of debris.

Obviously at first we showed the natural British reticence when confronted with anything remotely resembling a bidet. But soon the warmth of the seat (which normally one would treat with the slight repugnance of knowing it had only just been vacated) became quite relaxing. By the time we had reached our second hotel I had tested out a few of the sprays - just for research purposes obviously. At the third hotel the sound of laughter coming from the toilet room assured me that the Bedsock was joining in the research process too. It took a while to realise the optimum position to sit in order to achieve a full 'wall of water' spray in the correct location - Japanese bottoms are doubtless (like most things Japanese) more compact than British ones.

Mid-range model with 3 sprays (never did really get the difference between first two options)

The toilet seats come with their own control panels and, more worryingly, sometimes a notice saying beware electrocution! As the instructions were almost invariably in Japanese it took a while to work out what all the various controls did resulting in a rather hot bottom when I turned the heating controls up too far.


Super deluxe all singing and dancing option but I couldn't work out which was the flush!

The more luxurious the accommodation we stayed in, the better the bog seat. We were vastly taken with the one at our final ryokan which opened its lid when you entered the room and played soothing music. Less so with a previous one which without being asked, played crashing wave music every time I performed my ablutions but studiously avoided doing so for the Bedsock!

Clearly these are not toilets that you would want to share with others without some provenance of them being thoroughly cleaned prior to use so we were amazed to find that even the most humble of motorway stations had public toilets with these capabilities. As someone who either spends ten minutes lining any public bog seat with paper prior to ablutions and has perfected the art of hovering high above, the idea of using these was a step too far. Perhaps it is different for the Japanese - their obsession for pefectly packaging and presenting everything may give some truth to a phrase that passed for wit in my teenage years "X is so perfect their shit comes out pre-wrapped in plastic".

But unfortunately whilst suffering from toilet envy we must take into account the ecological unsoundness of Japanese toilets. Apparently Japan has closed most of its nuclear reactors and my understanding is that it has been able to do this because people are using less electricity in their homes. Unplug a few heated bog seats and another nuclear reactor could be shut down.

Sadly, knowing I am doing my bit to save the world doesn't make me feel any better about my own toilet's failure to flush and I am already missing the 'bidet' setting on the hot seat.

Turning Japanese

2011-11-03T10:17:00.001Z

Where do you think the best holiday destination would be for someone who is phobic (in varying degrees) about the following..

Flying
High rise buildings
Crowds
Trains
Earthquakes

You guessed correctly we are off to Japan for a few weeks.

After last years disappointing cancellation of our planned trip to South Africa, we decided to keep that holiday plan on hold for a year and go for somewhere more alien and culturally different to us. My ME precludes a lot of the more exotic holiday destinations as I can't have various vaccinations or take malaria pills so Japan seemed like a good choice. The Bedsock has always been interested in the culinary aspects of Japan with its interesting food and amazing markets and I'm sold on the onsens (hot springs) and gardens. The more I researched a visit to Japan the more excited I became, so two weeks before the earthquake earlier this year I booked the flights. It has to be said that after the earthquake I would probably have steered clear of this destination for a while - I once spent an entire holiday in Sicily avoiding sitting under balconies with plant pots on them.. just in case.. But the Bedsock was adamant we should go and approaches the idea of an earthquake (Japan is prone to small tremors at the best of times) with the kind of chivvying faux jollity OldMaSock exuded when I started my very first period. "How exciting" she cooed, having read in Woman's Own that this sensitive situation should be approached in said manner. "How dreadful!" I thought, with a premonition of a life times monthly pain, mood swings and inconvenience flashing in front of me.

So the Bedsock thinks it is all very exciting and I shall remind him of this when we are jetlagged, high up in a highrise hotel swaying slightly from side to side. However, if I let all my various fears and phobias take control I would never leave the house, so with home/cat sitter arranged, garden wrapped up for the winter, and an array of clothing packed for every climatic eventuality, we are off on Saturday.

I love organising holidays, particularly now so much information can be accessed and hotels booked on the internet etc. but this time I relinquished control to a travel company Inside Japan Tours whose website and brochures inspired me to plan this visit. I came up with a rough travel itinerary and they advised on the best ways to do it and booked everything for us, their local knowledge and expertise proving invaluable particularly for some of the garden tours which needed to be booked in advance. Our tour starts with three nights in Tokyo, car hire for a week taking in the temples at Nikko, castle at Matsumoto, old town of Takayama, gardens at Kanazawa, and the scenic Noto peninsula. Then bullet train to Kyoto for a week of markets, gardens, temples, tea ceremonies and an evening with a Geisha, before returning to Tokyo stopping off at a fabulous ryokan on the way. We have tried to ensure a mix of Western-style accomodation and beautiful traditional Japanese inns (ryokan) where we will sleep on tatami mattresses and bathe in their private onsen. Our visit is timed for the autumn leaves which (touch wood) should be in their full glory.

One of the things I have found since reading up on Japan is their predilection for themed parks. This is really not our kind of thing. I tried to find a 'genuine' ninja demonstration for the Bedsock (who used to do Ninja martial arts classes when we first met) but could only come up with a themed Ninja castle with multiple trap-doors and the possibility of fluorescent coloured lycra clad Ninja jumping out on us! Not really what we had in mind although, on reflection, it sounds quite fun. Nevertheless one of our stays is by a beautiful lake which has themed 'pirate' ships on it and I think we must embrace this aspect as we would embrace the more traditional parts of Japanese culture.

The Kitten Diaries - Spook Locating

2011-10-28T15:33:00.009+01:00

Hebe and Spook

It's been a year since I last wrote a Kitten Diaries blog. Shortly after posting my last one I met a lovely lady GardenLife at Rob's shoppiwop who told me she was such a great fan of my kittens she had adopted a couple herself! I hope she is still as enamoured of them one year on - mine have quite literally driven me crazy! More of that later. First I must establish my cat credentials and tell you about our first ones, Binki and Wumpuss, just to show that I haven't always been such a neurotic.

Binki

Never, ever get your partner a surprise cat!

The Bedsock knew I was from a cat loving family and eventually wanted one of my own. Shortly after we moved into our house together I arrived home, tired and stressed from work, to find a gangly, black and white kitten with chewed ears, waiting for me. I felt like one of those poor teenage girls who think they have put on a few pounds and then go to the toilet and give birth! This wasn't just a kitten, this was a new dependant to curtail our freedom! Another mouth to feed and worry over, to take to the vets with their expensive bills, ruin the furniture, fill the house with moulted fur and mean I would never be able to just 'wash and go' on holiday again. The Bedsock saw a kitten, I saw a lifetime of responsibilities! Worse than that it looked a bit scruffy, a far cry from the plush, pedigree, pampered, puss cat that I had imagined. I told the Bedsock it had to go and stomped off round to a friends house to drown my sorrows.

Despite the Bedsock's promise to take it round to the friend who had said she would have it in the 'unlikely' event I wasn't won over - the cat was still there the next evening having spent the day bonding with the Bedsock in his study. The friend was 'apparently' away so the cat was reprieved but I was adamant it must go as soon as possible. Next day, whilst I was at work, the kitten and Bedsock hatched a plan. When I arrived home I found the kitten in the kitchen curled up sweetly in the wok, waking up to cast its eyes beseechingly at me..

We came to love Binki's bitten down ears which may have been snipped off by someone or nibbled by his mother. They made him look like a teddy bear. Binki was a 'proper' cat allowed complete freedom to roam around outside and come and go through the cat-flap. However, he was very sociable and liked to be around people although some of his games were a bit on the rough side. He was always totally bonded with the Bedsock whom he loved with a fierce loyalty, sitting next to him in his chair with an attitude that declared his ownership - boys together.

Binki was adored by us for sixteen years and I will never forget how when my father died and I was sitting in the garden grieving, he wandered over and laid his head on my knee in a loving gesture of support.

Wumpuss

Wumpuss was a different animal altogether. A soft little pedigree British Blue and Cream Shorthair she was more my idea of a cuddle cat. Named after one of the earliest computer games 'Hunt the Wumpuss' (a text based program in which you moved through dark tunnels pursuing the hairy monster with the option to shoot bent arrows when the caption 'I smell a Wumpuss' came up) she was a very pretty and affectionate indoor cat. Wumpuss only braved the garden in the summer warmth and would huddle horrified against the patio doors if she was forced to endure the slightest breeze or rain. She combined an anxious and nervy personality with being a right little madam intent on always having her own way- which obviously she got. Wumpuss disliked strangers in her house and once when OldMaSock was visiting emerged from her hiding place and stood outside OldmaSock's bedroom bellowing loudly in protest for the entire night (a sentiment I could easily forgive her for!).

Wumpuss would follow me down the stairs first thing in the morning, holding the hem of my dressing gown between her teeth, a little furry bridesmaid. Every time I showered she would appear outside of the bathroom ready to jump into my arms, absorb my warmth and re-imprint her soft, musky, smell on me.

_____________________________

After Wumpuss died also at the age of sixteen we adopted Silver 'Spottie' Shorthairs brother and sister Hebe and Luka. Luka - how I absolutely and completely adored him. All our cats have been much loved but for me Luka was special. I am still not over his tragic death on the road two years ago and it is this which colours much of my life and growing neuroticism. I think about him every day and how every time I looked at his sweet, gentle, face it filled me with love and happiness. But life must go on and the gaping void he left was filled with the irrepressible Spook.

_________________________________

Hebe

Before we get to Spook and his many misdemeanours (even as I write he is in the third disgrace of the last twenty four hours and just now got himself stung by a bee) you must know about sweet HebeBeeble. More reticent and wary than her brother Luka she is permanently in 'alert mode', ready to spring into the air with alarm at nothing, scrabbling at anything within reach. She practices her panic reactions daily, just so she knows what to do should a real crisis set in. She will suddenly charge in from the garden, hurtling down the hallway her claws scratching along the expensive cherrywood flooring, then bounce off the walls in the living room like something out of The Matrix. If the 'alert button' goes off when you are cuddling her some injury will be incurred - otherwise its just the furniture ruined as her sudden actions usually sets Spook off into the same frenzied panic.

Hebe in the knicker drawer

Hebe likes to hide. She hides at the back of my wardrobe rubbing her fur over the hems of my hanging winter coats. Most of all she likes to make a nest in my knicker drawer ensuring that if I forget to entirely close the drawer I will be wearing hairy pants for the next week.

Hebe likes to sleep next to me but before she curls up on top of the duvet, against my tummy or the small of my back, she has to perform a few incantations. First she twists her body around in a circle two times clockwise, then anti-clockwise until she is sure she has fended away the bad spirits. Then she grabs my wrist in her paws and pulls my hand underneath her.. because the best thing in the whole world for Hebe is to sleep on the hand. This is both incredibly endearing and horribly uncomfortable. I let her have the hand for as long as I can stand it, wait until she is snoring loudly and then gently slide it out from under her only to wake-up later and find that I have not been paralysed in my sleep, it is just Hebebeebie on the hand again.

Spook

Spook a picture of innocence (don't be fooled) in the snow

And so we come to little Spookywookums. In fact he is now slightly bigger then Hebe but still seems like an incredibly naughty child. All Spook wants out of life is to eat as much as possible, to 'spook' Hebe by jumping out on her from his hiding places and various other forms of slightly violent play activities, or to be outside away from my ever watchful eye. Whilst Hebe is happy to stay close to home, Spook is off, over the wall and up the gardens... and this is where my problems start.

A normal day in Spook's life starts when I open the bedroom door (which he has been leaning against for the last hour in anticipation) and he topples onto my feet. Spook is at his sweetest now - although it has to be said the reason he is on the outside of the bedroom door is that he would otherwise spend the night attacking my feet and trying to push Hebe off the bed. I pick up him up and we have our first (and possibly only) cuddle of the day. He sits on my lap, totally floppy with his soft, silky back against me, my arm around his tummy and he lifts his head up to nuzzle under my chin which he then gives a nip with his little sharp teeth. This is Spooklove.

Spook enjoying a stretch on the rockery

Spooklove doesn't last long as the need for breakfast occupies him pestering for the next thirty minutes and jumping up into the fridge when I reach in to get the milk for my first tea of the day. When he has scoffed all his own and half of Hebe's breakfast Spook wants to be outside and this is where my problems start. Every time he is out of sight I imagine that he is wandering down the side passage of the semi-detached terraced houses behind us and onto the road where Luka died. To find out whether he is not straying too far from home Spook wears a little transmitter on his collar. When I turn the base unit on and press "Locate" it starts to beep when it has found the signal and gives an idea of the direction and distance he is from home. This reassures me that he is close by but it only works for a few hundred yards.

Spook locator

As soon as Spook goes 'off radar' I start to get panicky and obsessively check the locator every few minutes. Gone for longer than an hour and I will go out and check the next road re-living the moment I found Luka's body there. I go into a state of extreme anxiety screeching his name up the gardens and clanking his food bowls together in the hope he is tempted back for a treat. Spook gets lots of treats this way. Whilst he is gone I am terrified the phone will ring with a message of bad news - I am now phone phobic. I know this behaviour is ridiculous and I can't go on with it but I don't know how to stop. The situation isn't fair on either me or Spook. He is never allowed out at night so is always desperate to go out to play in the daytime, even in the rain. He will mope endlessly by the patio doors waiting to go out or show his dissatisfaction at being trapped indoors by annoying Hebe, or worse, pissing somewhere inappropriate despite having a clean litter tray. But the only way I can feel relaxed and get on with stuff is if he stays in where I know he is safe. My neuroticism hasn't been helped this year by the two families of foxes living in close vicinity. Whilst so far they don't seem to bother Spook who could easily outrun one, I worry what might happen if several hungry foxes cornered him. Then there is the building work on the house behind me where the lovely mature garden, with borders and shrubs providing perfect play cover for the cats, has been entirely ripped out by the new owner and the side-passage gate left permanently ajar, an open enticement for Spook to wander straight out towards the road. I know I can't control his outdoor environment and his natural cat curiousity but I wish there weren't so many temptations open to him.

Spook about to push Hebe in the pondlet

Three days ago Spook disappeared off radar for the entire afternoon. I know most of you cat-owners are thinking "so what" but this was unusual behaviour by Spook-standards. After several hours of anxiety I finally walked up the front of our terraced row with the Spook locator on. Four houses up it picked up a strong signal appearing to come from inside the house. I went to ring the doorbell and as I looked through the glassed door there was Spook dancing around in their hallway! As my finger hit the door bell he stared at me with an even more astonished expression than usual then scarpered out the back of their house, rocketing down our back garden a few moments later. The next day when he went off radar almost immediately after he was let out I went straight around with the locator. Sure enough, there he was, playing about in their living room happy as Larry until he caught sight of me glaring through the door then he gave a guilty start and shot off out of their cat-flap again! Exactly the same thing the next day. The owners seem to be away so I can't warn them that Spook is in there no doubt scoffing their timid cats food which goes some way to explain why Spook is getting so porky. Maybe I should be grateful he is safe enough in there but I feel that if he is not spending his time outside he should be in our house not theirs.

Perhaps Spook needs a cat-whisperer, perhaps I need a Sock-whisperer.. whatever.. this situation can't go on but at the moment I can't see a way out of it that keeps all of us happy.

Photographing Flowers - a class at Wisley

2011-10-21T11:44:00.001+01:00

At the end of September I went on a days Garden Photography Masterclass at RHS Wisley tutored by Clive Nichols garden photographer extraordinaire! My self-taught style of photography is the haphazard method I apply to most things in life, take as many photos as possible using various settings hoping some will turn out OK, then pick out the best and tune it up in Photoshop. This works reasonably well but I felt it might be good to have a clue what I was doing and put my fairly expensive camera to its best use instead of leaving everything on auto.

The day started with an interesting hour's talk and inspiring slide show of Clive's photos. I immediately realised my first mistake - the one lens I had thought about leaving at home was the one that was most suitable for landscape garden shots - my telephoto. A lot of my garden pictures would have worked better with a compressed perspective.

The group headed out to the borders where I wanted to practice with my macro lens. My second mistake is not to use the tripod enough as I am just too impatient to mess around with it preferring to just point and shoot. I really need to get more practice with the macro - I can never get the focus exactly wear I want it. I took a load of shots of this rose and although this was the best and I like the blurred green background the focus should have been more on the stamens.

I like the close up detail of the miscanthus (top picture on blog) and this to me is one of the joys of plant photography, you start to really see those tiny exquisite details of plants - but I did crop that out of a bigger picture.

The 'most photographed butterfly at Wisley' picture is a bit clichéd but nevertheless it is still lovely.
But do I prefer butterfly pic no 1. with its interesting pose

or butterfly pic no 2. with its smudged Monet background?

After a lunch of various nice sandwiches but sadly no Wisley Banana cake we took off for more photo practice at the Wisley trials bed.

Clive Nichols with one of the group

This is a part of Wisley I haven't visited before and it was here I made my big mistake! I was so carried away with excitement by the unexpected glory of the dahlias on trial, I took off on my own to photo them, rather than follow Clive Nichols round more closely and pick up hints and tips from the master.

I love this one of Dahlia 'Karma choc' it shows the metallic colouring and detail on the underside of the inner petals and reminds me of a pair of earrings I once had.

I finally got the tripod up and waited for the bee to come to me rather than vice versa - there were certainly enough of them around. I preferred this picture to some closer in on the bee as I find the smudgy inky background very pleasing.

The following pictures were really just quick snaps of the dahlias with no artistic merit other than the obvious charms of the dahlias themselves. I'm not convinced I would want any of these in my present garden although I did once have the Bishop of Llandaff ("Didn't we all dear").

I hadn't realised just how complex, vibrant and varied dahlias could be.

This flower caught my eye because of the out of place pink brush stroke on one petal

This for its intricacy

And these for their sheer exuberance!

Overall a fine day out, I thoroughly enjoyed myself, learnt a few new things and felt inspired to be more creative and thoughtful when photographing plants. I would have liked a session where each member of the class picked a photo they had taken and everyone discussed whether they liked it and how it could have been improved but that might not have fitted in with either the timing or the relaxed ethos of the day.

When Foraging becomes too Thrifty

2011-10-13T16:01:00.005+01:00

Three cliffs bay on the Gower

I am visiting Oldmasock who is a tad demented. She has been out foraging.. nicking a couple of heads off a neighbour's 'interesting' coloured hydrangea for her dried flower arrangement in the hall. Later, when I take her out shopping, she spots a poster outside the wine merchant's advertising 'Free tasting'. By the time I realise she is no longer standing next to me she is already sampling her second glass. "And my daughter will have a glass of the red" she announces to the startled young man serving her as I enter the shop. Too late to disown her completely I turn to him with big sad-dog eyes and say "I was adopted" by way of explanation. I knock back the proffered wine in one.

It makes me smile when people talk about foraging for food as if this was some new, exciting discovery. A rediscovery perhaps - but for me a glorious childhood was filled with frequent trips out onto the beautiful Gower Peninsula, an area burgeoning with free fish and food. I have previously written of our fishing trips, returning home with a booty of lobsters, crabs, prawns, mackerel, sole, bass, whitebait and more. No autumn day out complete without stopping to pick blackberries for jam, hazel nuts to nibble, rosehips for syrup, nettles for soup. My parents knew where the tastiest wild mushrooms grew on Oxwich head, the puffballs in the pinewoods near the sandy stretches of Llanmadoc, the wild damson tree my brother and I climbed to pick the tastiest plums from the top branches. Samphire, sorrel, sloes, all made their way into our baskets for baking and bottling.

But there was another side to this coin - OldMaSock's obsession with thrift. No new tube of toothpaste could be opened until the last one squeezed, rolled, cut open to scrape the last tiny morsel of paste onto your brush. No Heinz tomato sauce finished until the last splot tipped out and the bottle flushed with a small amount of milk leaving a thin, pinkish, liquid with floating globules of red clotted sauce to pool under the fish and chips. OldMaSock's favourite lunch out a Carvery in the days when you could return time and time again to the buffet to slice off pieces of turkey, ham or beef. Until the restaurants realised there were too many OldMaSocks around carving off turkey legs and sneaking them into their handbags for a later meal, the trophy turkey invariably tainted with the taste of the plastic bag it was sneaked out in.

And "Waste not Want Not"! A fine maxim if not carried too far where every single thing on the plate must be eaten. How many lumps of meat fat did I swallow whole to avoid chewing on the repulsive stuff. How many scraps of unwanted food ended up in the hankie on my lap, to be scrunched up and then flushed down the toilet when no-one was looking. I once told my astonished 6th form friends at Grammar School that I was still being force fed food... they didn't believe me until I produced from my pocket a tissue wrapped piece of congealed bacon fat not yet disposed of from that days breakfast.

I could write a book of tales of OldmaSock's obsession with saving food - and maybe one day I will. What started as thrifty foraging has gradually become worse over the years and is now a genuine OCD. Despite being quite well off OldmaSock is a miser refusing to spend money on herself or her needs. I always take meals on visits as her fridge is full of food scraps of indeterminate age which she refuses to part with. Luckily OldmaSock is still very active and goes to three different church lunch clubs during the week which ensures she is well fed. Each church club a different denomination - she changes her beliefs to fit the day - I have to hope she doesn't join the Jehovah's just for the lunches.

Whilst I am there we make a trip to Marks and Spencers so I can stock her freezer up with nice meals she can microwave to death (as she does all her meals, jumping up from the table several times throughout the meal to reheat the food). "Are there any free tastings here?" she asks an unwary assistant. I try to persuade her to buy some new clothes or let me buy them for her but she is horrified at the idea and won't have it.

Later my brother phones as requested with a list of tasks for me to take care of to ensure things run as smoothly as possible for our mother. The phone is on the hall and after a short time OldmaSock starts hovering around fretting. "You don't need to worry" I tell her, exasperated "BroSock is paying for the phone call!" She disappears but a chasm of anxiety is opening up inside me. I so hate it when she does this, a reminder of all those times she interrupted my chats to friends after two minutes. Or when I left home and she called me, setting an alarm clock next to her phone so that she could cut me off after the allocated five minutes. In the days before mobile phones I once rang her from a phone box on Hove seafront, the wind and rain howling round the booth as I poured out some sorry tale of boyfriend woe and misery.. just as I reached the climax of my angst the alarm went and she cut me off... my five minutes were up!

Now thirty years on you would think I'd be over it but I'm not and I never will be. As BroSock is telling me how to turn her heating to its winter setting I know she is hovering behind the lounge door, the doorhandle moving occasionally as she decides between the knowledge she will upset me and the need to stop the dreadful waste of money on the phone call. Finally she bursts onto the hall jumping up and down like an agitated monkey, jabbing at her watch in a frenzy and motioning me to put the phone down. "For God's sake you're not paying for the call" I snap. "You've been on for fifteen minutes" she retorts pettishly. "Yes fifteen minutes of discussing how best we can help you - I don't know how you can be so incredibly rude!" my voice is raised. "My house - my phone!" she snaps like a spoiled child. The ball of rage explodes in my head and I slam the phone down in mid-sentence. It's all I can do not to jump in my car and drive straight back to Brighton. I want to throttle her but manage to walk away until I have calmed down. When I do speak to her it is merely to gently say to the spoiled child "That really was very naughty of you - I am quite cross." The matter is dropped and I say no more - she won't remember the incident anyway as her short-term memory is shot to pieces and she is old and vulnerable now and there is no point being angry with her.

In some ways OldmaSock was an original Eco-champion, foraging off the land, recycling wherever possible, growing the food for her family. Much to be admired. But what started as a post-war cost consciousness and need to be thrifty has gradually over the years become an overwhelming necessity to economise.

Beware you thrifty foragers less you end up with the madness of OldmaSock!

Coveting Coveys

2011-10-06T11:43:00.003+01:00

At last! At last the Sock has made it on to the list of recipients of Simian Suter's quails eggs - an honour given to only a chosen few and one which the Sock has been coveting for some time. Simian's covey of quails are all called Anthony.. not a lot of people know that.

The handover took place at the RHS London Halls Autumn show and was witnessed by Lazy Trollop, Mich Wheeler who was doing her Amateur Gardening job thing, a bloke (pictured below) who looks nothing like either Toby Buckland or Rory Bremner (judge for yourselves)

and a lady who clearly didn't approve of the public passing of eggs.

The London shows in the lovely Lindley and Lawrence Halls are invariably full of people with an average age of 109 which makes the Sock feel quite young in comparison. This makes for a gracious and genteel atmosphere, compared with the rowdies you get at places like the Malvern Show. A lady joined the Sock and Trollop at their coffee table and soon engaged us in an interesting conversation which included the fact that Wisley used to have a 'Members only' opening day and it was a shame they didn't have that now because the place was always full of 'yummy mummies' meeting for lunch!
We became so effusive in our agreement with this point (well the Sock did, the LazyTrollop more reasonably pointed out that Wisley was big enough for everyone) that we were running late for Alys Fowler's talk on 'The Edible Garden'.

Alys' talk was fascinating and not a moment of the hour wasted with the Sock's usual wandering attention. It was a full room and possibly a difficult audience, many of whom had been around long enough to have their own well tried and tested ideas on growing. However, the talk was very well received, a testament to Alys' passion, knowledge and infectious enthusiasm. Unfortunately the Sock is now suffering from 'worm worry' as they are very few and far between in her garden.

The show itself was a bit strange the poetry reading and singing didn't seem to

exist in the same universe as the displays of large vegetables

and glorious baskets of produce

It did all have a fabulous autumnal feel to it though.

Don't know who these people are but they certainly seem to turn up everywhere!

A Sea of Immensurable Heucheras

2011-09-28T13:35:00.001+01:00

It's been a good year for the heucheras.. both those in my garden and for my friends Jooles and Sean at Heucheraholics who have reaped in the RHS riches of Silver Gilt at Chelsea, Gold at Hampton Court and Tatton and Best in Show at Wisley's recent Autumn Flower show. They've been mentioned on my bloggywog so much this year its beginning to look like the Sea of Immensurable Heucheras.

The Cake Tent!!!!

So with the promise of tea, cake in Sean's elaborate hired tent, and a snoop around Heuchera HQ, the Socks made their way to the New Forest for Heucheraholics Open Day. Somehow we had imagined a quiet leafy glade with a few polytunnels and tables with heucheras dotted around so were pretty impressed with the endless stretch of heucheras of every hue!

The Sock's personal preference is for heucheras in pots - a single one of the new varieties with large attractive leaves like 'Geisha's Fan' or a three colour combination looking bright all through the winter. They are at their best primped and plump in a pot or peeping over the edge of a border. The Sock is less taken with the way they sometimes appear in municipal plantings - bunched together as ground cover, losing their definition in what the Bedsock describes as "a mess of straggly leaves hiding the mass of snails underneath."

You may find this hard to believe but not everyone loves heucheras! Amongst others, adorable grump Plantmadnige has made much of his heuchera hatred - but the Sock believes there has been a slight thaw in relations recently. For this reason, one of the types Plantmadnige is most enamoured of, has been named after him!

Plantmadnige has publically admitted to an increasing obsession with solenostemon (coleus to you and me!!) which shows that beauty is always in the eye of the beholder. And here, just for Nigel, is a picture of the solenostemon collection currently in Wisley Glasshouse.

With names like Solenostemon 'Pineapplette' they are never going to appeal to the girlie market in the same way as heucheras 'Chocolate ruffles', 'Lemon chiffon', 'Lipstick' 'Fire chief' and 'Sexysocks'!

Autumn harvest Aide Memoir

2011-09-22T11:34:00.003+01:00

This year, following the ethos of the gorgeous (in a quirky sort of way but not quite as ravishing as Cleve West) Mark Diacono, the Socks decided to restrict their small veg planting area to unusual crops unavailable at the supermarket. And tomatoes of course - but more about them later.

The picture above is of our greenhouse grown purple tomatillos. These were a real success, their flavour less sharp and fruitier than the bog standard tomatillo. These could actually be eaten raw as fruit as well as cooked into some interesting Mexican style stews. The only drawback was they developed a leaf problem starting as small green spots, turning into big holes with the leaf eventually dying off. This was oedema - a disorder due to overwatering and a humid atmosphere. It didn't affect the fruits but looked rather unsightly which was a shame. Apparently the purple tomatillos are more prone to it than the usual ones.

Lemondrop chilli

The lemon drop chilli (a rarer one from Real Seeds) was another success - grown in pots in the greenhouse a good cropper, hot fruits with a definite lemony taste.

Purple Venuzuelan

Another Real Seeds rarity was the Purple Venuzuelan chilli, a very attractive plant to grow but for us more ornamental than use.

Tomatowise we grew several varieties in grow bags in the greenhouse,

Sungold - (best ever cherry tomato) couldn't do without it

Black Krim - somehow ended up with only one of these and one too many Red Zebras (potting mix up). This plant was never healthy having both fasciation on one truss which died, and then some infection in the stem. However the few large fruits we saved were extremely tasty and we will try this again.

Red Zebra - Sod's law that we ended up with one extra of these which were the least exciting. They were good croppers (still going) but not quite as well flavoured as the rest with a slightly floury texture. Good for cooking or drying.

Green Zebra - by contrast these were gorgeous, fruitier than the reds with none of the flouriness. A slightly lemony zing to them. Late croppers and still going.

Outdoors and pot grown I used up some Black Cherry heritage variety seeds that had been kicking around . These were quite delicious although as the weather got worse have been moved to the greenhouse - still bearing fruit.

Also outdoors Gardeners' Delight - a tad boring compared to the rest.

Achocha

The Achocha 'Fat baby' (also Real Seeds) were a disappointment. Grown outdoors in a bag they quickly spread out and climbed rapidly up the fence. Sadly although they had a good crop the taste was negligible and they looked a mess. Might have been more fun if I got the exploding variety.

Amongst the usual herbs and the Bedsock's mint collection we also grew 'quillquina' an unusual and rather attractive purple-stemmed see-thru plant with bluey green leaves, a little like coriander but more lemony. Very good in salsas and unlike coriander, not prone to bolting.

We are still awaiting the outcome of the oca later in the season. We dedicated an entire (small) raised bed to this and although the foliage did look quite pretty it is now something of a mess. We need to have a balance in our small garden as to what looks attractive and fits in with the general planting schemes and what we really want to grow to eat. Veg and herbs really need to be 'doers' to earn a place. Sadly, whilst we love courgettes, our bag grown ones were poor croppers and as usual got various leaf diseases which made them look unsightly particularly as they take up a lot of room.

We are experimenting with growing various veg in re-usable 'bags'. The Bedsock is less than happy with his newly bag planted purple sprouting broccoli - it all collapsed overnight. Don't tell him but yesterday I saw Spook rolling around on top of the bag!!!

As gardeners relatively new to growing a great deal from seed can anyone tell me which of the chillies and tomatoes will come true from seed if I collect them from this years harvest?

That's the Wonder of Wisley

2011-09-14T10:42:00.004+01:00

Guess whose phone this is... answer revealed later on.

Thursday morning at 7.00 am saw the Sock at RHS Wisley waiting for a Press breakfast meeting at 9.00am. The Bedsock had issued dire warnings that setting off to do the 50 minute journey from Brighton any time later than 6.00am would mean being stuck in traffic for hours and that all the breakfast buns would have been scoffed by the time the Sock arrived! Frankly, the Sock thinks this was just a bit of unnecessary scaremongering from the Bedsock in order that she could be forced to share the ungodly hour known as the 'crackov' that he greets for his almost daily commute. Rather than arrive late the Sock arrived 2 hours early, whiling away the time by driving around lost in the various empty car parks - a trick that fellow blogger VP repeated shortly afterwards when she arrived from Chippenham.

The Sock is always very pleased and excited to be invited to these Press things and as if the lure of coffee and pastries wasn't enough the RHS had laid on Landscape Man too!

Lovely Landscapeman - he cheered up when he spotted the Sock!

The RHS Wisley Flower show comes just at the right time to reignite all that plant passion that has faded and drooped during the August slump. About forty or so specialist nurseries and garden trade stands exhibited their wares in mini marquees edging the pathways that curve around the lawns leading to the Glass House.

Vibrant display from Hart Cannas

The Sock wanted to stop at all of them and Shop, Shop, Shop! but this pleasure had to be deferred as we were on a short tour of Wisley delights guided by the infectiously enthusiastic Colin Crosbie.

OHMIGOD! Wheelies at Wisley! What is the world coming to?

No one needs to 'sell' Wisley to the Sock, she already adores it and despite regular visits over more than 15 years doesn't believe that she has seen everything it has to offer yet! Sue Biggs, the newish Director General of the RHS, told us that membership has grown substantially in the past year (pretty good going in an economic downturn) and this doesn't surprise the Sock as out of all her various society memberships (National Trust, Wildlife trust etc.) the RHS is the one she gets most out of. Also, Old Ma Sock was so impressed when told that the Sock was a "Member of the RHS" that she proudly announced it to all her friends as if the Sock had been invited to be a member of some elite club! [That having been said, once when Old Ma Sock was extolling the virtues of some neighbours child I made the mistake of asking what she told these people about me. "I tell them you're rich and living in Brighton" Old Ma Sock replied. "But I'm not rich" I protested "couldn't you think of something nice but true to say about me?". She pondered for all of twenty seconds and then answered "No" .]

It was interesting to see the Piet Oudolf borders again, the colours and form in this picture remind the Sock of an Impressionist painting

We were invited to taste some of the interesting apple varieties grown at Wisley.
Mmmmm.... tasty!!!

Oh and of course the phone cover - it was indeed Matthew Wilson's and whilst the Sock wanted to believe the cover was a tribute to her, the truth was the sock belonged to his little boy.. sweet.

After viewing the Robert Myers garden (described in an earlier blog here) and yet more lovely borders

the Sock returned to wander around the Flower show itself. Interspersed around the plant stalls were stands selling delicious cakes, tea and coffees and even barbequed sausages. If it wasn't for the fact that the Sock had already eaten Wisley Banana cake in the crowded cafe whilst having a chatty lunch with VP, she would have felt compelled to partake of these delights.

Stands that particularly caught the Sock's eye (apologies for lack of names too excited to take notes)

this display with a lovely autumnal feel to it

How bright is this dahlia?!!(Rose Cottage Plants)

Not as bright as this one!!

This lovely delphinium is (I believe) Crystal Fountain - one that the Sock ordered from major supplier online earlier in the year only to be supplied with duff plants. [Note to self - order from smaller specialist nurseries in future...]

These rather attractive and unusual 'pocket vases' from Ikebana Pots

Of course no show is complete for the Sock without seeing the happy smiling faces of Heucheraholics (although in this case it nearly wasn't complete as they only got a stall at the last minute but went on to win Best in Show!!!!). If you missed seeing Heucheraholics they are having an open day this Sunday 18th September details here.

Surely now they can afford a new till!

This was the first time the Sock had attended this particular Wisley Flower Show but it will be a must do in years to come. Check out the RHS website for more Wonders at Wisley, the Taste of Autumn
Festival and the Tree themed week at October half term where kids (but unfortunately not grown up kids :( ) can join in tree climbing activities.

Dullas 5 - Hedging Bets

2011-09-08T19:34:00.002+01:00

..
If you haven't seen episodes one to four here they are otherwise speakers on everybody....

September... evoking orange flowers...

2011-09-03T16:49:00.001+01:00

"September: it was the most beautiful of words, he’d always felt, evoking orange-flowers, swallows, and regret."
- Alexander Theroux, 1981

Dishing the Dirt on Denman's

2011-08-29T14:30:00.004+01:00

..
Just at a time when my brain has been brimful of blogs to write I have been unable to do so because of some problem with my eyes adjusting to the new computer monitor. The blogs are now stacked up in my consciousness but I can only allow myself limited screen time so my new Dullas Sockmovie, which I really want to work on, will have to wait. In the meantime the dog-end of August has been considerably cheered by various meet-ups with my gardening blogger and twitter friends. The first on a lovely warm sunny Sussex day, in the company of LazyTrollop and the highly organised Helen Reeley, at a place I have driven past so many times but never visited - Denman's Gardens.

I should start by saying that I had no great expectations of gardens in late August it being that time of limbo when the garden is no longer in its salad days, all is a little blowsy and blown but not so far over as to make it Autumn interesting. Then I remember that the last few gardens that have blown me away were Keith Wiley's Wildside, The Garden House and Sussex Prairies - all visited in August.

Denman's fulfilled my original idea of an August garden - for the most part pleasant without being incredibly pleasing.

A promising start as straight in from the entrance (a very reasonable £4.50) the first walled garden was a rich eruption of colour and texture

A verbascum provided attractive architectural shape

and as I have noticed in so many gardens over recent years, wild fennel is a real winner and I have now introduced it in my own border.

After the gravel garden we spent some time wandering around the interestingly shaped lawns and borders. All pleasing enough to the eye but nothing special, nothing really grabbed us with that kind of excitement that makes your heart beat a little faster.

Helen and LazyT spent some time vying for who could name the most plants. It was even stevens most of the way but I think LazyT just pipped Helen at the post with a late spurt of eucomis..

A pond at the bottom of the garden felt a little drowned by the heavy overhanging trees, although this statue on the water margin made a charming composition.

After bad-mouthing hydrangeas on my last blog, we did find some attractive ones, their frothy tops picking up the dappled light through the trees along a shaded path.

Some of the borders were rather patchy and it wasn't always clear whether new planting was arriving to fill it. However, we must hope that if new planting is to be, that it isn't all like this!

Really... yes it is that bad look at the close-up!

Sorry if you are growing the same in your garden - I would say it was just a matter of taste but as the three of us totally agreed it was awful it must just be wrong!

I hope I'm not coming over as too mealy-mouthed and overly negative here. I have developed a much stronger view of what I do and don't like over the past few years of garden visiting but I wouldn't want to put people off Denman's. A sunny day, a garden and the company of fun friends is always going to be a fine thing and of course it always makes it more interesting to have a difference of opinion to discuss.

Perhaps more importantly than anything else, there is an excellent café (Relais Routier recommended) with attractive indoor and outdoor seating area and a wide range of cakes of which Helen sampled three!

PS. Apparently the Plant Centre there was voted 8th best in the country by the Telegraph (not sure when). It WAS a small but interesting Plant Centre however a lot of the plant pots were full of weeds along with pot bound plants. I almost ached to clean-up and re-pot some of the plants. I know its late in the year but perhaps a Saturday job for a student just giving them a bit of tlc?

Abbotsbury sub-tropical gardens - Far Away in Time...

2011-08-08T12:18:00.005+01:00

..
Perhaps the last weekend in July wasn't the best time to travel westwards along the congested south coast route, traffic turning what should have been a three hour drive into a six hour crawl. Still, the promise of dining at our favourite fish restaurant The Riverside at West Bay, and the excitement of somewhere new to us, Hix at Lyme Regis, made the driving ordeal worth enduring. To work up an appetite for our fishy feasts we had planned a visit to Abbotsbury sub-tropical gardens which has been on my "to do" list for decades. It would need to be good to live up to the expectations I had of it.. a lush exotic garden hidden in a valley leading down to the unending pebbled starkness of Chesil Beach - Far away in time *.

An entrance fee of £12.00 each leaves the Bedsock grumping - not a good start (although RHS members can get in for free in the more god-forsaken months of the year). I wonder if we are out of touch with how much these things cost although we frequently shell out a fortune for theatre tickets without too much complaint this still seems a lot to visit a garden. It had better be good.

Near the entrance a fabulous Pterocarya fraxinifolia (wing nut tree) watches over the gardens like the 'Tree of life' in Avatar.

We wander the way the white arrows are pointing and into the Victorian garden... oh dear Mrs... oh dear..

My hostas are still looking fabulous and healthy now that we have got rid of the mass snail dwelling which was the old wall. These are how mine used to look by this time of year when they would be confined to an unseen corner of the garden... UGH!

A hideous planting scheme which I absolutely loathe.. it is SO wrong..

OHMIGOD! Who let the hydrangeas in? Could they look more awful against the bright primary colours of agapanthus and crocosmia!

Perhaps I should have read the garden's website first for it's hint of impending doom....

The Garden is a mixture of formal and informal flowers, world famous for it's Camellia groves and magnolias. Noted in Dorset for its Rhododendron and Hydrangea collections and the charming Victorian Garden.

Hydrangeas!!!!! Not my favourite**.. their charmless papery flowers the faded, washed out colours of old lady knickers caught in a colour run.

We are beginning to feel ourselves slump... the previous day spent in the car, now the promised paradise is beginning to give us all the pleasure of a municipal park... and it's complete with screaming children too!

[Rant: What is it with polyphloisboian*** children these days? They can't perform any activity unless it is accompanied by ear-splittingly loud bawling and yelling? Not just when in outdoor spaces but also whilst eating/running around in restaurants? We were mischievious, active, children escaping parental control to run free and wild in the surrounding countryside and beaches - but I don't believe I ever even had the lung power to scream in that kind of a way and nor did I want to. Not just out of respect for the peace and comfort of anyone else but because we enjoyed the gentle sounds of nature around us. I blame the parents.. and indeed, although the gardens were far from crowded you could hear the loud and bombastic voices of adults booming through the vegetation frightening off any birds or creatures that may have crossed our path. Why didn't they all just go to Pizza Express if they wanted that level of noise pollution?]

So now I am in a grump.. although this is mainly because having not looked at the map of the gardens I believe that the disappointing Victorian Garden is all that there is. We start to wander away from the white arrow trail, out of the trees and up to the top of the hill that protects the valley from the sea winds. Things are on the up.. the steep climb is worth it for the fantastic views over Chesil beach which could not fail to raise our spirits..

And then back down into the 'real' part of the gardens where the exotic trees with peeling bark towering above lush vegetation remind me of walking in the Australian Blue Mountains.

There are still some hydrangeas but they are becoming less offensive as our attention is diverted by the beauty of individual trees

If this isn't called a 'giraffe tree' then it certainly should be..

Tree ferns lining the gulley remind me of South Australia's temperate rainforest area at the Great National Otway Park - except for the red Japanese style bridge. I can't decide whether this is a totally good or totally bad thing in this context.

This is the Jurassic coast and it is easy to imagine dinosaurs forcing their way through the enormous gunnera and ferns to this limpid watering hole

There is much more to the gardens and some rather nicer planting schemes than the first we encountered. We wandered there happily for several hours and ultimately felt that it was more than worth the £12.00 entrance fee. Lose the hydrangeas and it would be very nearly perfect!

And our fish meals were even better than expected too so all-in-all a pretty good weekend away!

----------

*In the same way it is impossible to drive past Portland Bill without the following bit of dialogue taking place:

"Is that Portland Bill?"
"It is Portland and don't call me Bill!"

it is also fundamental to the Chesil Beach experience to sing the words to the tune of Echo Beach by Martha and the Muffins.

**We did once see some attractive hydrangeas at Savill Garden, Windsor.

*** Look it up! I did.

A Spider's touch...

2011-08-05T16:37:00.000+01:00

The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine!
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.

Alexander Pope

Someone is living in my nepenthes

I wonder who it can be?

Flight of the Beardibums

2011-07-28T09:11:00.000+01:00

At last! The truth can be revealed of what really happened at RHS Chelsea Flower show...

speakers on everybody!

The Loneliness of the Long Distance Farmer - Monty and Joe Behind the scenes at RHS Tatton

2011-07-22T14:56:00.000+01:00

Bold, Beautiful and Bloody!

2011-07-14T15:11:00.006+01:00

Bright and beautiful mixed border at RHS Wisley

Last weekend the Sock and pal Lazy Trollop went to wonderful Wizzers for a talk by James Alexander-Sinclair. Although the Sock has seen James 'perform' on several occasions he has always been hosting an event or strutting his 'Three Men Went to Mow' stuff (latest very funny video here) so the Sock was looking forward to actually hearing James' musings based on his book '101 Bold and Beautiful Flowers'.

The talk started at 10.30 a.m with a cup of tea but sadly no biscuits!!! There was definitely a slight rumble of empty tummies echoing around the hall not least from the Lazy Trollop sat next to me. The talk commenced and James was as entrancing as expected, holding the audience in his thrall with his passion and wit..... all, that is, except for Mrs. Starchyknickers of Surrey at the back who suddenly broke in with "I have NEVER heard so much swearing in a talk before!" uttered in a tone of whining prissiness. Crumbs! We hadn't even got to the 'stems entwined like the limbs of lovers enjoying a post-coital cigarette' bit! All James' had said was that forsythias are horrible and we should get rid of the bloody things! James handled the heckler with aplomb! He hardly missed a beat, apologising sweetly like a slightly chastened schoolboy. Then he carried on smoothly with a talk that perhaps lacked the more X-rated similes some of us have come to hope for!

Clic on the pic to enlarge

The talk continued until 12.00 at which time we were told that James would also walk us around part of the gardens explaining where some of the planting principles had been put into action. This was an unexpected bonus and after a pleasant lunch (and an enormous slice of Wisley Banana cake which was so big LazyTrollop and the Sock shared) a small group of us (sans Mrs. Starchyknickers) set off for a jolly jaunt around the borders.

First stop the new Rose Garden designed by Robert Myers. The Sock isn't usually so bothered about roses - there is a formal rose garden recreated in a nearby park which is slightly tedious - but here the roses have been planted close together in blocks of colour and it will be interesting to revisit next year when the scheme has had chance to establish. Now the main attraction for the Sock is the bold drifts of colour from the herbaceous plants. The fabulous dark blue Agapanthus at the front is 'Taw Valley'.

On to the Piet Oudolf borders running downhill to the lake and Glasshouse. At first sight from the top these don't look particularly impressive but on inspection we found the most exquisite planting schemes.

Echinops abounded and this one 'Veitch's Blue' is a must for the Sock's front gravel garden. Note the lovely little ladybird enjoying it too

It looked stunning against the glowing silver of the eryngium

Drifts of echinacea pulled the eye across the borders running in a snaking stream down to the lake

You do need to be a bit careful at Wisley there are some very odd people about...


BARKING!

The talk and walk cost £20 for members (more for non-members) and included a voucher for £5.00 to spend in the Plant centre. Anyone who can visit Wisley without spending at least £10 in the plant centre must be a model of absolute restraint!

The talk wasn't full by any means and the Sock wonders if the price (the RHS set) put people off, particularly as the details on the RHS site and even on the day were a bit vague as to what was included. Several people mentioned they might have gone had it been cheaper although at that point they didn't know the walk was included. As a bit of market research perhaps readers could comment on this? Given we hadn't expected the walk and would have been happy to pay for the talk alone, the Sock felt we got a lot of James A-S for our money! (Actually the Sock and the Trollop also got treated to tea and a cake afterwards but don't tell the others as they'll be jealous!)

All in all a very good day out. Also worth mentioning that the Sock didn't realise that there was a whole series of talks and events going on at Wisley and will be enrolling on one of the photography days later in the year. Perhaps the RHS needs to look at the way it publicizes these things in order to bring them to more members attention?

When Matthew Met AnnMarie - behind the scenes at RHS Hampton Court

2011-07-08T14:30:00.000+01:00

Green steals the Scene - RHS Hampton Court II

2011-07-07T17:07:00.001+01:00

..

The Sock realises you have probably had it up to here with Hampton Court by now but this isn't going to stop me posting some more thoughts and pictures. There is no point in taking a load of photos if I don't do something with them. Talking of which, the Sock herself got mobbed by the paparazzi at the show..

There was something a bit familiar about them...

The Sock is also convinced that RdeT gave her the 'evils' when she snapped a few long lens photos of the GW team in the RHS Edible Garden..

The Sock honestly can't think what might have been done to offend..

Absolute favouritest garden at the show was Picturesque in the Conceptual category and in particular the 'Natural Spheres' display inspired by the Kandinsky's original paintings. Love the way the alliums and agapanthus have been shaped and placed.

Alliums have had a great year and there are some fantastic varieties available - the Sock hadn't been sure about 'Forelock' until seeing these in the plant marquee. An unusual shape and bronzey purple head looked like it had been sugar frosted!

There's no-one quite like Grandad... well actually according to the shrieks of one of the small children scattered around the show (who let them in?) David Bellamy looked exactly like his Grandad! This might be just a fantasy - I'm sure we'd all like a Grandad who looked like David Bellamy. DB was acting ambassador for Copella's Plant and Protect Campaign to protect English apple trees.

Not sure whether David Domoney had asked Anthea whatshername (who used to do breakfast TV) to be an ambassador for his garden

but as it was entitled the 'Naked Garden' and she once posed naked except for a python then it is a definite possibility.

Greens stole the scene at the show for the Sock who has invariably liked Tony Smith's designs. 'Diamonds and Rust' was no exception. Another Conceptual Garden billed as an horticultural installation it looked deceptively simple but the sculpted lines and colours were very pleasing.

Similarly, The World Vision Garden offered shapes that were strong, elegant and used in an original way.

Oooh look.. it's Mark Diacono and Lia Leendertz enjoying the show... Don't these people ever do any work?

Everyone attending took this photo of the excellent 'Scuse me whilst I kiss the sky' garden and the Sock is no exception.

The Sock will leave you with the luscious greeness of a lettuce display..

Just noticed there are a couple of strange people lurking in the background. Surely that chap isn't wearing sunglasses on his head? Clic on the pic to enlarge...

Happy Heucheraholics

2011-07-06T13:05:00.002+01:00

..
Hooray! Hooray! It's a Happy Heucheraholics Day! At last Jooles and Sean got Gold for their stand at RHS Hampton Court plant marquee.

About time too. The display looked lovely this year and there are only so many Silver Gilts you can take. Perhaps Jooles and Sean had a premonition they might win as when I saw them, before the medals were announced, they had bought me a very appropriate prezzie with which to toast their win! (clic on the pic to read the wine label!)

I first met Jooles at Malvern 2009 when I was still an 'anonymous' blogger before emerging from 'behind the Sock' to meet various gardening friends. Whilst buying a heuchera to add to my collection I must have mentioned the fact that I blogged and Jooles replied "Oh - you're not that 'Gravy' woman are you?" I nearly jumped out of my skin with astonishment! Suddenly my secret identity had been revealed! Jooles said they were big fans of my bloggywog and I said I loved their heucheras and since then their happy, welcoming, faces and bright displays have added immensely to the pleasure of my visits to the various RHS shows.

And that is why the Sock is proud to be

RHS Hampton Court Show - The Perils of Pink

2011-07-05T11:26:00.006+01:00

Pink Perils all stacked up at the RHS Hampton Court Flower show yesterday - waiting to be unleashed on the unsuspecting public on the opening day of the show!

Press day at Hampton Court yesterday and what a lovely day it was too. There was a lot of pink.

Pee Frog

The Control the Uncontrollable Garden aimed at people with an overactive bladder! This was particularly apposite for the Sock who had got stuck in long traffic jams on the way to Hampton Court and had for ages been 'bustin' for a piss' as the phrase goes. It had been touch and go as to whether the Happy Pee Frog (which the Sock keeps in her glove compartment) was going to be christened but a petrol station with toilets had appeared just in time. This was a huge relief as the Sock can't really see the Happy Pee Frog working 'in situ' particularly worrying as she had just had the Sockmobile valeted.

The next proliferation of pink was the Conceptual Coppafeel garden designed by Hugo Bugg for the breast awareness charity. The Sock can't help feeling that 'Coppafeel' is a slightly off putting name being reminiscent of builders yelling "Oi - cop a feel of this luv!" across the street in days gone by, before builders all became models of gentility and decorum. Not entirely sure about the giant boobs either - although the ladies wearing them were doing a great job - but if it helps raise awareness then perhaps one shouldnt' be too critical.

The Sock did like the interesting way the interior of the 'garden' photographed..

The LOROS Hospice Garden of Light and reflection was partially hot pink which was great if you like pink

and then partially not.. the sculpture at the front of the garden being softer textures and shades

neither part of the garden seemed to marry together at all. Two gardens crammed into one to the detriment of both.

The Sock feels a little mean criticising gardens that are for such good causes - the LOROS garden "aims to heighten the awareness of the therapeutic benefits of gardens and represents a segment of the LOROS hospice courtyard. A beautiful garden can help a patient come to terms with an incurable illness and provide a restful retreat for carers." But ultimately no matter how great the message, for the Sock it still wasn't a great garden.

The Sock definitely agreed with the message given by the Think! Cover Up conceptual garden

about the dangers of skin cancer, the gravel and plants evoking a starkly hot environment with the trees giving shade protection to a standing sculpture. But with Pa Sock dying from it, Bro Sock having landed on the right side of the 50/50 terminal prognosis given for a skin cancer some years back and the Sock herself now paying the price of skin sun damaged in childhood... it was a little depressing.

This is a flower show and the Sock began to feel a little bogged down with so many themes of ill-health and bodily functions around.

Another invasion of pink with a partially pink orb garden room ruining an otherwise rather lovely Japanese garden.

The Sock wasn't terribly keen on any of the Poet themed gardens and the pink petunias in this don't do it any favours

Don't let these pinks make you believe the Sock got the blues at Hampton Court *groansatpun*. The Sock had a fab time and will be blogging about the lovely Green stuff later on.

Ta ta tristesse....

2011-06-28T11:42:00.002+01:00

A rose the colour of cassis

By last weekend my post holiday blues had deepened into a melancholy which had me waking up crying for no obvious reason. These things happen and these things pass but it was perhaps a mistake to pay a long overdue visit to my brother with all the emotional baggage that anything to do with my family entails. Nevertheless my brother lives not far from Cottesbrooke and what could be more guaranteed to lift me out of the slough than a visit to a plant fair? (other than, perhaps, a shed load of chocolate!!). Sadly this guarantee had run out and although I didn't feel overly bothered by the 45 minute queue to get in (it was through pretty country lanes and I listened to the music from 'Diva' to indulge my tristesse) even the sight of a multitude of stalls burgeoning with beautiful plants failed to lift my mood. I mooched around for a while but when I found that I should have got a ticket for James Alexander Sinclair's talk, which was by this time standing room only at the back (normally I would stand on hot coals for one of James' talks) I decided to give up on the day.

A new dawn, a new - albeit rainy - day and I have regained my belief that a bit of Garden therapy will enhance my mood so I am off with my brother and his wife to Coton Manor. We spend a reasonably jolly time on the drive there discussing how we are going to cope with Old Ma Sock and in particular her presence at the wedding of my niece next year. The problems with this fall into several categories

1) How will we persuade Old Ma Sock to buy a decent outfit and not wear the strange multicoloured trousers she favours that she bought many years ago in Thailand. (For years Old Ma Sock has steadfastly refused to be taken out shopping to buy anything new!).

2) No-one has mentioned to her that my other niece is gay and will be attending with her girlfriend. Whilst none of us believe that Old Ma Sock is likely to be outraged or offended by this, she can't be trusted not to come out with something totally insensitive, particularly if she is 'caught on the hop' and has to think of something to say. My view is that it is pointless telling her anything as she will forget in two minutes and the whole conversation will have to be repeated infinite times.

3) I have the distinct feeling that ensuring that Old Ma Sock behaves at the wedding will be left up to me and the Bedsock. I hate weddings anyway and am wondering if I can accidentally book a long holiday abroad to cover all possible wedding dates.

At least this new potential problem has taken my mind off my present despondency and we arrive at Coton Manor in a better frame of mind for the plants to begin working their particular kind of magic on my mood. I am not disappointed.

A chic and cheering display of pelargoniums and Salvia 'Hot lips' greets us

I don't know what this plant is but it certainly zings...

I love this combination of allium seed heads and nicotiana langsdorffii which I think is the one I was rather taken with when Monty Don showed it in his garden on GW.

The scent of roses permeated the damp warmth of the garden and although roses are not generally amongst my favourite flowers they certainly worked well here

Then disaster! A faux pas of the most ghastly proportions! Up until this point I had been impressing my sister-in-law with my knowledge of plant names (OK I made some up but she doesn't know that). I knew that James A Sinclair had designed some of the borders at Cottesbrooke and the previous day I had not really given them my full attention being too absorbed with myself. However, for some reason it had stuck in my mind that James was also linked with Coton Manor. Seeing one of the gardeners working on the long border I asked "Has James A Sinclair designed any of the borders here?" She turned and fixed me with a steely, patrician glare.. "Most certainly not" intoned the lady of the manor indignantly, her vowel sounds indicative of years of high breeding "we do ALL of our OWN gardening and design here!" Eek! "And very beautiful it is too and these dull skies are perfect for photographing them" I gibbered whilst a voice in my head said "Shut up! Shut up and walk away NOW!". I ignored the voice and told her I was confusing it with Cottesbrooke. "Ah yes James designed the borders there but I don't think he uses roses which we have in abundance here" she replied softening towards my predicament. I mumbled in agreement as I edged away to stop my brother eating cherries from the tree next to us.

The rest of our tour continued without mishap. All over the garden chickens, ducks, and

A border to crow over

er.. a few pink flamingos wandered freely, posing artfully around the hosta beds.

My brother told me that they feed the flamingos strawberries in order for them to keep their pink colour... but this might quite possibly be a fib.

At the bottom of the garden a wildflower meadow looked lovely but for some reason seemed somewhat short on bees and butterflies

Another attractive border, limited colour and full of texture - does anyone know what the dark leaved plant is and also the green plant top right with the weeping leaves?

To make up for the shortfall on plant purchasing of the previous day I allowed myself some impulse buys from their nursery. I was struck by how the main draw of this plant would be the fabulous little lichens or mosses invading the pot..

A nice lunch in Coton's cafe and a piece of carrot cake and I was feeling nearly me.

Not quite out of the woods on the woe front but certainly seeing the light through the trees.

Dullas 4 - A load of balls

2011-06-21T12:26:00.000+01:00

If you haven't caught the previous episodes you can click on the links below

Dullas 1
Dullas 2
Dullas 3

Turkish Delight

2011-06-18T17:55:00.003+01:00

Postcard from Turkey - as usual arriving a week after the Socks have returned home...

Dear All

Having a lovely time lazing around the villa and admiring the view from our infinity pool.

Sea turtles swim in the bay below us

Lovely beaches nearby with miles of sand and warm surfy sea

and funny little sand crabs that I spent ages photographing

Local market full of quality fruit and veg

A thriving family business where Granny kneads and bakes bread, Grand-daughter fills it and Father provides the freshly squeezed orange juice. Perfect market breakfast.

A wonderfully therapeutic massage in a cave by the sea lulled by the sound of the waves. A Turkish Hammam where the Socks were steamed then soaked, scrubbed, soaped and stroked by a young lad. All very restful until he broke the spell by chucking a bucket of cold water over us!

A perfect break to tide us over until a more active holiday later in the year.. perfect that was until the rather gruelling journey home to a week of cold and wet weather which has left us feeling like we need a holiday.

Normal blog service will resume shortly - probably.

Welcome First Clickers

2011-06-02T11:14:00.000+01:00

Early morning foxes in next door's garden

The Sock would like to welcome to her bloggywog all those who have followed the link from First Click

I'm very flattered that the BBC and Carol Klein have linked to my blog for the First Click campaign particularly as helping people take their first steps with computers is something I have experienced.

In the dim and distant past I worked at a University and was one of the first people to use what was then the Joint Academic Network - an early form of the internet linking Universities around the world together. I knew little about computers but even my tiny knowledge was a great deal more than most people had at that time. Knowing less made me more able to identify with those I taught basic word processing and computer use to - I knew how they felt confronted with this new technology and no question was too stupid or irrelevant to be asked and no knowledge presumed. Often a problem could be solved by asking something as simple as "Had the user had turned the computer on?" I remembered my own experience of sitting in front of a screen for some time waiting for something to happen until my boss seeing my puzzled expression flicked the switch on at the back.

And so when my elderly neighbour Mona decided, at the age of 84, to start using a computer I bore this in mind and was only too willing to help. Mona's house backed on to mine - her lovely garden being a playground for my cats over the years - and we would occasionally chat over the back wall or I would be invited around to taste the yearly vintage of Mona's sloe gin. Mona's mind was sharp but her body fragile and after years of activity she was mostly confined to her house where she lived alone. Mona's impatience with her new computer was legendary and not helped by the fact it was an old secondhand one. My phone would ring "Arabella!!! I can't get the blasted thing to work!!" I would wander around to her house to see what assistance I could offer which was mainly along the lines of "Try switching the blasted thing off and back on again - that will usually clear 90% of problems".

Eventually Mona and her temperamental computer got into the swing of things - her amazement and delight at being able to email friends abroad was a joy to behold. Sadly as her computer skills increased her mobility decreased and after two falls she could no longer even shuffle around her beloved garden with her zimmer frame. Email became her eyes on the outside world. I would send her descriptions of how her garden was growing, whether the gardener was trimming the large shrubs that now grew over her back wall tangling into mine, news on the occasional sighting of a fox in the gardens (there are now eleven living within 100 metres of our gardens - how she would have savoured that bit of news!) . Despite her extremely correct and genteel upbringing Mona delighted in a bit of email gossip about the neighbours their births, deaths, pets and various idiocies. I sent her pictures of my new greenhouse, my cats and the seasons in her own garden. At first Mona's email responses were very formal as if writing a letter until I explained the different etiquette of email and how to judge whether an immediate response was required or whether she should reply at her leisure. Mona didn't
utilize the full capabilities of her computer and the world of the internet but derived a great deal of pleasure from the bit that she did. It was probably just as well that she never found the sites where Bridge could be played online - she was an extremely skilled Bridge player and would probably have played for money and fleeced everyone!

Sadly Mona died last year but I know that using the computer had enhanced the last years of her life.
It really is worth encouraging elderly people to take that First Click.

___________________________________

The Sock is about to go off on hols for a week. For a taster of the usual kind of blog postings scroll down and don't miss the Sock's take on the Chelsea Flower show.

This is a job for................

2011-05-30T12:25:00.001+01:00

..
Speakers on everybody...

Woke up it was a Chelsea Morning

2011-05-26T14:04:00.000+01:00

What is Chelsea for?

2011-05-25T18:50:00.000+01:00

Chelsea - All Over the Show

2011-05-25T11:51:00.001+01:00

The first people the Sock went to see at Chelsea were her lovely pals Sean and Jooles at Heucheraholics! (Actually this isn't quite true the first people the Sock went to see were those stands handing out the champers!) You should all say hello to Heucheraholics - they are quite mad but you get the warmest of welcomes..

Heucheraholics are always at the RHS shows - in fact they are always everywhere there is absolutly no avoiding them!

Jooles and Jerry Hall

Sean and bezzie mate Babs

Nigel Havers with umm... Jooles

Sean steals the scene from LLB..

Bill Bailey and friends

We know who the real Starrs are at Chelsea

Sean and Jooles got Silver Gilt for their heuchera display. They wuz robbed it should have been gold.
We don't yet know what took the edge off their metal. Could it possibly be to do with the fact that Exhibitors are only allowed one invite to the Gala Night Champagne shindig and having lost the toss to Sean, Jooles then tried to hide in the Plant Marquee avoiding the RHS bouncers. Finally she was spotted, found to be ticketless and forcibly ejected (in the nicest possible way) and left outside to cry into one of the many glasses of champagne passed out to her?

Horticulture's Jedward Unveiled at Chelsea!!!!

2011-05-24T19:30:00.000+01:00

Moby Buckacono

Impossible not to notice the astonishing resemblance between Climate Change Farmer Mark Diacono and his twin brother Toby Buckland. Must be something in the Devon water or perhaps they are both missing from the same village!

The Bookywook Quiz

2011-05-22T10:36:00.006+01:00

Question1: Which of the above authors is the odd one out?

Question2: Match the author to the book description...

How to grow plants in pots - Loads of lovely pictures (as you would expect from Dorling Kindersely), a bit about aeoniums (which convinced the Sock she must have this book) and loads of useful advice for those of us with small gardens who want to grow veg in containers. Ans: here

This book is the reason why the Sock has ended up with Oca, Achoca and various weird and wonderful herbs and spices growing in her garden. They had better taste good or there will be complaints! Ans: here

This is an unusual and lovely concept for a book and reminds the Sock how much a garden still has to offer after sundown. Sounds, scents and soft lighting whilst the evening lulls the garden to sleep. A must for those who mainly get to see their garden in the evening. Ans: here

"Why gardening makes you bad-tempered.." - Calm down dear - it's only gardening! Ans: here

A cabinet full of vegetables... Ans: here

Vote vote vote for the man with the hat!

2011-05-20T12:10:00.002+01:00

[A more serious post from the Sock today - if you missed the Malvern mischief read the preceding three blogs.]

Today my copy of the RHS Garden magazine dropped through the door complete with voting forms for new council members. Now if you are anything like the Sock you will have immediately torn off the voting paper and binned it because you are quite happy to let the RHS muddle on on its own dinosaur-like way because you think it does pretty well overall and all you are really interested in is the shows and gardens.

WELL GET IT OUT OF THE BIN NOW!!!!!!!

This year James Alexander Sinclair is standing for council - you can read about it here! The very fact that he is standing at all has made the Sock think that actually she should take more interest in the running of the society and that someone like James can help inject some life and ideas into it, help update its image and be in touch with what the ordinary members who normally bin the voting forms want!

James making the Secret Sign of the Sock!

So please make your vote count.

And if you are not an RHS member why not?

You get free access to the fab RHS gardens at Wisley, Rosemoor, Hyde Hall and Harlow Carr plus occasionally to some affiliated gardens.
You get to attend 'membership day' at the shows (Chelsea, Malvern, Tatton, Cardiff, London Halls etc.) which is worth the membership fee on its own!
You get the Garden Magazine which at worst is highly skimmable and the Sock has found some lovely holiday rentals through the small ads section at the back! In this issue there is a timely article about honeysuckle by Nigel Colborn just when the Sock has been thinking about buying one..
There are loads of courses and events... the Sock could go on and on... but don't just think of what the RHS does for you - think of what the RHS does for horticulture, for education, for the country!!

Even if you fail to attend any of the events it is still money well spent in supporting this institution and the Sock believes with James Alexander Sinclair on the council it will be even more worthwhile!

[Enough over enthusiasm about the RHS already... Ed.]

More Malvern Mischief

2011-05-18T14:11:00.000+01:00

The Full Monty Don at Malvern

2011-05-17T12:04:00.002+01:00

Malvern Mischief

2011-05-16T12:35:00.006+01:00

..

The Sockerazzi was out in full force at this years Malvern show and a lot of people were very lucky to meet the Sock herself this year!!!

First up the fantastic, elegant, exquisite, erudite James Alexander Sinclair

Chris Beardshaw was introduced to the Sock but was so overcome with the near proximity of Cashmere loveliness that he pretended not to know who she was! The Sock was a little jealous of 'Mrs' Beardshaw's fabulous hattiewat

particularly on close inspection when it was apparent some of the escaped Beardibums had been used to decorate it!!!

And of course you know the Sock will always get you a picture of gorgeous, handsome, sleek Matthew Wilson

The Sock wondered whether anyone had guessed this accurately

More later everyone... you know you'll be back!

Superinjuncted!

2011-05-15T16:45:00.001+01:00

The Sock arrives back from a lovely few days at and around Malvern only to find this in the office in-tray!!!

Uninvited guests at the Garden Party...

2011-05-04T10:40:00.003+01:00

..
A few days ago my elderly neighbour (who is not the sharpest pencil in the case) told me that during the break for Corrie he had seen six dark shapes scurrying about his lawn just as darkness fell. RATS!!!!! we panicked, trying to work out which of our near, terraced, neighbours we could dump the blame on for this calamity! "They all came in from your side!" he accused "Yes but YOU saw them in YOUR garden" I countered "therefore they are YOUR rats!". "They have pooed all over my lawn" he moaned holding exhibit A out on a shovel for me to inspect.

"They look rather big for rat droppings" I opined, photographing the offering and posting it on twitter for advice "unless they are alarmingly large rats!" We both shuddered at the thought and my neighbour agreed to phone me if he saw them again. Sure enough at 8.45pm the phone went and I rushed to my window binoculars in hand to try and make out the dark shapes tumbling around at the back of his garden. Foxes!! Little fox cubs climbing into his plant trough and rolling around digging the bulbs out - again. We turned our powerful torch on them as they piled in over my back wall, through the gap at the end of my new fencing and into their favoured play area. At least one adult and three cubs - the result of the noisy fox-bonking that went on nightly in the early months of this year.

They return each night although we don't always see them - just the evidence of another party, some glittery blue, sticky, sweet discarded on my flowerbed, a knocked over pot, an annoyingly broken plant stem. Then the Bedsock, off to work at 'the crack of', sees the party still going on as the morning begins to cast light on it.. the photos are rushed, taken through a closed window, but still show just what those foxes have had on the menu.

Mains - Macdonald's fries to go

Pudding - possibly a waffle

Drinks - the cub washes it down with water from the pondlet

Fascinating as the foxes are they are also a real worry. We live in an housing intensive, terraced area about a mile from the beginnings of open countryside. The number of urban foxes is increasing substantially each year and the area can't sustain another four foraging for food. Already the seagulls tear open the bin bags we are forced to leave out on the pavement and the foxes help distribute that rubbish further. And whilst the cats are still happy to chase single foxes off what might happen if they are cornered by several at once?

At the moment I am more worried by the nightly incursion of bind weed from my other neighbour's overgrown neglected garden. Removing the crumbling brick wall between us has allowed this nightmare to slither undetected under the fence, rearing its ugly growth in my border. As fast as I remove this blight it finds another route in and my only hope is a daily vigilance to ensure it is removed as far as possible - but what will happen if we go away for a few weeks?

Foxes, bindweed, seagulls - there is always some garden intruder to be fought off! At least the lack of rain has substantially cut down on this year's snail population...

Dullas - Episode 3 Soil Wars

2011-04-26T13:56:00.000+01:00

The heat's been turned up at Southforktofork but if you can't take the steam get out of the shower!!

Click on the links if you've missed them episodes Dullas 1 and Dullas 2

A Highly Organised Veg Patch

2011-04-19T13:33:00.003+01:00

May's coming up quickly and that signals Artist's Open House's in Brighton. We've bought various bits of artwork over the years from local makers but now I find the main excitement to be having a jolly good snoop around other people's houses. 'Socktowers' lies in a designated 'Artists Area' and we have to be careful to keep our front door closed on May weekends. I once left my door open whilst bringing the shopping in from the car only to find that a load of Open House viewers had trooped in after me and were milling around in my hall offering to buy my photographs I have framed on the wall!

The 'Open' idea has recently extended to Brighton gardens too - not the ones that have been primped, primed and perfected ready for the National Garden Scheme (although those are of great interest and the Socks will be making a point of visiting more of them this year) - no, these are just small, town, gardens that owners feel have enough of interest to warrant the small viewing payment which goes to local charities. I've visited some which were interesting and others which made me feel less charitable and I wondered what on earth they felt their garden had to offer anyone other than a lawn and some shrubs bunged in around it. Not that there is anything wrong with having the latter other than there isn't really anything to view.

Cambridge Gage

So last weekend a planned trip to see Michelle Wheeler's 'Open Veg Patch' (part of the community events for 'Food Week' in the village of Milford-on-Sea) left the Socks wondering what to expect. We arrived after lunch in the company of the 'Highly Organised' Helen Reeley with her notepad and pen at the ready to jot down all her inspirations - I think there were quite a few of them! As we walked past the front garden which was very much 'under development' the Sock immediately had 'fan trained plum' envy! This was exactly what we had wanted for this year but left too late to buy - Michelle had put up a poster naming and describing the plum 'Cambridge gage' and it is now a definite purchase for us next autumn. Result already! This was just the kind of information I wanted and we hadn't even got to the Veg Patch yet!

Round the back of the house to view the garden - a very decent size but not 'Monty Don style' huge. Very much a garden we could relate to and combining many of the elements we would like to have if we ever get to move somewhere bigger. Michelle has done much of the design and work over the last year and it divides into four areas a patio with table (and more importantly Michelle's Mum's very good homemade cakes), family/lawn area with decent sized garage and chic shed, veg and greenhouse area and then a luxury pad and run at the back for some very lucky chickens!

Veg and Visitors

As Michelle was busy with a constant stream of visitors who were obviously very keen and asking lots of questions, Helen and I took the opportunity to have a thorough snout around. The lawn borders weren't fully filled out yet but what was there was an interesting mix of edibles many of which had architectural (and perhaps a little Diacono) interest.

Szechuan pepper

somethingorother berry

These included a Szechuan pepper, another on my wishlist, (although seeing it 'in the flesh' it is a bit of a spikey 'berberissy' brute which might make it harder to place in my garden) and growing along the fence to the chicken run a 'somethingorother' berry. This was really pretty and apparently the fruit are very tasty and I want one. Had I been as highly organised as Helen I would have written the name of it down on a notepad but I'm sure someone will tell me what it was!

Mark Diacono's influence was felt elsewhere as his and some other usual suspects' books were laid out on a table. The Bedsock was rather taken with Alys Fowler's 'Thrifty Gardener' and no collection can be complete without the lovely Landscape Man's 'Making a Garden' as displayed to you here by my glamorous assistant the 'highly organised' Helen.

Although I am always going to see my garden as predominantly filled with the colours and texture of flowers there were certainly plenty of ideas and inspiration for edibles that we could take from Michelle's and incorporate in our own. There is a rumour I was sneaking around the back of the greenhouse to photograph the one untidy area - the truth is I was checking out the slimline waterbutt with a view as to whether I could squeeze one in behind my own greenhouse.


Mich - A Portrait of a Lady with Secateurs

The final visitors disappeared, the Open Garden closed and we enjoyed a chat and glass of wine with Michelle who was no doubt exhausted but I would imagine very happy with both the visitor numbers and their genuine interest in her garden. For myself and the Bedsock it was not just the Veg Patch but a chance to meet up again with some fellow tweeters and learn more about them too. A thoroughly enjoyable experience and perhaps one that other garden bloggers and tweeters might think about doing - all you need is a garden, some cake and the confidence that people aren't looking to see perfection but a chat, a few new ideas and something they can relate to.

Great Gardens of Italy - Reducted

2011-04-13T06:59:00.000+01:00

As a public service the Sock has pared down everything you need to know about Monty Don's 'Great Italian Gardens' into one short film. So now you don't have to watch it all. Speakers on everybody!

Shiny Happy day out at Nyman's

2011-04-10T08:45:00.002+01:00

The Sock and her friend Lazy Trollop went for a wander around Nyman's on Thursday - a day well chosen being the warmest of the year so far. The very best sort of Spring day brilliant deep blue skies the first fresh burst of buds blossoming on the trees...

Shiny Happy People* enjoying the sunshine..

Shiny Happy leaves unfurling on a copper beech

A chance to practice with the macro lens showed just how extraordinarily intricate and beautiful the details are

Shiny Happy magnolias

The Sock was going to show you a picture of a Shiny Happy Lazy Trollop but she might retaliate with a picture of the Sock on her blog. Thus we have established a Mutually Assured Destruction scenario.

Wisteria in waiting...

The walled garden was carpeted with a wonderful mix of frittilaria and daffodils providing a naturalistic display of colour and texture that the Sock wouldn't have expected to work but somehow did. The Sock's never had much luck with the meagre clumps of frittilaria planted in the past and they looked so much better planted en masse. Sadly my photos of the larger display failed to do them justice so all you get to see is a clump.

Nyman's 'Bulb of the Month' was frittilaria persica - a great choice and made the Sock want to rush out and buy some.

So drawing on all her critical faculties how would the Sock assess these gardens?

Well they were lovely, just absolutely lovely, everything that Spring should be about. Blue skies and Shiny Happy People.

Although if you want just one teensy little criticism... the Sock would have liked a nice cheese scone to go with her quite good veg soup in the café. Nobody EVER does nice cheese scones any more!

* In the unlikely event you should want to refresh your memory of the Shiny Happy People song you can singalong with it here

Out to Lunch..

2011-04-05T12:20:00.006+01:00

A sunny Sunday at the end of March led the Sock to two of her favourite pastimes - a great lunch out followed by a bit of Matthew Wilson stalking.

Lunch was at Petersham Nurseries which has recently gained a Michelin star. Not that we use the Michelin as our food bible any more but it does give a reasonable indication that the cuisine is a cut above the norm (and consequently so are the prices).

The food at Petersham was more than a cut above - starters were the stars with the sweetest of scallops for the Sock and a wonderfully fresh mozarella salad with shaved radishes and fennel drizzled with an exquisite olive oil for the Bedsock.

The restaurant is gorgeously informal an eclectic assortment of tables, chairs and plants within the glasshouse setting.

It did seem a shame that since the Socks last visit the nursery aspect of Petersham had been very much trimmed down no doubt to expand the café/restaurant area. The Bedsock drank the lemonade but a couple of glasses of wine put the Sock more in the mood for an afternoon nap rather than an 'Ask the Gardeners' talk at the London Wetlands Centre.

The question and answer session was interesting with Matthew 'Landscape Man' bringing his usual wit to the occasion. Not so sure about his attempt to be nice to a child by speculating that the brown patches on her lawn might suggest the remains of an old Roman settlement full of treasure underneath it. Also doubtful whether her parents will be impressed to find said child has called in Tony 'Baldrick' Robinson and the Time Team crew to dig up the entire garden.

Much of the talk was about Rain Gardening and we were told that Nigel Dunnett had trashed an existing sustainable show garden at wetlands designed by Cleve West ten years ago in order to construct a sustainable Rain Garden complete with bug hotels. There must be some irony in that.

Rain Garden

The Socks were left with the feeling that although there were many interesting ideas put forward at the talk whilst some were theoretically all very well - in practice they were less workable.

Encouraging people to use plants that don't require much in terms of care and watering is fine if you can get hold of them at your local Wyvale or B&Q etc. It is these big chains that need to make the change instead of selling people plants that can't possibly thrive in local conditions. The Socks are prepared to drive around the countryside searching out small specialist nurseries for particular plants but that does nothing to reduce their carbon footprint.

Nigel Dunnett's suggestion that even the smallest garden could plant a tree as "global warming will mean that we all need shade" horrified the Sock whose first thought was "Not in my back yard". Our elderly neighbour planted what he described as a small tree right next to our dividing wall despite the Sock voicing her misgivings. The 'small' tree shot up and half of it overhung the Socks' small garden which meant we had to cut back and dispose of it at some trouble to ourselves. It looked absolutely horrible - half a tree - and took much of the pleasure away from the view of the garden the Sock had designed. When the roots started cracking our already crumbling wall the Socks had to put a lot of pressure on the neighbour to remove the tree which eventually he did but with much bad feeling.

The Sock feels that sustainability is not sufficient justification for anti-social gardening and that all gardeners should be aware of the impact on their neighbours when their planting encroaches on other people's light or space. There were certainly people in the audience who didn't share the Sock's view although this wasn't a subject explored at any length.

[On the subject of sustainability the Sock was annoyed to receive this hideous bit of unwanted junk with her Thompson and Morgan plug plant order.

Far from being pleased with this 'free' hanging basket of extremely poor quality the Sock was pissed off at having to find some way of disposing of it. What a ridiculous waste of resource on all fronts!]

An enjoyable afternoon though but only time for a quick wander around the Wetlands area itself. Sadly no picture of Landscape Man for you - you will have to make do with a duck* instead!

*picture from National Geographic

Dullas - Episode 2

2011-03-25T16:49:00.002Z

The long awaited second episode of Dullas - and sadly it lives up to its name... Apart from the bit at the end

What did you do there? I got high

2011-03-18T14:11:00.011Z

Over the Bridge of Sighs

To rest my eyes in shades of green

Under Dreaming Spires

To Itchycoo Park, that's where I've been

Not Itchycoo Park, Singleton Park in Swansea. There is always much discussion given over to 'favourite gardens' - less so to parks. Swansea is blessed not just with the stunning Gower coast on its doorstep but also some splendid parks. The enchanting Clyne Castle gardens - a child's dream with its streams, pools, rhododendron woods secreting a tiny tower with spiral staircase, and incredible views across Swansea bay, and then the graciousness of Singleton's rolling parkland, green open spaces and diverse areas of interest. It is to the latter I am headed now in the company of Old Ma Sock who I am visiting on a mercy mission which may turn into a mercy killing if the park doesn't 'rest my eyes in shades of green' and restore my calm and serenity.

Old Ma Sock is now more than a tad demented and a recent fall has fractured not just her arm but her routine. Although she is otherwise healthy and very active any change in her routine makes higher demands on her short term memory which is already shot to pieces. I am taking her to the doctors later on for a check on her arm and as we walk to the park she has already asked me a thousand times "Am I going for a blood test?". After the first few dozen times of patiently explaining I have resorted to more and more creative answers - none of which she remembers. Finally when she repeats "What is it we're going for Arabella, a blood test?" I reply "No. We're going to have your brain taken out so its a good job you've bought a hat as they will have to take the top of your head off!" Luckily Old Ma Sock finds this an amusing concept and it diverts her for some time from the original repetitive train of thought. At least she hasn't mentioned how unruly my hair is which I find truly and deeply annoying. For years "Ooh - your hair's a mess - does it need a comb?" has invariably been her first reaction when she sees me.

We wander down to my favourite part of Singleton Park, the Botanical Gardens previously called the Educational Gardens - I can tell you I got some education there over the years! As we pass the various donated benches Old Ma Sock says "Perhaps you should dedicate a bench here for me?" "What should we engrave on the commemorative plaque" I ask "how about, Old Ma Sock and Granny GrimbleSock stole cuttings from here between 1960 and 1975". "We did not!" she protests but at least one of us is suffering from false memory syndrome. In my childhood the most exciting part of the Educational Gardens was the hot-houses where my friend Paul and I would shelter from the rain on our frequent visits to the park. These were the days when small kids enjoyed the freedom to wander for miles to these places unaccompanied by interfering adults. I remember how we enjoyed the moist, mysterious, warmth like a tropical rainforest, the atmospheric dripping of water onto exotic jungle leaves, the pools half-hidden by lush foliage, the large goldfish lurking in the secret depths of a dark pool. Decades later the hot-houses still enchant me.

Not so the formal flowers beds outside recently planted up with what will be a garish display of spring bedding. I find it hideous but no doubt it will impress the elderly, attracted like magpies to the bright cheerful colours. Old Ma Sock has always been a keen plantswoman, growing fruit and vegetables as well as designing a tasteful flower garden. Now, even in her garden, the attraction of annual bedding plants has won out and I wonder if this desire for bright and clashing primary coloured plants will come to us all eventually.

I have always loved rock gardens and must have been early influenced by the one here. Now it seems on a smaller scale than my memories of meandering around the narrow pathways between towering mounds of mossy rock, admiring the alpines tucked into cracks and crevices.

As we leave for another part of the park a duck waddles over the ornamental bridge triggering a stranger memory.

What did you do there? - I got high

What did you feel there? Well I cried

But why the tears there? - I'll tell you why-yyyy

It's all too beautiful, Its all too beautiful

I was fifteen, a rather young, naive, fifteen - not like girls now or even some of the girls then. I was on the cusp of growing out of the youth club crowd where I had hovered on the peripheries never really being a central member. Now I was branching out to find an identity of my own. My brother and his friends, a few years older, offered something different, excitement, stimulation ...drugs. I'd hung around with them a bit and occasionally smoked a shared joint which had had no apparent effect on me. In fact the nicotine buzz off a Players No.6 cigarette was more likely to 'space me out'. This day I tagged along with the group who were going to the park to 'drop acid' - LSD being the popular drug of those times. Hallucinogens were probably not the best drug of choice for a highly imaginative, sensitive, unprepared fifteen year old.

I can remember the trees having faces, the branches becoming arms like the Ents in Lord of the Rings. I can remember laughing uncontrollably at the ducks then screaming and crying until my brother gave me another tablet to calm me down. 'One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small'. I can remember time passing but not passing, distance neither being here nor there. I can remember one girl (who was already rather strange) hugging and singing to a tree.

I can remember being told that some years later she had jumped to her death off a multi-storey car-park...

I feel inclined to blow my mind

Get hung up, feed the ducks with a bun

They all come out to groove about

Be nice and have fun in the sun

I didn't enjoy the drugs experience and stuck to destroying my brain with cider after that. The rest of the drug-taking group grew up to be, if not pillars of society, then social-workers, lecturers, doctors, psychologists.

I'll tell you what I'll do - What will you do?
I'd like to go there now with you
You can miss out school - Won't that be cool
Why go to learn the words of fools

My mood has become suffused with melancholy not helped by contemplation of my own madness and mortality. Old Ma Sock is asking why we are going to the doctors again. She is diverted as we walk past the Swiss Cottage built by architect Peter Frederick Robinson in 1826 who also designed the Egyptian Hall in London.

"You loved staying overnight there when you were little" she says "we used to play cards with the Park superintendent and his wife who lived in the cottage." My mind stirs and as I unlock the memory a fleeting moment of the excitement I felt staying in this fairytale place passes through me. No longer fairytale it was badly burnt at the end of last year. When I was studying A level Art (a subject looked down upon at my rigid all-girls grammar school) a friend and I skipped lessons and spent the day lounging around sunbathing in Singleton on the pretext of sketching. On return to school the art mistress ripped up the pen and ink drawing of Swiss Cottage I had produced. I could never draw from life and with hindsight I can understand why it was so bad but at the time I was given no explanation adding to my conviction that school was a waste and the teachers fools.

Apropos of nothing Old Ma Sock suddenly announces "Of course, Dad and I used to go for drinks with Dylan Thomas at the University." I am a bit stunned by this interesting snippet and it is not beyond the realms of possibility. Unfortunately no further information is forthcoming.

We walk back up to the top of the park passing the druid stone circle. I have just looked this up and disappointingly it was built in 1925 for the National Eisteddfod ceremony. Not quite as ancient as I had imagined all these years but still a wonderful evocative place for children to play and clamber over the stones.

Our park visit over I take Old Ma Sock to the doctors. As we sit in the crowded waiting room she looks and me then says loudly "Do you want to use my comb? Your hair's a bit of a mess."

The Hazards of Huskies

2011-03-07T12:31:00.002Z

And so we come to the last in the Sock's 'Northern Lights' trilogy. Having survived a night in the Ice Hotel we are up and out early having wolfed down a huge breakfast and several cups of coffee at the really rather good breakfast buffet.

It is another lovely crisp sunny morning but temperatures have dropped even further and there is a slight wind making it feel colder. The Socks are pleased that they have inserted little packets of handwarmers into their gloves that heat up throughout the day like miniature hot water bottles. The days activity is a 'Moose safari by Snowmobile'! A small group of us are taken on a 60km trek out into the snowy wilderness.

Somewhere under that snowsuit is a cashmere Sock!

The Sock is sharing a snowmobile with the Bedsock as driving her own for three hours would be too physically tiring. As it happens clinging on to the back of a snowmobile driven by a Bedsock who has gone "a bit Top Gear" is pretty tiring too! The minute we emerge from the winding, undulating, tracks of the snowy forests onto the flat frozen expanse of river he is fully revved up and gone - zoom-zooming over the ice with the Sock's tentative suggestions that we might go a little bit slower unheard and unheeded.

Later we do finally slow down enough to see some moose grazing in the forest but as nobody has paid attention to the guide's instructions to keep quiet, the loud exchanges of "Why have we stopped?", "There's a couple of moose over there", "Where?", "They WERE over there!" frighten the creatures and the Socks only get to see one large moose's backside before they clear off. Not to worry though, the main purpose of the day has been the snowmobiling and a chance to get well into the wilderness. It has been great fun finished off with a late lunch of stewed reindeer and mashed potato with lingonberry sauce at the guide's lodge.

After a great night's sleep in a warm and comfortable bed the Sock's are off on another adventure having kept the best 'til last. Husky sledging!

Again we are going with a guide but we are lucky that on this tour there are just the two of us with the sledge to ourselves. The trip information has given us a warning that the huskies tend to 'go to the toilet' on the run and that for this reason it is inadvisable to wear white trousers. The advice is well informed because the minute we get going so does Husky no. 2. who unfortunately appears not only to have eaten a large breakfast but also one that disagrees with him as for the first ten minutes he has permanent squits! The Socks give thanks that we are seated right at the back of the fur covered sledge as anyone sitting at the front (and the sledges can take up to six people sitting astride) would be likely to get caught in the blow-back. Everytime the husky releases another salvo he turns his head around and grins widely at the Socks, clearly well pleased with himself!

Just when the Socks thought the dog had at last emptied himself the guide stopped and decided to swap Husky no. 2 with Husky no. 5 right on time for the latter to decide it was his turn to go! Husky sledging is a beautiful, exhilarating experience in this fabulous, strange, snow-clad landscape but my memories of it will always be laughing so much at the dog's doings.

Our 40km round trip takes in a lunch stop which the guide cooks up for us at a wilderness chalet - this is again the ubiquitous stewed reindeer with mashed potatoes and lingonberry sauce.

On our last morning at the Ice Hotel we take a wander around inspecting the creations of people who have opted for the two hour Ice Sculpting activity. Guess which one the Sock made?

Romancing on Ice

2011-03-02T10:49:00.009Z

We arrive at the Ice Hotel a beautiful bright day, delphinium blue skies above crisp, gleaming, white snow - even the air around us literally sparkles. Sadly my ME has prevented us ever going skiing so the Socks have never experienced these levels of snow and cold but we have learnt not to dwell on what we can't do and concentrate on what we can do and over the next three days this will include a night on ice, snowmobiling and husky sledging! After all how fatiguing can these things be? Pretty bloody exhausting as it happens! The Sock had underestimated the sheer effort of continually moving from 'cold' to 'warm places' and the work involved in dressing in and stripping off the heavy snow suits and boots provided and our multiple layers of clothing under that!

We have chosen to spend our first night in the Ice Hotel itself and after that move into one of the warm lodges on the site.The Ice Hotel is open each day until 6.00pm so that visitors can view all the rooms after which those brave enough to sleep over in the -5C interior temperature have the Ice Hotel to themselves. (Click on any of the pictures to enlarge.)

Main Hall

The entire Ice Hotel is constructed each winter from blocks of pure ice cut from the frozen waters of the adjacent River Torne melting back into it late the following Spring. There are three types of rooms Snow Rooms which are very basic, Ice Rooms and then the more glamorous and expensive Art Suites. We have opted for an Ice Room which are quite beautiful but all the same design and this turns out to be a good decision. Each of the Art Suites have been individually carved and created by different artists, some are exquisite and fantastical but others feel a little claustrophobic. We spend a happy hour or so marvelling at them but had we been staying in one, the Sock would have spent the whole day angsting over whether we had been allocated one we really liked!

The Bedsock was particularly taken with the Ice Car Room (yes that is the Bedsock and not some marauding Cossack!) he is sitting on the reindeer skins that form the bed in the car!

This room could be retitled 'OldiSocks and the Two Bears'

the amount of details put into many of the rooms was fantastic as was the way the lighting picked up different colours in the ice.

This room design was based on the contents of a fridge!

After being given an explanatory talk on 'How to survive in an Ice Room' the Socks cleared off to the Absolut Ice Bar to fortify themselves with a couple of cocktails

which came in glasses made of ice

Peeling off the top three of their many layers of clothing the Socks enjoyed a lovely six course meal in the warm restaurant. The only course not served on a plate of ice was the very tasty ptarmigan and reindeer tongue!

Warm, full, slightly inebriated and happy the Socks made themselves ready for the ~~ordeal~~ exciting experience ahead. We had decided that sharing a double sleeping bag would be romantic and collected it from the warm Dressing Room just outside the Ice Hotel itself. Guests were advised to strip down to their silk thermals to sleep in, then don a jumper and boots for the quick dash through -30c exterior temperature to their overnight accommodation of a 'warmer' -5c. Our room is pictured below from our daytime visit - you don't get to see the unedifying sight of the Socks running to it through the snow corridors clad only in their undies, boots and hats!

Nor do you see the ensuing tussling panic as the Socks threw the enormous sleeping bag onto the Ice bed fighting to get into it as quickly as possible. It was every Sock for themselves - as demonstrated by the Bedsock who, struggling to get the bag over his head, somehow wapped the Sock hard in the jaw nearly dislocating it! There followed much howling which eventually dissolved into a more than frosty silence - the romance of a double sleeping bag being much wasted!

Although it might be possible to get a good and comfortable night's sleep on an ice bed this did not happen for the Socks. The combined heat generated from the thermal clad Socks alternately left them soaked in a hot sweat which then turned to ice each time they shifted position and the -5c air seeped into through the top of the bag! The Bedsock lay in a sleepless stupor for some hours wishing that we had done as some other sensible guests and also booked a warm room to escape to. The Sock spent some hours wishing she hadn't drunk so much with dinner as a visit to the toilet would involve a run back and forth through the freezing ice corridors to the Dressing Rooms clad only in her undies and boots. Guests are given a severe warning before using the rooms that they MUST NOT PISS IN THE SNOW and that telltale yellow signs will be noted!

Eventually the Socks drift into a semi-stupor to be woken the next morning by 'room service' with a glass of hot lingonberry juice and the relief of knowing that the rest of their nights will be spent in a lovely, warm, comfortable conventional bed!

A Cold Coming we had of it...

2011-02-28T13:46:00.003Z

Abisko

Last Tuesday at 11.00 a.m. the Socks were taxiing along the runway at Heathrow - 12 hours later the Socks are suspended in the dark off a cliff face, 100ft above the snow in temperatures of -40C! All the Sock can think is WTF are we doing here!

The Sock has had a deep rooted fear of open chair lifts ever since one childhood summer when enjoying a ride on a chairlift in Switzerland. As the double chair swept higher and higher, swaying over alpine meadows, trees and lakes, my brother seated next to me waited until the chair was at its highest point and then threatened to open the safety bar and push me out! Believing him quite capable of this malfeasance the Sock screamed in panic to her parents suspended in the chair in front - to no avail. Finally alighting at the summit the Sock ran crying to them "Why didn't you do something?" but Old Ma Sock merely laughed and said "Ha ha! We thought you were waving!"

Not waving......................

And now the Sock is drowning again in a sea of ice-cold darkness until a sudden jolt means that the next lot of passengers to reach the bottom have been unloaded and we are re-starting our slow, swaying descent. At least the Sock can see where she is going as earlier a thin layer of ice had formed on her steamed up glasses obscuring any sort of view. The bad news is that the thawed lenses have shown the Sock exactly how vertiginously high up in the air she is suspended.

A visit to Swedish Lapland had been a long held dream for the Socks and when we finally decided to make it so we threw in a first night at the Abisko Sky Station, the most likely place for a Northern Lights viewing. Sadly the sky is slightly cloudy and although the previous night the display had been one of the best in years we are denied more than a very faint hint of the green and pink of these elusive lights. We have however had a very nice meal at the Sky station the Sock's favourite course being smoked salmon in an artichoke soup. The salmon has the kind of strong gutsy smoke to it that we remember from Iceland where they smoke the salmon over sulphurous steaming pits filled with smouldering sheep dung. It tastes as one would expect from such treatment but somehow within that strange and alien landscape that is just right.

We finally make it down safely to the bottom of the chair lift where the Sock manages to slip over twice and lose her woolly hat on the short walk back to the very basic hotel. The next day will take us on through the snowy wilderness to the Ice Hotel itself and our first and quite probably last experience of sleeping on ice!

To be continued....

Out of the Box

2011-02-18T11:43:00.008Z

All the woodland path is broken
  By warm tints along the way,
    And the low and sunny slope
    Is alive with sudden hope
When there comes the silent token
  Of an April day,—
    Blue hepatica!

Dora Read Goodale—Hepatica.

Winter boxes the Sock in - a combination of SAD, the sort of drear, grey, cold weather that puts paid to even the slightest glimmer of enthusiasm at the idea of being outdoors and a surfeit of apathy. As the Sock's first social/horticultural occasion of the year, the RHS February London Halls event was as eagerly anticipated as the Chelsea Flower show! To be honest it is not really 'showy' but for the Sock, what the RHS Halls lacks in interest (and it does lack), it makes up for in the sheer joy of being let out of the box!

Lindley Hall

First a little note to the RHS. DON'T EVER DO THAT STUPID THING WITH THE TICKETS AGAIN!
Arriving at Lindley Hall to meet friends I was told that I needed to wander around to the Lawrence Hall to pick up a ticket despite producing my RHS card for free entry. This totally confused me (and everyone else) as it had never happened before and also seemed completely pointless with everyone grumbling about it. Given the show attracts a lot of very elderly people being told to drag your zimmer even the short distance to the Lawrence Hall and back to get a ticket is really not on.

Clearly a little grumble like that wasn't going to spoil our day and we bagged a table at the upstairs coffee bar for a quick chat with Simon (who had already "done" the two halls in the space of 45 minutes which he said was because it was early enough not to be crowded but in my opinion was more likely to be because they weren't that interesting), Michelle, Victoria and Lazy Trollop. When I said quick chat I meant that some of us stayed for a longer gossip - by the time Helen and her partner turned up we only had a short time to race around the Lindley Hall before meeting up at the Lawrence.

It didn't really need much time. There were two 'show' roof gardens neither of which I found that inspiring although Hugo Bugg's one did have a fab living wall composed mainly of sempervivums which I love. I couldn't help feeling that a real eyecatcher would have been to have created a mini 'Gherkin' out of sempervivums and silver sedums to reflect the one in the background skyline and form a focal sculptural piece for the garden.

This outdoor room thingy was created out of fake grass. Unfortunately my accompanying Beardibum thought it was one of those flash Parisian toilets and had to be quickly stopped from taking a leak in it. That particular Beardibum won't be let out again for a while.

Then on to the Lawrence Hall to meet up again on the 'biddies balcony' so called because they all sit up there in rows with their packed lunches.

Larwrence Hall

It was a disappointing year for hat wear at the show but to our absolute delight we spotted the 'Snowdrop hat lady' (see this blog from last year). This year she was with 'Snowdrop-hat lady No.2' ! I wonder if more Snowdrop hat ladies will turn up next year - perhaps they will divide and expand exponentially and in a few years the halls will be entirely populated with Snowdrop-hat ladies.

I was pleased to see the happy smiling faces of Sean and Jooles at Heucheraholics again. Even though it's not the best time of year for heucheras their display always looks bright and cheerful. Friends living in France will be interested to know that Sean & Jooles won a first prize at a French Flower show at Courson October 2010 south of Paris knocking the two French heuchera nurseries into a cocked hat! (In this case a bicorne hat like Napoleon's rather than the usual British tricorne conjured up by the saying.) I say "Well done" to Heucheraholics - a proud day for the Brits and no doubt your OBE's will be forthcoming.

The loveliest thing at the show (apart from the Sock herself obviously) was the gorgeous, to absolutely die for, hepatica display from Ashwood nursery. Such beautiful colours and flowers - even the foliage is fabulous.

Sadly I didn't buy any because the two I got from the show a couple of years ago disappeared very quickly and I don't know whether they are just a bit tricksy or I just don't have the right growing conditions.

So all that remained of the day was to clear off to the pub for a few hours to be picked up a little 'tired and emotional' (but very happy) by the Bedsock on his way home from work.

Erumping!

2011-02-13T16:38:00.008Z

The Sock has been very remiss on the blogging front for the last few weeks in part due to Seasonal Apathy but mainly due to some sort of brain/eye strain which has made doing any sort of photoshoppy work difficult.

Now things are at last erumping forth.

e·rum·pent adj. Bursting through as if through a surface or covering.

This is a lovely new word the Sock has found thanks to Lia Leendertz in her Guardian weekend column. So whilst Lia's recommended snowdrop sites are busy erumping the Sock is also forming little shoots of ideas in her brain which will soon erump forth on her blog.

In the meanwhile here are some lovely links for anyone who has not yet seen them. First a little taster of what the sadly cancelled second season of Landscape Man would have bought us.

Landscape Man shakes his booties

Perhaps if we all clap loud enough the series, like Tinkerbell, will be revived and back on our screens.

Also shaking their booties (and a little more in some cases) are

3 Men Went 2 Mow - certainly shaking something

For those of you missing Alys Fowler her Guardian column also gives timely advice this week with a St. Valentine's day slug massacre The Sock can't think of a better way to celebrate it.

That's enough feeling the love in the room for now.. the Sock will be back soon with a new episode of Dullas

Splatted on the terrace like a lump of strawberry jam

2011-01-30T17:15:00.008Z

I'm taking time out from my usual blogging to write about something that has been in my head since New Year, clogging up my brain to the exclusion of more interesting information and I want it OUT! So allow me to spew forth my feelings about the Archers.

First let me establish my Archers credentials and how, despite not being an avid listener, it has nevertheless been a string running in the background my life for many years. My parents always had the Archers on the radio at tea time. When I say tea I mean a fairly light evening meal taken around the kitchen table as opposed to dinner of the meat and two veg type which we had at lunchtime at my father's insistence. I blame my unfulfilled academic potential on the fact that having bussed three miles home, walked half a mile, scoffed meat, two veg and a pudding, walked and bussed back to school, all between 12.30pm and 2.00pm, I then spent most afternoon classes in a postprandial stupor, the effort of digestion having drained all energy from my brain. Or worse, returning to school on a Friday having enjoyed the deep fried haddock and chips that my mother excelled at cooking only to find my classmates less than happy with the pervading smell of fish wafting from my uniform and once throwing a bottle of lavender water over me in protest.

I have already digressed.. but this in itself is part of my Archers credentials, I remember the Archers and ergo I remember my life. The holiday in Northern Spain where the Bedsock and I sat in the car on a rainy day listening to the Archers on longwave. The time when I was at the kitchen sink and Tony found John Archer dead under the tractor and I was totally stunned and shocked. The Christmas spent in Dinan in an old, musty, rented house with only the radio for entertainment which was fine because we were hooked on the Brian and Siobhan affair and its various twists and turns. I remember Lizzie when she was fun, Pat when she was feisty, Helen when her pony Comet was ill (although I don't remember whether the horse died or not) and of course David when he killed the badger.

All the more disappointing then that the promised SATTC (Shake Ambridge to the Core) storyline was such utter pants. After a week of 'signposting' which even the dimmest listener could not have failed to have missed, Nigel fell off the roof to his doom. I laughed out loud as he emitted a scream, the length of which (it has been calculated) would imply that he passed sixty storeys before splatting. A splat that has since led to the tedium of weeks of grief, hushed voices and funerals at just the time of year when most people need their spirits lifting from the winter SAD. A parallel storyline had the overnight conversion of the hateful, controlling, turkey-basting, dairy queen Helen transformed by the birth of the Baby Cheesus into a glowing miraculous madonna of motherhood! I know I am not alone in feeling that the only thing that could save this would be to see Helen bought low and miserable as invariably and satisfyingly happens so often to Gail in Corrie. One can only hope that in Helen's case the Mills of God are grinding slowly and that one day they will grind exceeding small.

Does any of this matter? So a long running radio programme has gone downhill with a couple of badly scripted and/or ludicrous storylines. Hardly the end of the world and it may well get back on course eventually. Yet it feels to me like something is over, something I will never get back. A feeling exacerbated by reading the BBC Archers Messageboards where, what was once a forum for witty comment and interesting discussion, has now become for a venue for sniping and picking to pieces every single aspect of the plot with half of the threads ending in repetitive bickering. Initially I was surprised at wave of anger and resentment flowing towardsVanessa Whitburn the series Editor, someone I was barely aware of before the New Year Archers debacle. Then after hearing Ms. Whitburn interviewed by a disgruntled listener on the Feedback programme I too was taken aback by her patronizing manner and ill-judged comments. Ms.Whitburn fielded criticism in the manner of a typical spin doctor, disingenuously implying that people were upset by the death of a well-loved character rather than that the manner of Nigel's death and the lead up to it was so clunkily scripted and signposted as to make it risible. She went on to say that her interviewer and "several other listeners" had been annoyed by this storyline and that she did "feel for" those upset by it. I don't want Ms Whitburn to "feel for" me and far from "several other listeners" the general mood I have observed on various forums (including twitter) is that most people who listen to the Archers are at present, to some degree, disenchanted with it.

According to popular theory put forward by Daily Mail readers on the Archers messageboards I am one of the Guardian reading, latte drinking, left-wing leaning, city dwelling listeners that Ms. Whitburn aims to cater for. If so then she has failed even in that. What I want from the Archers is an insight into the minutiae of a supposed country life, believable characters in believable situations where the richness comes not from sensationalist plotlines but from well scripted observations of human behaviour with its follies and foibles and a bit of farming thrown in. I want to engage with the characters lives. I want a return to the times when storylines like Phil Archer's hip replacement gave me some leverage in introducing the subject to my own father who refused to admit he needed one. I want to actually LIKE some of the characters rather than find that the need for new 'issue' led stories has given people an overnight character change and usually for the worse.

I don't doubt that writing a good script is more demanding than plotting a dramatic event but they need to try. I still have the Archers on most days but at the moment it is so far in the background that I scarcely hear it.

Dullas

2011-01-17T11:54:00.002Z

The Sock is testing out some new ideas for her forthcoming GW tribute series. This is the pilot for Dullas - what do you think?

The Kitten Diaries - Fox Bothering

2011-01-08T09:36:00.001Z

Despite living in a densely populated urban area the Socks have a family of foxes resident on their terraced street. Word is that they live in a disused house and garden on the upper part of the road but although we occasionally see three foxes at a time in our smallish back garden it is a pretty young fox that spends a lot or her time in the unkempt and overgrown garden next door. I can see her from my study basking in the summer warmth in the open and despite the winter cold she seems oblivious to the grey drizzle and often curls up for a peaceful afternoon nap.

Hebe and Spook watch her too and often sit on the fence leering down at her. In the past, worried that the fox might turn on the cats, I have called them in with the promise of a treat from the fridge which always ensures Spook's speedy return as he rockets back into the kitchen. Although the fox family definitely took an undue interest in a new neighbours rabbit run - all three turning up and snouting around no doubt hoping for a tasty supper - the foxes seem very wary of the cats even one as ridiculous as Spook.

I was watching the fox making ready for its nap next door when who should turn up but Spook. He thinks he's found a new best friend! (Sadly my photos were taken quickly through closed window so not the best quality.) A new interest for Spook would suit us all. He wore us out over Christmas with his constant demands to have things thrown to be retrieved, the need to supervise him at all times to ensure that our dinner didn't go the same way as the Stilton, the fact that the jigsaw took four times as long as it should have done due to him digging pieces out and hiding them under the sofa every time my back was turned! And Hebe would welcome a break from the fear of Spook hiding around any door or corner ready to pounce on her in a more than boisterous manner. All in all a bit of fox friendship wouldn't go amiss.

Spook wanders happily up to the fox and sits unconcerned very near to it. It is the fox who is spooked and after some vacillation

eventually decides that discretion is the better part of valour and clears off leaving Spook a right little 'Billy no Mates'

Poor Spook... nobody ever wants to play with him! This means I will have to make up for it by spending double time this evening throwing crinkly bits of paper for him to fetch.

Separated at Birth!

2011-01-06T10:10:00.002Z

Has anyone else noticed the astonishing resemblance between rugged garden god Matthew Wilson and X-Factor heartthrob, ageing lothario Wagner?

The Sock's Christmas Movie

2010-12-19T17:19:00.001Z

Speakers on everybody and get ready to dance.....

Ps. If you want to see more of 3Menwent2mow catch their Christmas message here
its got to be better than the Queen's!

How they broke the news....

2010-12-19T10:13:00.002Z

___________

Health and Safety Dogs - Now is the Winter....

2010-12-13T12:19:00.000Z

speakers on and tissues out.....

For new blog readers the adventures of the Health and Safety Dogs can be read by clicking on the link under Full Stories to your screen right.

GW RIP!

2010-12-08T13:25:00.000Z

The Sea of Immeasurable Gravy is proud to announce it's newest production - but you'll have to

clic for the flic

Stuffed!

2010-12-07T18:51:00.002Z

Resurrection, resurrection, resurrection

2010-12-07T17:22:00.001Z

Question: What is the difference between the three latter day Saints pictured above?

Answer: Two are dead but the third's just been resurrected!

The Sock's Guide to Christmas Prezzies No.1

2010-12-01T15:08:00.009Z

We must all agree that the best prezzies are those we buy for ourselves (thereby ensuring that we get what we want not some naff bit of old rubbish that wastes space in the attic until a decent enough length of time has gone by to throw it away). However, if you really want to surprise your loved one with a little parcel on Christmas Day, the Sock has some great suggestions for you - and today it's ideas for books.

This years must have book is Mark Diacono's 'A Taste of the Unexpected'. If you haven't read a blog review of it somewhere yet you must be one of the few. Everybody but the Sock applied for a review copy, to the point that Mark sent out so many free books that he now owes his publishing company a lot of money.* It will be borlotti bean pie with a sprinkling of szechuan pepper for Mark's Chrimbo dinner - unless you fill his coffers by buying the book. The Sock paid full whack for hers but really it is worth it. Bright and attractive illustrations, inspiring ideas and recipes, a pleasure to read - what more could you want? The Socks had always believed their garden was too small to dedicate a great deal of space to fruit and veg but were so inspired by Mark's talk at Wisley that the Sock is thinking of relinquishing her beloved alpines and turning that small raised bed into a more productive patch. We are going to grow only things we can't easily buy or which, like supermarket tomatoes, bear no resemblance to the home grown variety. Courgettes are out, cucurbits 'Fat Baby' Achocha are in, as is 'Alberto's Quillquina' a culinary herb similar to coriander. Oca is on order, sweet cicely, lovage and a variety of other more unusual herbs, spices and peppers are planned or in production. After Mark's talk the Bedsock said "This is what I have been saying for years!" - much of this new growth will be his responsibility!

If you want a fab cookbook which makes lots of use of herbs and interesting ingredients the Sock's favourite this year is Yotam Ottolenghi's 'Plenty' (also Ottolenghi's 'The Cookbook'). This has revived the Sock's interest in cooking which is just as well now that the Bedsock is mostly coming home for his tea rather than working away. The Guardian Weekend has been printing Yotam's recipes - search their online site for examples of them. This One Pot Wonder is one of the Sock's favourites - a real treat and a great change from a traditional cooked breakfast although unfortunately no less calorific!

If you didn't buy Matthew Wilson's 'Making a Garden' last year then rush out and do so now (Sock review here). Matthew is joint winner of this years Horticultural OMG Award for 'Most Snoggable Male' and there are plenty of pictures of him being gorgeous in the book.

The Sock's love to pass long car journeys listening to audio books. A tour around Iceland was Philip Pulman's fabulous 'Dark Materials' trilogy - totally in keeping with the landscape and atmosphere. Australia's 'Great Ocean Road' gave us Robert Harris' 'The Ghost' and Apollo Bay to Adelaide Alan Bennett's 'The History Boys', mid-France gave us the beautifully read C.J. Sansom's 'Dissolution' whilst South-West France, a route much travelled by the Socks has given us Robert Harris' 'Pompeii', and more recently the complex, intriguing and unmissable 'Imperium' and 'Lustrum'. The latter two deal with the Roman life and times of Cicero and illustrate perfectly that in politics some things never change. Listening to an audio book together is an enjoyably intimate experience - discussions about the plot, shared jokes and laughter create memorable moments.. we can never drive past Saintes in western France without bringing to mind the ridiculous Welsh Dwarf from the occasionally funny Hobbit spoof 'The Soddit'.

But better than all of these is the gift of a story. One Christmas a friend gave us a tattered old copy of 'The Jungle Book' - the Socks were a bit bemused until we were told that the present wasn't the book, the present was that when staying in a holiday cottage we had rented together, she would read us a story from it every night. There was something so wonderfully warm and nurturing to be sat around the log fire at night being entertained and enthralled by a new tale. After that, when on holiday the Socks would buy a book of short stories, perhaps as in Iceland based on local folk tales and take it in turns to read one to each other before going to bed. The folk tales were gloriously ridiculous invariably consisting of only a beginning, no middle or end - along the lines of 'There was once a peasant had three daughters. One was fat and married a blacksmith, one was tall and married a merchant and one was thin..' No punchline or progression would be forthcoming so the reader would have to utter the words 'Er..that's it!' to denote the end of each story. Every night we would fall asleep laughing - and what could be a better present than that!

--------------------

* This might be a slight exaggeration or possibly even a lie.

Return to Hissingfirst.... Secrets Revealed

2010-11-24T14:35:00.001Z

By popular demand the Sock is very proud to unveil her new 'Hissingfirst' masterpiece! If you missed all previous episodes you can seem them all here

The story continues

clic for the flic

Ps. Apologies if the timing of the gif is too fast/slow - its impossible to get it right for everyone. Let me know if there are problems. Arabella xx

Gone Fishing IV

2010-11-15T09:13:00.001Z

..
Joe's hooked a big fish... clic on the pic to enlarge

Gone Fishing III

2010-11-14T09:37:00.001Z

..
You all knew it was coming!!!!! clic on the pic to enlarge

Gone Fishing II

2010-11-13T08:45:00.002Z

..
Be afraid, be very afraid but clic on the pic to enlarge anyway!

Gone Fishing I

2010-11-12T11:57:00.002Z

..

You really, really must clic on the pic to enlarge!

People and Places

2010-11-04T13:39:00.006Z

It would now appear to be November and quite what happened to October is anyone's guess. Somewhere down the line the leaves turned amber, the central heating came on and the cats went into hibernation mode (which differs from summer mode only inasmuch as Spook spends more time pretending to be asleep on my keyboard and refusing to shift when I want to use it and Hebe lives at the back of my wardrobe rubbing as much cat hair as possible onto my previously smart black winter coat).

In between cleaning the greenhouse and bringing in the aeoniums to save them from a cruel and frosty death the Sock has been out and about.

First a delightful evening out at Garden Sage (a.k.a. Rob's Shoppiwop) where the lovely Landscape Man had very kindly agreed to give a talk to celebrate the fairly recent opening. It was an engaging and interesting talk, very well pitched too given that the shop setting was rather small and intimate and the audience a daunting mix of locals, Rob's relatives and the Sock and some twitter pals leering less than four feet away.

Yes the Sock knows it is the same pic she took at Chelsea but how could she resist the opportunity to post it again?

This gave us the opportunity to appreciate just how handsome Matthew Wilson really is - even more so in the flesh than on TV. Not that the Sock is shallow or anything but it did strike her that given the Gardening world is well blessed with quite delectable men and women how come we end up with mostly mingers or madpeople as the face of gardening on TV? Sadly C4 is not running a second series of Landscape Man, one of the few programmes the Socks both looked forward to watching. We can only hope that Matthew is snapped up quickly (if he hasn't been already) by someone who will put his face back on our screens in an intelligent gardening/landscape style programme.

Great Dixter

Next an extremely enjoyable autumnal outing to Great Dixter with the LazyTrollop who has blogged about it here. A planned summer trip there never materialized and it wasn't an obvious choice for autumn colour so the Sock thanks the indefatigable VP for recommending it in her Guardian blog here.

Wisley

Then the Apple Festival at Wisley. The festival itself was a tad disappointing - stalls were mainly selling slightly upmarket deli stuff, expensive chutneys and cheeses much of which lost its appeal when a scrum of slightly downmarket visitors were seen fingering the food samples and dipping digits in the taster pots instead of using the proffered plastic spoons. The apples themselves only took up a small tented area but did offer tastings of some interesting varieties - the Sock waited to grab freshly cut portions of apple to avoid contamination by sticky little mitts.


We tasted these mild, fruity orange chillis and took one home for seed unfortunately Spook ate it!

The highlight was a talk by River Cottage Gardener/Climate Change Farmer/blogger/writer (and not bad looking either) Mark Diacono, encouraging people to grow more little known crops. Having bumped into Mark prior to the talk and explained how her garden (55ft x 17ft) was too small to grow anything greatly exciting, the Sock left inspired to grow all sorts of wonderful flavoursome things that can't be bought at the supermarket. More on this in a later blog with a review of Mark's book 'A Taste of the Unexpected' and a lengthy list of all the interesting seeds the Sock has since bought.

Two evenings at the theatre, one seeing Shappi Khorsandi who said she knew that a lot of the audience would be worried thinking she was that irritating woman on Radio 4. As the Sock was one of those 'worried' she was surprised to find Shappi very smart and funny on stage. An other evening of more gentle comedy with Alexander Armstrong and Ben Miller finished off the month on a happy note.