I think if I could sum up August in one word it would be ‘bountiful’. Everything seems to have come to its peak: fruit of every kind dripping off every tree.

I’ve realised something happens in July. The garden seems to have shifted continent. I’m not sure why I’ve never noticed it before, but it’s definitely moved home.

It was obvious really. Daryl and Darylena were behaving most out of sorts. All winter we’d seen the pair of them together, gaily munching through my plants, morning, noon and night. But one day, Daryl went missing. It was a bit of a worry to see Darylena by herself.

I wasn’t entirely happy with May. 

I’m sorry, Paul, but I think the four words that most frequently enter my head are probably, “I love my garden”.

March 2020. Where to begin?  I’ve been wondering that for a couple of weeks now, hence my tardiness in writing.

It’s been a quiet month in the garden. 

I have always thought there is little redeeming about November in the UK. Grey, soggy, dark, mucky, damp and dreary. Ugh. Everything is mushy, everything has a film of dirt over it and by about three o’clock you’re needing to reach for the lights.