Jun 12, 20195 min read

Flowers In The Rain

I am disappointed with Miguel. He sounded exciting, mysterious and exotic, but he's actually just very wet. At least he will help the flowers to grow, and that makes me very happy. I have found my tastes changing since turning 50, and am finding new pleasures to replace those I have outgrown (ie drinking and smoking) and those which are now banned (ie eating cake and biscuits).

As a child I could not imagine ever enjoying eating vegetables; in fact I developed a cache of tricks to help me with my dislike of all green foodstuffs ( green liquorice aside). The weapons in my armoury included lining up the peas under my knife and fork, so my plate appeared to be empty, burying cabbage under mashed potato (which I was allowed to leave because it was not green), and swallowing brussel sprouts whole . I also found that kale (which I am sure used to be really spiky and scratch my throat in the 70's) was almost palatable when covered with a ton of mince sauce, and that a liberal dousing of brown sauce meant that I could eat almost a whole forkful of runner beans without gagging, as long as I didn't think of the little furry hairs on their green skin, and how they would tickle my throat on the way down.

My son H also took a lot of persuading to eat green vegetables when he was younger, but whereas it never occurred to 1970's me to outright refuse, noughties H would just turn his head and keep his lips clamped together, as if willing me to try to force them into him. I tried all the tricks I could think of (why is it always me who needs to bring the tricks I wonder - everyone around me is soooooo difficult), even telling him, when he had a bit of a fox fixation, that cabbage was the favourite food of the fox. He was 16 at the time, no wonder he didn't fall for it. It doesn't seem to have done him much harm however and at 6 foot 7 inches tall, he still rarely eats vegetables. He knows that he should, but is still at the age when he thinks he's invincible and that pasta, chicken and Kopparberg are the only fuel required. I, on the other hand, now like eating peas and spring greens and even green olives.

Like green vegetables, flowers have also grown on me in a similar fashion. I absolutely love flowers, and this year, I have been particularly enamoured with the glorious blooms on display. Another trip to Delapre Abbey got me reaching for my camera, and once I started, I just couldn't stop. I think that this is just what happens when you reach 50. It could happen to you, don't say I didn't warn you!

When my parents died, and we had to clear their house, I spent a whole day sorting through hundreds of wallets of photographs which my Dad had taken over the years. Many were of lampshades (he always claimed these were 'test shots' although I have my doubts, and think he probably just accidentally pressed the button as he was removing his camera from his desk drawer). There were also many identical shots of the same sheet of A4 paper on the same clipboard with his name and address handwritten, in case his film should become separated from the order form during the developing process. And literally hundreds of pictures of the rockery and its contents, hanging baskets of all shapes and sizes, overflowing patio tubs, lavateria bushes, lilac trees, clematis, honeysuckle, roses at every stage of their flowering cycle from every imaginable angle, and anything else my green-fingered Mum had grown. I was 31 and totally bewildered - firstly that he would have taken so many near identical pictures, secondly that he would waste his money having them developed (and even gone to such great lengths to ensure that none of them were lost in transit), and thirdly that he had kept them. I sat on the floor of their living room, surrounded by bonus print wallets, and sorted their contents into piles - one each for me and my brother and two sisters, into which I sorted any photos which included us or any of our kids, and then distributed those with more than one subject, or pets or places evenly between us. And then a fifth pile which closely resembled Hunsbury Hill and which consisted of mainly flower shots, destined for the bin. I always thought he took photos of flowers and plants because we all moaned so much at how long he took to take a photo, as he adjusted the focus and the shutter speed. Most of our family photographs contain very grumpy looking faces, not because we are a grumpy family (or should I say not ONLY because), but because having an amateur photographer for a father made it such an ordeal. And this was, I believed, the reason for the superabundance of floral photographs. he took photos of plants and flowers because they didn't get fed up and move. But now I think I may have been wrong. Looking in my own photo gallery and even at my Instagram account, there is a veritable plethora of flora, which outnumbers the human beans, land and seascapes and even dogs. There probably would be more of my family if it weren't for the fact that they all groan when I try to take a photo and it takes me so long that by the time I have a) found my phone, b) input the security pin, c) found the camera app and d) pressed the button to switch it from selfie to front facing mode, it is as if I have fired the starting pistol to start the 100 yards race for people with no sense of direction in one of my favourite Monty Python sketches: https://youtu.be/ksrItPfz6A0 I am perhaps more like my Dad than I realised.

I would take more photos of my family if they were willing and patient enough, however I don't think this would diminish the number of flower pictures I take. The reason is that I am bewitched by their beauty, and maybe it was the same for my Dad. This is my new rose, Lady Emma Hamilton, which I love. I took a photo before she was ravaged by Miguel - he has been very busy in the last few days, and the Alliums which I included in my last blog are amongst his victims, and are now strewn across the path. I am hoping she will manage to fend him off and survive his onslaught. Another discovery I have made thanks to Miguel is that it is easier to run in the rain than in the heat. I'm still very slow, and every run is still tough, and I am always convinced at the start that I am going to give up halfway, but the rain seems to refresh my tired achy bones and eases the journey. I am planning on doing my second park run at the weekend unless the weather changes. I am hoping I will be able to do it faster than last time. I will keep you posted.

I need to get a proper waterproof though, as I am currently attracting all the aphids in Moulton most mornings, although at least it keeps them away from Lady Emma.

H and T have both celebrated birthdays within the last week. I can't believe that my babies are now 22 and 19, and I wish they were still little and needed me like they used to. I made them the usual giant birthday cookie cake, hung up the birthday banner and balloons, and we went out for a birthday meal together, but that was about it. They didn't want any fuss - no party or birthday tea; not even any presents- just money (poor old students!).