I spent a couple of hours last week tidying up the front of the house, which hadn’t been touched since we arrived. It’s a funny, triangular-shaped bed, enclosed with very new, very orange brick. I had a Cytisus battandieri going begging (the result of a catastrophic accident when ordering my plants…I just clicked ‘add to cart’ and it arrived – beyond my control I’m afraid). Anyhow, I had no space for it in the garden, so I bunged it in here, along with the existing lavatera and some french lavender. Amazingly, they all have the same silvery-blue-green slightly hairy silky thing going on…reminding me rather of my babety’s earlobes. The Cytisus is particularly beautiful:
…and it goes rather well with it’s orangey brick-work wall.
So I spent some time and a fair amount of energy making it all nice, and then this morning I woke up and found that a hideous fox had left his hideous revolting calling card a-top one of my lavender hummoks. I’m not going to show you a picture of it – it’s too disgusting. I tweeted my disgust and received various bits of advice from all the lovely people there. Jo Thompson, garden designer, said I should get a patterdale terrier (I’d love that, but Mr Pug might not), Ursula Cholmeley of the beautiful Easton Walled Gardens said I should inject the fox with hot lead (hmmm…lack of wherewithall) but Lucy Inglis, author of the brilliant blog on Georgian London said I should put (and I quote) ‘something of yours, unwashed, tied to a stick in the middle of [the bed]’
I’m not a proud woman….and I’m desperate too…hence this:
The neighbours can’t see it unless they actually look over the wall into the flowerbed…if they do, then they’re being nosy (a bit like me) and if they’re nosy, then they’ll be delighted to see something so weird (as I would be) – so I figure it’s okay for a day or two. Fantastic Mr Fox is a clever wily thing, and I hope he’ll remember not to come on over to my place long after the pants are gone.