Sixteen degrees on February 16 doesn’t sound or feel right. The magnolia in the front garden looks ready to burst its buds. Primroses are even fading on the north side of the house. Daphnes are in full fragrant flower and the flowering currant is already giving off its Marmite smell. Camellias are in full bloom and in the water tank the fish look distinctly frisky.
Last night we slept with the French windows open. We see summer blouses on the street. The weather forecast shows no hint of winter returning to duty. Should we be alarmed? And is there anything we can do?
The horticultural answer is yes: take advantage. And take precautions. Bring the swelling buds into the house to enjoy them, and try to stop the greenhouse from becoming a hothouse by shading during the day and ventilating day and night.
Now its February 20; the mercury has dropped three degrees and low clouds have hidden the sun. The magnolia has shed all its furry bracts, leaving its purple flowers closed but naked like dark flames among the grey branches. The cercidphyllum that hangs weeping over the pavement is opening its first tiny heart-shaped leaves at the tip of each branch. Crocuses that have found their way into the front garden beds are starting to clump up and a fresh crop of purple flowers are pushing up through the tangle of leaves of Iris unguicularis. It’s a badly designed plant; its leaves succeed in hiding its flowers.
A fat bag of mulch has just arrived form Rassell’s nursery across Earls Court Road. Spreading it is my next job.
