Mess

There's a magical hour or so, for me around 2pm on the 3rd Saturday in July, when you realise everything is either planted, sown or growing as it should do. When you can wander round the plot, cup of tea in hand, smugness personified. All your tools are where they should be. There are no weeds. Plant supports are in place. Grass borders are edged perfectly. The car is shiny. Even the dog is clean.

I don't know what causes it but a blue touch paper is then lit and your garden goes off like a firework explosion, and you never get it back under control, as Nature goes on an orgy of production. Once show season starts you've got no chance, and it will be several months before you find the secateurs you used for cutting a marrow before the first show. My lawn edging shears usually surface from a pile of potato peat around mid-April and i've got more trowels waiting to be rediscovered that i've buried over the years than B&Q have got on display.

In short my garden is an utter disgrace at this time of year. It does cross my mind to lay the whole lot down to lawn or a top dressing of concrete, but then I can see parsnips, leeks, beetroot, turnips and tomatoes waiting to be picked, with plenty of spuds and onions in store and realise why I do it..

And as we haven't even come close to a frost the dahlias are still blooming. Maybe I'll start the big tidy up next weekend!