Garden days

This week we spent a couple of nights staying with my brother and sister in law.  They live less than 2 hours drive away but we took a leisurely drive calling at an extensive and expensive plant nursery with a Michelin standard restaurant.  I treated myself and SIL to a scented geranium each.  We drove on to Helmsley where we hoped to lunch at the walled garden but it’s closed Tuesdays.   Instead we bought sandwiches and soft drinks and sat in the market square where MrFF admired the various motor bikes that stop there after riding over the moors. As he said they are all ridden by older and probably retired people, the machines far too costly for younger folk.

We didn’t do much at my brothers apart from talk a lot and eat a lot.  We watched the Tour de France and the football otherwise we were out in the lovely garden.  

My brother was up early each morning for strategic watering and I was happy to join him dead heading the many and varied containers they have.  

J

I particularly like this pig feeder in an area of the garden that reflects our farming heritage with old cart wheels and a vintage match plough, a skill for which my brother won many competitions and I and my parents spent many afternoons standing in a cold field usually on the windy wolds watching.

On the way home we stopped near York to visit and have lunch with friends.  They too have a beautiful garden, they are real plant people with collections of orchids,  carniverous plants and agapanthus.  They are also kind enough to home some of my more precious balcony and house plants when we are away including of course the Middleton lemons who have been repotted and are thriving.  

I was surprised but delighted to see how many plants had been away, I thought the balcony was going to be overcrowded so I left a skimmia for now.   In fact it looks just fine and our relaxing time away has convinced me that more is more.

And as if gardening and eating meals outdoors wasn’t summery enough back in Ilkley we had a brass band at the bandstand, a stall selling tea and home made cakes and an ice cream van. I love a proper English summer, I am so happy to be here.

My bicycle

My bicycle is one of these, a blue one, photo from the Claude Butler catalogue.  I bought it when I was in my mid 3Os, I am now 77 and I still own it. I can remember learning to cycle as a child,  it was a but like learning to swim, it seemed impossible until suddenly it wasn’t and you never unlearn.  

I have covered a lot of miles on this bike, regularly cycling 12 miles to work then back again, long rides with MrFF onto the North York Moors, Youth Hostelling holidays into the Dales and the Lake District.  I truly fell in love with my bike, I think MrFF is on his third model but I have been faithful to mine.

When we moved to Ilkley Claude came with me but languished with other bikes in a storage cupboard in our basement.  Whilst Ilkley has a large cycling population and one of the largest cycling clubs in the UK, the roads here are extremely busy, even the little back roads, I didn’t think I had the confidence to ride.   I remember seeing my bike just once over the last 12 years and thought it was in quite poor condition, I considered trying to sell it for renovation.  Then last week MrFF called me down to the basement, he’d taken my bike out of the cupboard and pumped up the tyres.  It’s actually in great condition and everything seems to work.  

Now I am wondering if I could manage a bit more pedalling even if it’s just round the quiet residential streets, I’ve never been afraid to dismount and push if the situation got tricky.  There’s just one problem.  I chose a bike with a man’s frame, it has a cross bar which maximises structural integrity and gives better handling.  In my prime I confidently threw my leg over the cross bar to mount, last week there was no quick swing of the leg.  I really struggled to get my leg high enough to clear the bar.  I can still touch my toes, I thought i was reasonably flexible, this was a bit of a shock.  This week when I am not watching the Tour de France you may find me hanging onto the furniture whilst practising swinging my leg high, take no notice.