EU'S latest bloomer! Brussels bid to ban gardeners from buying favourite plants

The definition of insanity: a new proposal from the EU Commission with unforeseen consequences for the British gardener.

EU'S latest bloomer! Brussels bid to ban gardeners from buying favourite iris, lavender and clematis plants (Click link for full story)

I wonder when the British people will actually wake up to the madness of the EU and its encroachment on our way of life and traditional values. David Cameron and his smooth-talking scam about re-negotiation is a disgrace given that re-negotiation isn't a viable proposition without invoking Article 50 of the Lisbon Treaty first. He's a snake oil salesman with the black heart of europhile.

On Being Blessed

I haven't written much lately because I've been a bit down - I don't like being ill; I don't like being old; I don't like not being able to see clearly; I don't like being four and a half hours drive away from my boys. These things, however, are sent to try us - or so I was brought up to believe: What can't be cured must be endured; stiff upper lip; put on a brave face; worse things happen at sea, and all that.

Here's a pic of an 'angel' that flew over Devon earlier this week (click to enlarge): Beautiful isn't it?



I'd like to think that someone is watching over me too but I have the feeling that, if they are, they're shaking their heads in disbelief at the moment as they watch me struggling with boxes, moving 'things' from one place to another and seemingly getting nowhere. I'd rather be in the garden where I know I can do something creative - the potatoes and onions are coming on a treat

and I've just re-potted some perennials suitable

for the shady backyard so next year could be, fingers crossed, a riot of colour. I've also made a small enclosure at the front to plant a climbing rose - Joseph's Coat, a prolific yellow/pink beauty in memory of my Mum and Dad - and some Spring bulbs (daffs, snowdrops, crocus, tulips - there are already bluebells self-seeding in the cracks) to remind me that Winter is over and a new year beckons.



I've also bought vegetable seeds, some of which need planting this month and next, latest, for harvesting in Spring along with some glorious Hollyhocks. This garden will have life returned to it if it's the last thing I do :) I tried to tempt birds into the back with a state-of-the-art BirdsRUs feeding centre but, sadly, they've resolutely refused to dine there - I must think about moving it to the front (with my veg seeds? *gulps*)

For sowing this month: Broad Bean 'Aquadulce Claudia'; Pea 'Meteor'; Spring Onion 'Performer', and Cauliflower 'Gypsy'.

I was at the docs today - just tests and checks, the results of which will be known in a couple of weeks. Next week I'm back to the hospital for further tests on my eyes. I'm already short-listed for a cataract operation (one eye only - it seems the NHS can't run to doing both) but something else is going on so fingers crossed all round. I don't like pills but if something could sort out my eyes I'd take it gladly. Suki is also mooching now that the weather has changed from sunny to thundery; he's sneezing and his eyes are runny. I guess you can take the cat out of Spain but you can't the siesta out of the cat. Here he is, doing what he does best:

Apart from that it's just politics that bothers me: all this unaccountability. Even our own Westminster MPs are only accountable once every five years and it isn't good enough; they call it democracy but I don't think it is. They talk of localism and Big Society when in actuality it's nothing more than throwing crumbs at us while the European Commission and the UN dictate the policies and member state governments couch diktats in terms they strive to make acceptable to us. I do wish my children would wake up to the threat but, living in London, they can't see the wood for the trees.

It only remains to be noted, lest we forget, that this weekend is Battle of Britain Weekend and RAF Cosford is putting on a spiffing show. Chocks away!

Who Knew?

Paul Newman is dead.  Who knew?  Not me.

The past two years have been slightly tricky and many events have passed me by.


Hmm: there's no wonder I'd rather watch films and heroes of the past when I'm faced with the EU:



Note how he says: "We're all in this together".  Today's phrase is "hardworking families".

Once and for all: Europe is not the EU and the EU is not Europe. The EU does not represent the people of Spain, France, Germany, Italy, Greece, Croatia, Romania... or us.

The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland signed up to the Lisbon Treaty (takes full effect in 2014 courtesy of David Miliband and Gordon Brown) - check it out and then see how much faith you have in government assurances.

Barroso is a twat and so are Cameron/Miliband/Clegg:

So much to do, so little time

I hope anyone out there who might be reading this post isn't anticipating a joyous account of moving home.  Actually, I'm still upbeat and optimistic about how things will turn out while, at the same time, strangely depressed.

My mobile phone sparked into life this afternoon but conked out again by the time I'd taken a pic of the beginnings of the raised beds and tried to send it to my email for downloading - some things aren't meant to be and it seems it will be another three weeks or so before my new phone arrives.  Unless I find the digital camera in the meantime there'll be no pictures, pretty or otherwise.

I suppose it's a given that while trying to make things better, everything gets inexorably worse (think eurozone).  The upshot is that I have a front garden that looks only marginally better than a Roma gypsy encampment. It's a tip with an old hob, burnt-out oven and dilapidated sink piled on top of discarded wood, old fencing panels, rotten worktops, sawdust, clapped out electrical fittings and packing cases - all that's missing to complete the Roma picture would be running sewerage and a suitcase full of stolen Rolexes and Cartier bracelets.

The upside is that the new fence is brilliant - 5ft high and solid so the neighbours don't have to see the mess.   Speaking of neighbours, I have one, who will not be named, who peeps over the fence with increasing regularity, has asked intrusive questions and wandered into the garden looking for Suki.  I'm now seriously worried about not having fitted a blind at the bathroom window!  One job on my list was to file down the bottom of the gate,  which grates noisily on the cobble-stone path to the front door.  I've decided to leave it - no guesses why.  I've also reluctantly decided to erect a trellis at the front and that's a shame because I didn't want to be cut off or isolated from my, on the whole, friendly neighbours.  There is, however, a world of difference between friendly and downright nosey. 'Oh, I thought you were out'; 'So, who owns it?'; 'How much is all this costing you?'  I'm getting the distinct feeling that if I say one thing to one neighbour and something else to another the gossips will get together and make a bigger picture to spread around the neigbourbood.  My advice to myself: Stay schtum and carry on.

P, the builder, has made marvellous inroads into myriad jobs to be done and he has the patience and kindly humour of a Saint - and he does like his tea!  The ability to fix mirrors, paintings or netting to stone walls is not one of my accomplishments, neither is fitting a new kitchen but he's done sterling work and I've been very grateful for his help.  His next big task is either to paint the frontage cream/ British Racing Green (the rear has gone hang for years so I see no reason to change) or to put in a new central heating/hot water system and bathroom.  Either way I'll be keeping him busy for a few more weeks.

My problem now is that I look around and just see piles of boxes from floor to ceiling that need opening and furniture that needs moving from room to room.  If the stuff in the boxes was any good I'd be more enthusiastic about the task but it's been in storage for two years in deepest Kent so, really, it needs to be sorted through and most of it will have to be thrown out - it's grown, it's shrunk, it's out of date.   Oh, and my LPs are ruined, including my Beatles' Please Please Me: most of the covers have stuck together and the records inside are covered in a fine, pinky-coloured dust.  It's inevitable that after all this time there will be casualties.

Everything seems to happen in St Marychurch, not Wellswood.  If I ran NatWest and it were up to me I'd open up a new branch in Wellswood for fear of losing my custom to the local Post Office - yes, one still exists and it's run by a lovely chap who always seems to have at least two regulars in there who just go for a chat and are always propping up the counter.  London this is not.

Next on the list of things to do is to find a doctor, a dentist (cap disintegrated during my breakfast of toast and Marmite), a chiropodist (not sure but I think it's either a splinter of wood or a verucca).  I normally do things like nails myself but I really feel in the need of pampering at the moment.  I'm holding off because I think I might regret the cost and why pay someone to do something you can do yourself?  My hair is another matter and a trip to the hairdresser is in order.

So that's an update, sans photos. I'm still here and still adjusting - life in Torquay is so different to life in London; it's easy to immerse oneself in localism and forget the bigger picture (I'm talking politics here).  London smacks you in the face or stabs you in the back but Torquay beguiles.

Here's Julien Parrott, UKIP Leader/Chairman of Torbay Council, in action six days ago (he's the one in fancy dress):



Kudos to the local UKIP group who challenged the flag of the European Union flying over Brixham Harbour. The sad rag has been taken down. Yippie ki yay mf.

Culture Shock

I finally made it down to Devon and I spent my first week in wide-eyed amazement and gratitude at the two elderly gents on the street who tipped their hats as they wished me a Good Morning and the neighbours who popped by to wish me well and offer help in the move.  To paraphrase: 'Suki, we're  not in London anymore'.  I think I may have found a corner of England in this foreign field.  A redoubt?

A great deal has happened in the past two weeks; the sky has fallen and the press have been all over it.  I don't think I've heard anything else on Radio4 (the only news station I've been able to access until now) apart from the retirement of a football manager and how it would be disastrous if we left the EU.  It's all a Conservative split, of course, and nothing to do with the people of this nation wanting a say in how their country is run.  Lord, how I despise politics and its spin.  At the risk of sounding serious I'll tell you that Torbay has a LibDem MP (Adrian Sanders) and a Conservative MEP (Giles Chichester).

Where I live, Wellswood, has its own 'village' shops and is a short bus ride from the harbour.  Everything is local, if you can afford it, even the Co-op.  After a week of only being able to limp to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, my back was better by Sunday morning so I went to buy papers and milk.  At the checkout:

"You don't look very happy; are you alright?"

My culture shock went into hyper-drive as I smiled and fumbled apologies for my 'London face'.

More later.