Over The Top In Bishop’s Castle

To see out of our town, you need to climb. Then climb and climb again. The place was built on a steep incline below an even sharper eminence, upon which there once towered an impressive castle. Down below are flood plains girdled by hills, among them, on our easterly flank, the seven-mile ridge of the Long Mynd. Then looking north to west, scanning the England-Wales borderland are the Stiperstones, Heath Mynd, Corndon, Lan Fawr, Roundton and Todleth to name a few.

If you toil up the High Street to the Town Hall (and it is a trudge), you can stop just here to catch your breath, then look back to glimpse, over aging rooftops, the southerly hills. They have names like Colebatch and Sunny and Clunton.

Beyond the Town Hall there’s respite, and a flat stretch along Welsh Street, but here you are enclosed once more by houses. If you want a good view at the top of the town you must take the hollow way up Wintles hill.

This green lane rises steeply too. If you take it too fast it can have you conjuring the ghosts of Welsh drovers, those tough men who for centuries brought their sheep and cattle herds out of Wales, taking byways such as these on the long, slow march to the markets of England’s West Midlands. The well known routes were way marked with Scots pines, their presence signalling safe overnight shelter for men and beasts; the presence of a good inn and good water for the herds. There are still remnant pine spinneys at points around the town and across old drovers’ territory.

At the top of the green lane there’s a field gate and stile. When we came up here a fortnight ago, we had to sit down before facing the next climb. It was a hot afternoon, which was one excuse, but mostly it was down to our Wintles legs being out of training. We’d not been up here since April.

In places, the hill is so steep, I find myself resorting to all fours. But it’s a good excuse to stop and take photos, first of the Long Mynd…

…then of the town, scanning it for landmarks…spotting the parish church with the sun on its tower…

But this isn’t the reason I come up here.

This is:

…the hilltop field that overlooks the Welsh borderland.

And never mind the climb, this sight always takes my breath away – the beauty of these uplands.

And yet this year the land lies parched, the wheat cut two months early, and with talk in different parts of England of disastrous barley and oats yields. Which, of course, means reduced income for many over-stretched farmers, plus less locally produced food. On the other hand, some farmers (e.g. in the Cotswolds) have, despite the drought, produced excellent wheat crops with full bodied grains. Much depends on varieties grown. Other farmers say the hot weather has meant no need to treat crops for yellow rust, the bane of wheat growers, and that this has been a welcome saving.

But then we look at the state of the grass and think there’s livestock to feed. What about that? Many smaller farms, especially in Shropshire are medium size and mixed: i.e. arable and dairy and/or livestock rearing. The marginal land of the upland farms is anyway only suitable for rearing sheep. And while the sheep on Wintles hill look content enough, some UK farmers say their cattle are already eating their stores of winter forage. Worrying times, then, for some.

The baked grasslands have me thinking of another life, and another land we lived in for seven years. In Kenya rain comes in two seasons: the short rains October to December, and the long rains March to May, which adds up to six month stretches without rain in some locations. I wonder how we would cope with this weather regime.

In areas like lowland Ukambani on the semi-arid plains south of Nairobi (Makueni County) even these rains are often poor or absent. And yet the farming cycle continues. Between 75-80% of the nation’s food is produced by women smallholders, and in a country where only 15% of the land is suitable for agriculture. This makes me think too. I remember reading of a young Akamba farmer whose fruit trees were flourishing in rainless times back in the early nineties. Not only had he planted in them in deep holes (a common local method for efficient hand-watering) but he had mulched the roots with layers of the volcanic clinker that lay about his fields. The morning dew, he said, percolated through the dry rubble.

Dry season pasture in semi-arid Makueni County (and an over-the-Rift view of Kilimanjaro on the Tanzanian border

There are ways and means to deal with harsh weather events. There are certainly practises that have been forgotten when it comes to land and stock management. In the Welsh borderlands, for instance, it was usual to overwinter stock, and especially horses vital for transport and farm work, on gorse. This sprawling shrubby plant grows rampantly across the UK. If we think of it at all now, we probably consider it a weed, albeit with striking yellow blossom loved by bees. In the past it was also sown as part of crop rotation systems to fix nitrogen. The plant itself has high protein content, and an acre of crushed vegetation was said to keep six horses fed for four months. Also, gorse flowers all year, sweet-smelling blossom that horses like to browse.

Gorse meadows below the Stiperstones

Evergreen holly was another winter foodstuff, and in the past, farmers maintained sturdy holly hedges along their field boundaries. Good as windbreaks too.

It seems we need to relearn the land: understand the effects of how we’ve treated it since the last world wars; think about the water table and aquifers and water course management. We may need to look back further still. There were times, from at least the Middle Ages, when water courses were managed in order to flood fields at winter’s end, keep off the frost and so produce early spring grass crops. There were a range of methods, from simple damming, to the management of engineered irrigation channels, also used for watering grass in dry periods, their operation overseen by local experts known as drowners. The deposits of river silt also fed the land.

For anyone who wants to know about Water Meadows, go HERE. It’s a fascinating technology.

And now this post has truly gone over the top. Here in Bishop’s Castle we’re in for another 30+ degree C day. For anyone who is presently overheating, perhaps some cooling views from Wintles top would be welcome:

Roundton Hill from the dewpond, another piece of age-old water management.

A popular footpath over the top of Wintles Hill

Lens-Artists: Over the top – this week with Egidio setting the theme.

Six On Saturday: High Summer Stars

Only a few spits of rain since last Saturday, and strangely they landed in bursts on the garden steps rather than on the garden borders. I’m glad I left (as in over-wintered) the anemone flowered Inca dahlia in the same pot I planted it in last year. At least it’s made watering and feeding it more doable. And now it’s putting on a fine show.

It’s also been attracting the recently returned Holly Blue butterflies They are far smaller than these photos suggest – wings about half an inch tall. I’ve yet to catch one fully opened.

Here’s a less damaged one visiting the Dyer’s Chamomile:

So many of our garden plants are looking stressed, but there are also some extraordinary examples of drought resilience, plants that have received not a drop of water from me. The first is Common Ragwort, which has been growing in a crack between the house wall and the concrete path. It is a native wildflower, a biennial belonging to the Asteraceae family. It is also listed as a notifiable toxic weed if found on farmland, being poisonous to horses and other livestock.

On the other hand, it is highly attractive to insect life – to some 200 species according to the Royal Horticultural Society, including Peacock butterflies. And it is an essential food source for the stripy caterpillars of the Cinnabar Moth. As a child I recall coming upon squirmy masses of larvae on ragwort, which greatly offended me.

And so when I first found it growing under the sitting room window, I almost pulled it up. And then I thought how handsome the flowers looked against the brickwork. I also noticed that it has a lovely sweet-meadow fragrance. I discover that its staying power is down to the plant striking out with deeply branching tap roots. Which means there must be moisture under our house. I’m not sure if that’s a good thought…

The other plant growing in a similar situation further along the house wall, is some self-sown Verbena bonariensis. It’s not been watered either, and seems perfectly happy.

I’ve already featured the Kent Beauty oregano in SoS, but that was weeks ago, and I’m thinking it deserves another appearance for remaining so lovely under extreme conditions. It has had some water, but not much, and seems especially happy in the raised bed with the miniature Evereste crab apple tree and the cotton lavender.

Otherwise, the most successful growing at the moment is happening in the greenhouse, tomatoes and baby cucumbers:

One day it will rain. Chins up, gardening folks!

Copyright Tish Farrell 2026

Six on Saturday: Life, death and butterflies in Jim’s garden this week

Six On Saturday: And Another Fine Day

This morning at 8 a.m. the front garden had drowsing looks, the borders brimming with sun and bee-hum. For the first time I noticed that the pheasant’s tail grass, (Anemanthele lessoniana) had put out long and lovely flower stems. Such delicate structures. They caught the light, like the glint of spider’s webs.

I also noticed that the Artemisia Powys Castle was looking rather fine after a very slow start. The Echinops, too, in front of the living room window, had sprung up tall. Last year it was blighted by aphids, but now the flowers are at nose-height and full of bees.

But there’s a sense that something has changed. The sun is hot, rebounding off our red-brick house, and yet there’s the strangest chill too, as if a tranche of Arctic air has just floated in. For a brief time a huge black cloud loomed over the town. It made me think of rain, but actually it looked more like snow. Curiouser and curiouser. Anyway, it was soon gone, leaving us with sunshine and a brisk, cool wind.

Earlier in the week I was feeling fed up with the garden – not only with the heat and drought effects, but also with my general gardening M.O. Too much randomness and ad hocism, so much short termism. Where was the overall plan? I was also especially cross to find that many of our young apples were already spoiled. I pointed out the damage to the man in our house, he who builds sheds and car ports that aren’t car ports and is presently engaged in constructing a work table from his extensive collection of waste-wood. Summoned from shed and power saw, he duly dusted off his plant pathologist’s hat, and informed me that the Christmas Pearmains and Red Devils have been zapped by codling moths. Nothing can be done about it, says he. Hmph and double hmph.

But then there’s always something to be pleased with in the garden, once you start looking. It was then I noticed how well the Agastache AKA Korean Mint was doing. It is another of my happenstance plantings. I grew the original plants from seed two years ago. They were vigorous specimens while they lasted, and although they did not survive the cold, wet winter, they did leave the makings of many, if discreetly settled, offspring. There’s one monster growing beside the greenhouse. I think it stole all the rhubarb’s muck, leaving the rhubarb to wither away.

Other seeded plants are growing well in what, to me, seem most inhospitable spots, including between the cement front path and border wall. Here one example is keeping company with a similarly seeded lavender. Bees and butterflies love this plant, and I can see why. I’ve been cropping and chopping some of the tender flowering side shoots and adding them to salads. Agastache also comes in many pleasing colours…so there’s a thought…

Given the heat and drought, I’ve been surprised to have had some success with plants that I actually meant to grow from seed this spring. Just now making its presence felt is Dyer’s Chamomile (Anthemis Tinctoria). It is one of the most cheerful high-summer plants, and especially now as much of the garden colour is on the fade. I have it in various places, including a pot with some snapdragons and small hover flies on the back garden steps.

The bushiest clump is sharing the corner raised bed with a few butter beans, a courgette and self-grown sunflower. The above photo also includes the male blackbird. It stalks me in a slightly creepy manner, and when I’m not in the garden, spends its time tossing mulch out of the borders. We have had words.

But my star plant of the week is Lemon Bee Balm (Monarda Citriodora). The ones I’ve grown are still pretty small. I’d not been paying them much attention, beyond keeping them alive, and only yesterday did I consult the growing info that told me I should have pinched out the tops several times, and not just once, i.e. if I wanted them to bush out.

And now that I see their flowers, I long for them to be bigger and better AT ONCE. What fascinating floral structures they have, even by monarda standards. (As ever, note to self: read all the instructions).

When I did finally get to them, the growing instructions also told me that this plant is known to attract humming birds. Now how wonderfully fantastical would that be. And do you know – I think they just might…

Six on Saturday This week a scarlet zinnia and deep blue agapanthus are among the stars in Jim’s garden domain.

The Changing Seasons: This Was July ‘26

July has stayed hot and dry from start to finish, albeit with some slightly cooler temperatures this week. All around Bishop’s Castle the fields lie shorn, stubble baked to a crisp, and paling to the colour of Jersey cream. The harvest, then, is done, and a good month early; the grain shipped off to store or contract buyers. There will be no need to dry it. Moisture is the very thing that’s lacking, and so the talk is of lower yields and big farm losses. That said, not everyone has done badly. Some farmers have produced a good crop. Much depends on when they last had rain and the lay of their land. Also on varieties grown. Wheat is a grass with resilience ‘baked in’; it has deep delving roots.

Meanwhile, the Farrells have had the luxury of spending most of July in the garden. They have kept company with Gatekeeper butterflies, Sedge Browns, Painted Ladies, Cabbage Whites and a host of bees and hover flies. There’ve been a lot of moths around too, including the day-flying moth in the header photo (ID not fathomed, but whatever it is, it clearly likes phlox nectar).

The plant-life has just about coped with the drought, some varieties better than others, and especially those that were well mulched. In fact, the flock of self-grown sunflowers have positively thrived, and quite left to their own devices. The tallest one is 8 feet tall and with 8 flower heads. The gardener, though, has grown a bit weary with tending and watering. But on the big plus side we’ve truly enjoyed weeks of eating outdoors, shaded by the backdoor wing. Having supper outside every evening is definitely not a guaranteed summer occurrence in England. We’ve been feeling as if we’re on a foreign holiday, and all without transiting an airport. Triple bonus indeed.

There have been some good vegetables grown this month too. I’ve tried to stop treating our smallish back garden like an allotment plot and concentrate on growing things that work (given pigeon, sparrow, flea beetle and butterfly predation). So we have courgettes, French and runner beans, potatoes (not too many), tomatoes, baby cucumbers, herbs and salad greens. So far so good.

And hopes for August? Please weather gods can we have some nice and steady falls of good summer rain.

The Changing Seasons July 2026 Please call in on our hosts Ju-Lyn and Brian at Bushboys World

Six On Saturday: Pluses And Minuses

Another week of hot-garden days and no drop of rain. I’m beginning to wonder if I need to rethink the planting for next year, i.e. focus on the drought tolerant varieties I have already, and stop trying to grow things that scorch easily; or at least move the susceptible ones, like the phlox paniculata from the front garden to the back garden, where there’s scope for creating less exposed conditions.

In hot weather, our front garden simply bakes, caught in a heat trap between the house, the road and the cottages opposite. Also the beds themselves are surrounded by low concrete walls, plus there’s an old cement path between. And then there’s the privet hedge along the front, sucking up moisture and holding in the heat. But at least I’m now finding the clippings useful for covering bare soil.

Perhaps I’m panicking unduly. The lavender, oreganos and verbenas look to be thriving. Also the euphorbias, montbretia, yarrows, grasses and mulleins, sea holly and echinops are holding their own. But then I find myself staring at a forlorn looking cistus…isn’t it supposed to cope with this kind of weather? Maybe my shilly-shally bouts of watering have much to answer for…shall I, shan’t I…

Anyway, the prize for best looks surely goes to the unruffled, but multi-ruffed French marigolds ‘Brocade’ (1). The seeds came from the Bishop’s Castle Community Seed Bank Library. Local members share their seeds, neatly packeted and displayed in a tray on the counter at the actual library. You can pay what you like, and all donations are welcome. You are of course encouraged to share your own seed. This is part of a much bigger project relating to local food resilience, and run by Daphne Du Cros from a regenerative farm at Little Woodbatch, near Bishop’s Castle.

Another hot-weather plus: – outdoor tomatoes actually growing, ripening and tasting as they should. I only wish I’d planted out more than two Bloody Butchers (2). It’s an heirloom, early ripening variety. Usually my outdoor tomatoes are pretty disappointing.

The French Beans, Cosse Violette (3), climbing and dwarf, are also performing well. Only a few plants needed. Any crop gluts to be passed on to neighbours.

For some reason I usually get into a muddle growing basil, even though it’s a kitchen favourite. In the greenhouse it often succumbs to white fly, or gets roasted. Or we have a dismal summer (remember those?). So I’ve learned to grow a back-up.

Greek Basil (4) is a small-leaved, bushy variety, and an amenable, if not perfect stand-in. An eager grower in fact.

The obelisks of sweet peas are over. They have flowered to bursting since May. Finally, this week, the stems and leaves were dried to a crisp so I cut them down, trying not to uproot the young morning glory plants that I’d inter-planted and have so far been struggling. I’m hoping they’ll grow on, now they have some space and I can see them. But I was sad about the sweet peas finishing, and then remembered the few later-grown seedlings I’d planted out on our boundary wall. A pleasing find between our woodstore and next door’s garage wall: sweet peas and morning glory (5)

The sedums AKA hylotelephium (6) are exhibiting an interesting weather response. Instead of the wide flat-top flowerheads, they’ve opened wide, like gone-to-seed cauliflowers.

Their splayed stance looks like a plea for mercy, but the plant itself seems fine. It also has me thinking, stirrings of gardener’s plant lust. Sedums – known for drought-tolerance and adaptable responses – now there’s a group of plants to consider with fresh eyes…

But for now, a view of this week’s back garden:

Six on Saturday Still much to admire in Jim’s garden despite struggles with the watering.

Six On Saturday: A Change In The Weather?

The full-on-sun, no-rain weather continues, leaving the back garden borders with derelict looks. Some herbaceous plants have simply had enough. And now that the rambling cranesbills, Anne Thomson and Red Admiral have petered out, there’s a striking loss of colour.

But not everything is fading. This is the season of SUNFLOWERS, both annual and perennial. And given the sudden floral gaps, I’m happy to see this self-sown and grown colony that’s circling the sweet pea obelisk. The sweet peas, anyway, are almost over – more beheading done than picking.

The perennial helianthus have also started to flower. I have them all over the place, although they can have thuggish tendencies. There’s a pleasing clump by the greenhouse, and more around the edges of the garden where nothing else seems quite so keen to grow. I think the original rootstock came via my sister from our Aunt Miriam’s slightly mad Devon garden; family feelings are involved here. With any luck, they should keep going till summer’s end.

As mentioned in previous SoS’s, the magenta-purple phlox paniculatas have been flowering valiantly, even as their petals scorch. Now that the heat is not so fierce, I’m hoping the freshly opened PHLOX PANICULATA DAVID will have its time unscathed. It is a lovely plant with a delicate scent, here keeping company with stems of gone-to-seed valerian. It looks so cool too.

It’s also CROCOSMIA season. We have a big and brutish clump growing in the upstairs garden by the shed. It came with the house. I quite like looking up at it from the back door, seeing the play of light through the sword-like leaves.

But the flowers are suffering, looking more inclined to die before opening. This is anyway not among my favourite plant varieties; far too rampant. But the same doesn’t go for its more refined cousin, Harlequin. I love everything about this plant – its stance, the more delicate sun-suffused leaves, the airy looks of the flowers, those juicy ice lolly colours…

Number four is not exactly a success story, though it depends on your perspective. This is the GLOBE ARTICHOKE we did not eat and for obvious reasons. It is presently a very busy aphid factory under strict ant management. I nearly cut it down, but then this week it began to flower. Even infested, it’s still spectacular. The bees like it too.

Five is a shout-out for OREGANO, however it comes – culinary or ornamental. I’ve already featured the very decorative Kent Beauty here, but at the moment it’s the cooking version that’s the big attraction for bees and butterflies. Painted Ladies and Hedge Browns have been among this week’s avid visitors. Much like the helianthus, I have oregano clumps all over the garden, between the raised beds and filling gaps in borders while new herbaceous plants grow on.

Finally, a food crop success, although not a great haul. And not surprising given the weeks and weeks without rain. Also I only planted 10 seed potatoes. So here we have it – a bucket of ROOSTER spuds. They should keep us going for a while.

And now fingers crossed for the promised cooler days. There might even be some drizzle this afternoon. (Do I believe this?)

Six on Saturday: 18 July 2026 This week host Jim has been capturing the garden wildlife.

Monochrome Madness #64 Man And Monument

This week at Leanne’s Monochrome Madness, Sue Judd is hosting the theme: figures in the built environment. I instantly thought of above photo. It’s one of my favourite happenstance shots, originally taken in monochrome. Also it features the astonishing 5,500 year old prehistoric chambered tomb of Pentre Ifan in Pembrokeshire, which however you look at it, is one piece of epic construction. (For an earlier post with more info and photos go HERE.) Finally, there’s a bit of a yarn about that chap, who so obligingly turned his face to the sun just as I was taking the photo.

I had walked down the field to take shots that showed the extent of the earth mound that once covered the still standing stones. It would have been a huge barrow, an earthwork that would have taken heaven knows how many people-days to construct. That capstone, too, is reckoned to weigh 16 tonnes and doubtless would have taken some serious magic know-how to get it in position.

When I walked back to the tomb, I saw that the man I had just snapped was standing on the wrong side of the site’s perimeter fence. The obliging sideways glance had arisen from his attempts to find a place to climb over it.

Things did not look promising. There were hawthorn bushes as well as barbed wire. He was wearing cropped pants. We got talking. And he told me he had left his car further up the lane, having missed the official parking spot. But, he said, he was so excited to see the monument, he had climbed over the nearest farm gate, thus ending up in the adjacent field.

In the end we agreed a tactical retreat followed by a fresh approach on the designated path were the only options.

Monochrome Madness #64 Figures in the built environment

This week Sue Judd is hosting the theme. She has posted a gallery of several striking examples. Go see!

Six on Saturday: HOT!

Still hot today, but there are promises of a degree or two cooler than yesterday. And please, please, please can we have the breeze back. For now, the phlox paniculata are gently roasting, especially the large petalled magenta/purple varieties. Only Adessa ‘Pink Star’ is keeping her cool, here seen alongside the starry Neptune’s Gold Sea Holly which doesn’t appear to mind the heat.

In the back garden, most of the border plants are fading fast, apart from the bergamot/bee balm/monarda. Over the last few days, it has burst into life and bees, although I’m sorry to see the individual flower parts are soon turning crispy round the edges. (But then aren’t we all!)

The peripheries of the garden don’t suffer full-on sun until after mid-day, and this is where I have the beans – French climbing Violette, and a few Borlotti and Butter Beans, growing up canes and obelisks. The runner beans are growing alongside the compost bin, mostly Enorma but also a few St. George. They are now providing a pleasing seasonal screen along this short section of garden which overlooks the road.

Actually, I love bean flowers (almost as much as the beans):

Behind the runners, in the old apple tree corner, is a raised bed with the butter bean obelisk, a courgette plant and a self-grown sunflower. Today, the courgette plant has a quartet of blooms, plus one courgette ready for picking.

You can see this week’s number six in the photo above, on the right, beyond the courgette leaves. It just happens to feature in today’s newsletter from Beth Chatto’s Plants and Gardens. So here we have Aster x Frickatii Monch as it starts its season, and rather sooner than expected.

In the newsletter, granddaughter, Julia Boulton, who now runs Beth Chatto’s says of it:

“Absolutely the best Michaelmas daisy, for long display and sheer beauty: does not need staking, and is not affected by mildew. Deserves the best soil and position in the garden.” Its further statistics are: height and spread: 1m x 45cm; conditions: full sun, rich and fertile soil; flowering: Aug | Sep | Oct.

I’m not sure why I planted it in front of the apple tree. That spot does get dappled sun and then full-on glare at the end of the day, but there are much sunnier spots in the garden where it could show itself off to better effect. (Added to the re-do file).

Finally, a view of the a front garden bed, just to show it’s coping with 33 degree C plus days – the achillea ‘Moonshine’ drying on the stem, the allium drumsticks still doing their stuff, Artemisia Powys Castle, very much containing herself alongside a rather weedy apricot coloured Achillea, (Lachsshonheit) which I thought I’d lost, and a young Crocosmia Harlequin (bottom left) about to flower. Background support from Euphorbias, Santolina rosmarinifolia, Pheasant’s Tail grass, and crimson leaved heucheras :

Six on Saturday: For more views of Jim’s fabulous and mindfully curated plant collection.

A Thorn In The Flesh?

Look what I found among the pots by the greenhouse. It was in broad daylight too, and with wings in the butterfly position – but it’s not a butterfly.

It took some identifying too, this moth that likes to look like a butterfly.

Moths are unknown territory to me, apart from the stunning Elephant Hawk Moth that I once found in our Much Wenlock garden. There are over 2,500 recorded species in the British Isles, so where to start? I began with charts of the commonest species, thinking that wing colour might be the key. That didn’t work. It was only when I thought to search for moths that rested with wings in the vertical that I made progress. The habit, I discovered, was known among some members of the Geometridae family. Finally, I narrowed the search down to Thorns, and then to an Early Thorn Selenia Dentaria.

You can see some other kinds of Thorn moths here. They rest with wings at the horizontal.

The Early Thorn is a medium sized moth, the wings, as seen above, about an inch (28mm) across. It flies from dusk onwards, so I’m not sure why it was so exposed to daylight, unless it had recently emerged. The caterpillars feed on the leaves of deciduous trees, including hawthorn, and I found the moth directly below the hawthorn tree that overhangs our hedge. The timing was right too. There are two flight seasons: mid-February to May and then July to September.

I resisted the temptation to disturb it – i.e. in hopes of seeing its open wings.

In The Garden 8 July

So the promised heat-wave arrives and it is hot. Twenty five degrees Celsius this morning when I took the header photo. Thirty two degrees in the shade this afternoon as I write this.

We inhabit an urban heat island (UHI) of course, living as we do amid brick, concrete, asphalt and repurposed medieval stone, all the sun-storing component parts of old and ancient properties that sprawl, hugger mugger, down a steep, south facing hill. But there is a gentle breeze, which is something. I never thought I’d think fondly of those past weeks and months of blustery winds.

Now the next door cherry plum tree is no more, there’s little to no natural shade in our garden. But we do have a wing, strung outside the kitchen doors. It’s a good spot for dining out.

Above the wing, the red kite glides by, apparently seen off by the local jackdaws who live in the big ash tree further up the hill. The kite doesn’t seem too bothered, very much above such petty annoyances, but it’s hard to photograph, it moves so swiftly.

Up in that perfect blue swifts and house martins zip by. No chance of catching a shot of them. The butterflies flit away too, Hedge Browns living up to their name, patrolling the back hedge at speed. In the front garden, which is especially hot (it faces east on a north-south axis) Painted Ladies dash away as soon as they spot me. But then finally, when I stand very still, one stops for a long sip of Moonshine. Achillea, that is. They are very like tortoiseshells, but paler colouring, although this one is looking darker in the full-on sun.

Meanwhile, down beside the greenhouse, where the ice white mallow is blooming, the honey bees and bumbles are bathing themselves in mallow pollen, a full-body experience by the look of things. I have a sense of wanting to join in.

Above them, the self-seeded sunflower heads for the sky, the first flower beginning to open just this morning.

At 9 a.m. I was out emptying the last of the loamy stuff from my compost bin, spreading it around the base of plants that had missed out on earlier mulching attempts. And ‘attempts’ is the key word here. I have a garden assistant who is keen to make improvements on my efforts. It is currently a battle of wills: he moves it one way; I move it back.

It’s too hot for this game, I tell him. But he doesn’t listen. The search for bugs, grubs and worms must go on…

At least these days the robin only gives me the eye, and soon flies off if I’m not doing something actively worm-rendering. Back in spring when there were nestlings to feed, it would arrive at my feet and shout if I wasn’t turning over the soil fast enough. Sometimes I wonder whose garden this is…