Oh for a garden!
Lockdown comes in various shapes and sizes, depending upon where you live. Last spring, for the first time ever, I was asked for my Swiss Residence Permit to actually prove where I lived. It took me two days to dig out. My friends who live in the South of France told me they needed all sorts of documents if they wanted to move around and wryly added that soon they’d be required to produce one signed by Father Christmas.
This time round, the garden centres remain open but, last spring, they were all half-closed. You could buy food-producing plants but not flowering ones. So I planted my window box with red peppers and herbs. (My window box is a huge device incorporated into the building where I live, measures about 4 metres by 2 and is very deep.) Well, these things went shooting up to my upstairs neighbour’s balcony and produced the most magnificent leaves. Huge, shiny, dark green leaves on thick stems so that I had to put the light on if I wanted to read. I almost expected my upstairs neighbour to lean over the edge of his balcony saying “Fee, fi, fo, fum” … Nothing else was produced by these plants and, come October, it took me half a day to dismantle and dispose of them.
So I shan’t be doing that again and have even managed to get hold of a few seeds that actually say they are flowers on the packet. In the meantime, the shops are selling pretty bedding plants to brighten up our lives and, after all,
in a window box,
there are no slugs.