... send flowers.
tidied up after Tom and Mol and I had all slept in it for a week. A rumpled dog-bed in the corner seldom does anything for the style of a place. The dark blob in the foreground is a brown bean-bag with Molly in it. She isn't meant to be. There is a turquoise-blue one she can go in when it's got a blanket in it, but she has developed a bit of a thing about the room and in particular that beanbag. She is frequently sneaking off and to be found there, convinced, I'm sure, that with enough effort, the thing can be made squashy and dog-smelling enough to be ideal.
I decided it needed some window boxes, so off we went to the garden centre, which is looking its best at this time of year. Then came the agonising decision-making process, mostly centred around geraniums or not geraniums? Tom hates browsing and indecision. My sister and I both love it.
I like geraniums, particularly quite traditional scarlet ones, trailing or upright, I don't mind. But in the end some miniature, multi-headed sunflowers proved irresistible.
While I'm often up for combinations of flowers and colours others might describe as tasteless, even I could see that sunflowers precluded geraniums. We've got a book somewhere about growing your own cut flowers, in which the author says that any combo of flowers should contain the bride, the big main bloom in the smallest numbers, the bridesmaids which should be a lesser flower which tones with the bride,and the gatecrasher which should be a striking clashing or complementary colour. I hasten to add that this is the only thing I have ever read or ever intend to read abut flower arranging theory ( apart from hearing somewhere that you should always have odd numbers of flowers in a bunch, especially in Eastern Europe where it's considered unlucky to give anyone even numbers of them), and generally I rather reject all such prissy prescriptions and proscriptions, particularly when couched in such simpering terms. But it often does work quite well.
The sunflowers being the bride, the bridesmaid presented herself as orange marigolds - the proper calendula kind not the French or African tagetes,
and blue lobelia also provided the traily, frothy traditional window-box element, as well as being blue for the blue room - quite a well-behaved gatecrasher.
A couple of little patterned ivies finished it off. So there you are, my kind of gardening really.
The White Calves of the Northmen
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