Summer at last? — An Elegant Sufficiency

It feels like Summer might finally have arrived on our hill. Had I written this post yesterday, as I had intended to do, I could have said that we’d gone several days without rain. However, on my way back from swimming this morning, my windscreen wipers started and yes, I drove through a short rain shower. Enough to spoil the party but not enough to water the garden; in fact very little of it reached the ground, I suspect.

It was a glorious morning yesterday, though. Just the kind of morning to enjoy being out and about, running one or two errands.

It’s more than thirty years since we laid out our garden, taming the wild field that it had been and building in some shape and form. Over those thirty years we have been fighting a losing battle against two main foes: blanket weed in the pond and brambles everywhere else! No matter how many times we cut them back, those pesky brambles just keep coming longer and stronger than ever before and with even more vicious thorns. Top of my shopping list then, was a new pair of gardening gloves and I set out for the Garden Centre a short distance away.

Bewildered by the enormous variety of gloves on display there, I tried a few pairs on. Which, if any, would withstand those thorns?

Around the corner were more. How on earth was I going to make a choice? Expert advice was needed…

I found a quiet spot around the corner (where there was yet another row of gloves hanging) and wrote a quick message to garden designer Amy, who I knew had been battling brambles recently. If anyone could offer first hand experience about the best gloves to choose, it was she.

“You need the gauntlet style, Gill: elbow length if you can. And don’t get the gold leather ones because they’ll turn your hands and arms yellow!”

So, pink gauntlet style it was then - from yet another display across the aisle! (Thank you Amy!)

And because she also recommended I get a pair of the close fitting type, a pair of those found their way into my basket as well.

As I returned to my car, I noticed a new development across the way from the garden centre and recalled one of my book group friends telling us about an interesting new food and wine store near here. I hadn’t realised exactly where it was though. Gardening gloves and a few summer flowers for the garden were loaded into the car and in I went to the food hall for a look around.

Here, there was a good selection of local packaged products, though very few that I’d not seen in other local shops and perhaps more surprisingly, there was no fresh produce at all. Next door was the wine shop Vinotopia where, resisting the kind offer to sample some white port, tonic water and mint (looked and sounded delicious) I immediately spotted a bottle on the counter.

The name Wirra Wirra will always be remembered fondly from a visit we made there on a (very) early trip to Australia - best guess, 1990s sometime - when we spent time in Adelaide and drove into McLaren Vale one day. Wine tasting is never my Hero’s favourite way to spend a day - how could it be when he’s driving the car? But on this occasion, we found ourselves stopping at the Wirra Wirra vineyard, where we heard a bell ringing. The bell was “the Angelus”, after which one of their delicious red wines was named and for several years afterwards we kept an eye open for that particular wine here in the UK. It popped up from time to time and occasionally found its way onto our Christmas dinner table, though we’ve not seen it for ages.

I chatted with the people in Vinotopia about this particular bottle, hearing their story about the crazy founder of Wirra Wirra and his catapult, after which this wine was named and returned to my car remembering happy days in Australia and hoping that this wine will be as good as The Angelus.

Such a lovely morning persuaded me to take an “interesting” route home and I stopped by the roadside for a moment to take a few photographs across the valley.

What a beautiful morning and what a great way to spend it. English Summer days are not that common, but when one comes along, can there be a better place to be?