 in the garden it feels strange to write about autumn. Out there it is definitely still summer. In the borders my cosmos — apricot lemonade; pale lavender petals with a halo of yellow — are hitting their stride. Courgettes and gherkins still pop under milky-blue skies. Don't even mention the hedges, which have just undergone their fourth haircut of the year. Only the swelling pumpkins hint at a changing of the guard. Inside, though, winter is coming. We had a new couch delivered, a dark-gold marshmallow into which I soon plan to be absorbed. During a recent thunderstorm I heard raindrops clanging in the chimney, reminding me it is time to get the log-burner swept. No){kind=link}
Listen to article
Narrated by James Marriott
After a weekend hauling ass (or, more accurately, grass) in the garden it feels strange to write about autumn. Out there it is definitely still summer. In the borders my cosmos – apricot lemonade; pale lavender petals with a halo of yellow – are hitting their stride. Courgettes and gherkins still pop under milky-blue skies. Don’t even mention the hedges, which have just undergone their fourth haircut of the year. Only the swelling pumpkins hint at a changing of the guard.
Inside, though, winter is coming. We had a new couch delivered, a dark-gold marshmallow into which I soon plan to be absorbed. During a recent thunderstorm I heard raindrops clanging in the chimney, reminding me it is time to get the log-burner swept. No
© Times Media Limited 2023.