Listless in London

The shadow across the unruly lawn long neglected enticed my gaze up the evergreen which is now towering above all at the foot of the garden. It stands testament to how long we have been in this present place, a cornerstone of my memory set in a faraway land that is England.

This is our fourth place that we call home. I remember the surge of excitement when I saw the size of the garden. What do we do with an 80 ft garden? We know nought about gardening so, it certainly helped that the house came with a garden savvy neighbour, who instantly took charge. An apple tree was immediately put in place and several border perennials became our pride and joy, with tomatoes, potatoes and even sweetcorn. The perennials in my hands, eventually died. Even the apple tree wilted and went, now replaced with a Japanese acer that gives a lovely colour in summer. But it is the evergreen standing stoic and proud that still holds a special place in my heart.

Hardly a foot tall, we brought it back from a friend’s place in Weybridge and Mick dutifully plonked it in. That was twenty three years ago, when child number two must have been about one and she sat on the swing among the tall trees in Rachel’s backyard that summer afternoon as we selected our plants to bring home. Today as I looked up that tree, she is somewhere in Hampshire attending an office meeting. Child number three was still a baby in my kangaroo pouch when we visited Weybridge to bring this tree home and as I write this, she is on her way to India.

It didn’t seem too long ago that they were out there riding their three wheelers, playing catch and jumping on bouncy castle in the garden, neatly trimmed by Mick. And when they were brave enough, joined by friends from the neighbourhood, they camped out in the night but we found them sprawled in the lounge the next morning. The foxes must have paid them a visit during the night!

A basketball net used to be the centre of activities for family and friends and saw one of the most hilarious matches between sons and mothers. Now it is replaced by a punchbag, cutting quite a lonely and useless figure from where I am sitting now.

The garden in summer had witnessed many a barbeque party with the wind bringing the sweet smell of grilled satay over to the other side of the A40. Farewells and reunions or just plain get-together were held in the garden and we would stay out enjoying the summer nights and what’s left of the barbeque.

Today, as son of Mick laid out a plastic sheet across the front lawn to control the weeds and try to save some so called perennials wilting in the borders, I wonder where did all those years go.

And today, I ventured out and looked up the evergreen and felt a kind of melancholic feeling sweeping over me. It has grown so tall, lording over the neighbour’s pear tree. And more importantly, it now provides a permanent shade for Jasper in his final resting place. The garden was Jasper's playground - his and his alone, chasing other cats away across the fence.

And today, with Jasper out of the way resting at the foot of the evergreen, Tabby, Snowbell and Kissinger were free to laze about in the summer sun.

Notes from My Lounge

They say the sun is out. It is almost officially spring, they hasten to add. There’s even a cluster of daffodils outside the front door and the cherry blossoms are looking very beautiful indeed lining the street all the way down to Betsy’s. But I am in no mood to budge from the comforts of my lounge, from the warmth that my duvet can offer, and not too many miles away from the steaming tea and coffee in the kitchen. These last few days I have been nursing a very bad cold which is accompanied by fever and a monster of a headache.

It seems that almost everyone I know has had this and some got it worse. So, I am allowing myself this rest; stockinged feet, warm duvet, monopoly of the remote control and a veto power as to what’s on telly.

But most days when my fingers are not taking me a-surfing across blogosphere, or I get tired of repeats of Vicar of Dibley, I look out of the garden door and contemplate what I should do to the garden when spring comes and my energy returns. This is a perennial thing ; the planning not the gardening. There’s certainly plenty to be done, considering it is looking very much like a place David Attenburgh would discover some dying species.

It has been left neglected since Mick, our neighbour and volunteer gardener was taken ill and then was taken away from us one spring when I was in Malaysia. The garden that was once full of tomato plants, sweetcorns, daisies, daffodils and geraniums of all colours and variety is bare and neglected. Even the apple tree gave up on us. The only tree that has been standing steadily eversince Mick plonked it in the ground some 20 years ago, is the evergreen that we brought back from Rachel’s garden in Weybridge. It is now taller than the house, overwhelming the pear tree belonging to our Polish neighbour.

I myself gave up on the garden when hayfever took the better of me.

The last time we put anything in the ground was sometime last year. In February. Somewhere between the evergreen and the dying apple tree is our beloved Jasper. He left us a year ago after being with us for almost 14 years. He wanted to go quietly and spare us the pain but we brought him back.

He was a shadow of himself – once the terror of the neighbourhood, who roamed the garden and streets with his head high. I remember giving him a bath right here in this living room, because he was not smelling as he should and I wanted to hold him and make everything all right for him. He didnt resist but whimpered and later walked to the bathroom and pushed the door shut. When I called out to him, he managed a weak meow and then he was gone.

I miss my Jasper.