Rain, rain go away, come again another day!

 I wonder how many of us have been chanting this mantra lately? The Jet Stream has a lot to answer for. Huge tracts of the United States are being fried to a crisp, whilst we have more rain and cool weather than we know what to do with. Now would be a good time to trade a little of what we both have? Some warmth and sunshine, for some of our rain? It sounds like a very fair trade to me.


My roses dislike the rain even more than the chickens, bees or I, do. They ball and rot, and their branches bend to the ground with the weight of water on their delicate blooms. Then the sun pops out and scorches those that haven't succumbed to botrytis.  Today I decided to rob the rain of its spoils, and cut the roses that were in bloom so that I could enjoy them for a day or two longer. Their colour and fragrance overwhelms me as I bury my face in them; the touch of their velvety petals on my skin is like silk and cashmere rolled into one. Opulent and luxurious, and comforting . It felt mean to keep them secret, and hog them all to myself so here I am sharing them with you.


Despite all that I love my roses. I know they are not fashionable, and I certainly prefer the old rose varieties, or David Austin's English Roses.  I have never understood the quest for blue roses, to my eye they are hideous, and as for the new fads in grey and chocolate-brown roses, forget it. They look like dirty laundry. At best they look like a colour run accident in the washing.


I am a great believer in a rose without scent is a pretty pointless object too. So with one exception, because it is a very beautiful and vigorous climber, I don't allow unscented roses to cross the threshold here.  It's like Sweet Peas, or Carnations and  Pinks that have no scent - what are the breeders thinking of?!

Yesterday here, it was gloriously sunny - a brief interlude in the endless gloom that seems to pervade this part of England. I dead headed the roses and removed all the rotten and rain damaged parts, and was pleased to not there was lots of buds promising to break. The warmth and light yesterday meant by this morning I was awash with beautiful blooms. I don't usually cut flowers from the garden, it shortens their already brief lives, and I much prefer to see them bobbing about in the breeze, attracting bees, butterflies and hoverflies, and helping to supply nectar and pollen to these embattled insects. The scent of a garden, the warmth of the sun on my back, and the hum of insects is my idea of heaven.


Speaking of the sun on my back, much to my chagrin I managed to get sunburnt yesterday. It doesn't usually happen to me - unless I am having a photo toxic reaction because of long-term antibiotic use.  I usually go nut-brown, but yesterday I was working at the allotment, weeding and picking Blackcurrants, and didn't notice until I had a bath later, that I was a little bit singed. It did smart! This morning my back is a lovely nut-brown though, so thankfully I hadn't over done it.


While I am wittering on, I thought I would share a little nugget of information I came across, I don't know when. The beautiful loose apricot rose you can see above is Lady Hillingdon.  As far as I can find out she didn't do anything remarkable in her life, I will have to research this more. But she is accredited with  coining the much used phrase 'Lie back and think of England'. Urban Myth has it that it was an instruction given to Victorian brides on their wedding night, who would be very ignorant about sexual matters,  when dealing with the demands of their husbands.  Having children was considered a patriotic duty, and woe betide the women who actually enjoyed sex!  One story has it, that Queen Victoria gave the instruction to her daughter on her wedding night, but that is hearsay. Lady Alice Hillingdon's diary of 1912 reads thus:

'I am happy now that George calls on my bedchamber less frequently than of old. As it is, I now endure but two calls a week, and when I hear his steps outside my door I lie down on my bed, close my eyes, open my legs, and think of England.'