Another cold morning here

It has been a cold morning. Looking out over the garden, in the quiet of a Devon lockdown, it is sometimes hard to reconcile what happens (or doesn’t) here and what is happening elsewhere in the world, whether it is the pandemic threatening to overwhelm the NHS or Trump inciting the mob to threaten the foundations of US democracy.

The last chapter of what Trump has laughingly called “the greatest first term in presidential history” is more like a US Götterdämmerung than anything else. If I was worried about British soft power draining away (see my post A New Year), that is nothing to what is happening to the reputation of the US.

Behind the FT’s paywall but still worth reading Western democracies stunned by images of unrest in Washington.

Trump has always been and remains Putin’s useful idiot. The ‘bigly’ question left unanswered, even now, is why?

Water lilies

It has been a strange weekend, but some things don’t change.

We have spent the afternoon in the garden, mowing the lawn, weeding and potting on various plants. Tea time was the opportunity to sit , reflect on the day, and watch the pond: this year the water lilies cover nearly half of it, with plenty more flowers to come.

Hosta Heaven

Last weekend we were garden visiting at Cleave House, Sticklepath, first Ann and Roger Bowden’s garden, where they hold a National Collection of Hostas, and then Bowdens Hostas, now run by their daughter and son-in-law. A very satisfactory morning, and three new plants for our garden.

Once home, and in the garden, the germ of an idea: there is a narrow gravelled area between the garden shed, home to Caroline’s collection of streptocarpus, and the bank that I have singularly failed to make into a rockery. I now grow alpines in the greenhouse. Why not a frame and netting to allow the dappled shade that hostas love, as well as saving the acer that hates the sun, but has to endure it at least some of the day?

One more task for the week off in August.